Chapter Sixty-Three: Rescue

Chapter Sixty-Three: Rescue

As Tom watched the line of captives wend their way slowly after the army, they began to lay out a plan.

They all agreed it was better to attempt to free them before the orcs laid siege to Wayrest. Once they reached the city, they would settle in, and the captives would likely be held at one of the villages, under guard, and surrounded by the orc army. Right now, the army was ahead of the captives as they moved. They were guarded, still, but they had a better chance.

The main problem was still the proximity of the army. They would need to disable the guards as quickly and quietly as possible, and then try and slip away.

The second issue was the state of most of the captives. Most were too weak to fight or run. They needed to disable the guards efficiently enough to give them enough time to distribute Scribers miracle mice and melt away into the forest.

There were any number of ways the plan could go wrong. If they were noticed while sneaking up on them, they would lose the element of surprise. If they got bogged down with the guards, then orcs from the army would come flooding back towards the rescue attempt and overwhelm them. If they waited too long, reinforcements would be too close at hand no matter how well the plan came off.

Cub pointed out the orcs' violent, bestial instincts seemed to draw them towards wherever there was a fight. If the rescue attempt raised too much noise, it would be their undoing. But they could potentially use it to their advantage.

They formed a plan, but they didnt have much time. And so much rested on the timing.

Finally, they exited the shelter. As soon as Scriber stepped free of it, the enchantment collapsed, the disc buzzing and spitting flashes of light before falling quiet. Scriber tsked and shook his head. Tom knew that losing such a rare and valuable enchantment would be paining the man beyond measure.

They summoned their familiars, preparing for their plan. Tom called Sus and Sol, and fitted each of them out with a small, lightweight leather harness that Scriber and Cub had made while they waited in the enchanted disc. They were makeshift, made in an extreme hurry once theyd decided on their plan, but even the most ramshackle, slapdash things made by Cub and Scriber were still far better quality than most craftsmens work. He sent the pair of owls scudding off through the forest on silent wings.

Tom sent the handful of bodies Sere had been using to watch the exterior of the disc out to their rear as they began to move. They needed to know their retreat was clear. Luckily, it seemed that the last of the orcs had indeed passed. Most of the stragglers were still faster than the weakened captives.

The rest of Seres bodies were still trailing the captives and their guards. They were only an hour or so ahead of them. He pushed a few of them even further forwards. He needed to know how big the gap was between the captives and the army.

By the time Seres front few bodies found the orc army, they were almost out of range for the bond. The information they were sending was spotty, the pictures fuzzing and unclear. He hoped it would be enough for their purposes. The gap seemed to be growing slightly bigger.

They followed, and found it was easy to make up the distance. Soon, it felt as though the captives were right ahead through the trees. Tom could hear their marching with his enhanced Idealist hearing. It chafed at him. He wanted to charge in and save them right then and there, but he knew it was foolishness. Timing was everything.

They waited, preparing, stalking the captives through the forest. Val brought down a few stragglers, weak orcs that had fallen behind due to injuries or infirmities, with swift arrows to the head. At one point, an Idealist guard stopped to take a shit, and found the same fate. It took three arrows to kill it, but Tom had cast Hush on it, and no alarm was raised.

Watching through Sere, Tom grew more and more anxious. There were around a hundred captives, and over twice as many Idealist orc guards. It was one thing slaughtering a raiding party of orcs, with perhaps one or two Idealists leading them, but confronting hundreds of Idealist orcs was a different matter entirely. Not only confronting them, but killing them, and quietly enough that they could get away. Tom swallowed around a knot in his throat.

They followed the captives right throughout that night. The guards only allowed them a brief stop during the darkest hours. Tom and the group waited impatiently.

Stunned orcs were spitted and dropped by his spear. It was perfectly straight, perfectly sharp, perfectly balanced. The blade crackled with conducted Suffering. Killing with it was effortless.

Lances of fire, white hot, like beams of molten light, ripped the night in two, leaving searing afterimages behind.

Random flashes of light stuttered in the darkness as the other captive Idealists began to pitch in.

Tom saw orcs dropping, one after the other, with arrows to the head. Periodically, one would fall into chunks after being dissected by Scorns green beams.

Cub smashed orcs into the dirt with his enormous hammer like they were insects. The handle of the hammer, and lines inscribed into the head, glowed a dull red, and each blow made smoking craters of orc bodies.

Tom fought his way forwards, Sesame by his side. Man and his bear were a flawless team, wreaking havoc on unprepared orcs. They left a swathe of ruined bodies in their wake.

He concentrated hard, splitting his attention between himself and his familiars. More than once, he saved captive Idealists. The orc guards had turned on their captives, trying to vent some of their primal anger at a source they could actually see and harm. Those same orcs found themselves blinded, sparrows flapping in their faces and pecking at their eyes.

Sus and Sol proved their worth too. The birds could see even more clearly at night than Tom could during the day. The battlefield was a well-laid out map to them. Every time a fight started to swing in favour of the guards, they swooped in, silent as a wish, and rent necks with their claws. Tom was surprised at the amount of force the birds had in their talons too; on more than one occasion they simply crushed the face of an orc, before silently flying off again.

More white hot fire lanced into the night. Scorched and blackened orcs dropped where they stood. Tom cast Agony, over and over, as fast as he could. He sent orcs tumbling with Wild Boar Strike. And suddenly, Rosa was in front of him.

He stowed his spear with a thought and briefly grabbed her dirty face. His mother was huddled close behind her. Tom pulled two knives out of Honeyfields ring and quickly freed them from their bonds.

Occasional flashes of light accompanied scuffles around the column, but for the most part, it seemed their work was done. Tom handed each of them a knife.

Quickly! Free yourselves, then the others. Mother, are you okay? Can you heal? We need everyone ready to move!

His mother nodded at him, determination shining on her face. Pride surged in his chest. His mother, who had been crushed into nothing for decades, had found her courage at last, and even under such intense pressure, she retained it. Incredible.

Rosa swept her knife through the ropes knotting her feet, hamstringing her to a walk, and then leapt at Tom, crushing him with a hug. She broke off, looking over his shoulder, and then a flash of light and heat told him shed killed one of the last few guards.

Fuck you, you orc fuck! she screeched.

And it was the sweetest thing Tom had ever heard.