“I’ll be having words with you later, Reg,” I growled before jumping down outside the town and sprinting towards the distant smoke. I could faintly hear the sound of screams and the clang of metal on metal in the distance. I slipped my monocle into place, but I was too far away for it to do more than add intermittent flashes of information within the fog of war the smoke had created.

  I crossed the few miles in a matter of minutes, my feet throwing up divots of dirt and dust behind me. I turned to the right slightly as I located my first target and closed in on a pair of riders. One of them was flinging fire from their hands while the other was setting a worker's hut ablaze the old-fashioned way, with an actual torch.

  “Surprise!” I yelled, completely removing that particular advantage. They turned in my direction at what seemed like a snail’s pace.

  Swatting-A-Naughty-Puppy-On-The-Snoot brought my fist slamming into the nose of the man with the burning brand, throwing him from his saddle to crash unconscious to the ground. His horse bolted as I pivoted in the air above it, then it dashed into the other mount, knocking the mage off balance.

  “What the–? Who the–” she started to say before thinking better of it. “Pyramidis Ignis!” she snapped as she pointed a raised palm in my direction. A two-foot-wide torrent of flame washed out that I ignored as I launched myself through it using Kebab-The-Chicken. Instead of one of my tails twisting round to stab through her chest, I pivoted in the air and a foot dented her armour, knocking her from her seat. Yet another meal panicked and bolted away without its rider in the time it took for me to land and punch her in the head to knock her out. Two down. One hundred and ninety-eight to go.

  I had noticed the flow of mana as she cast her spell, the way it moved through faintly glowing channels from her heart, down her limb, before coalescing into a strange sigil on her palm that had been the origin of her spell. I needed to find a magic teacher as soon as possible. Would Pedro fit the bill?

  I followed the scents of aggression and fear through the smoke and became an avenging wraith. The enemy had largely broken out into pairs, one mage and one fighter in each team. I quickly learned it was best to put the mage down first. It saved me on scorched tunics, and I only had so many spares in my belly pouch. Running around naked and knocking people out would have a certain aesthetic appeal. I could, after all, shape myself into a form that would catch the ladies' attention and be the envy of the chaps, but in my human form, I retained some sense of modesty that made it feel off.

  As I took down each team, I dragged them back to where I’d fought the first pair and tied them up with rope I had picked up in Ankmapak. Then I bound them all together for good measure.

  By the time I’d dealt with forty of the enemy cavalry, I was feeling pretty good about myself. Twenty percent of them had been captured at this point, and I hadn’t faced any serious opposition. Mostly because I no longer announced my presence like an idiot and just leapt into action.

  This was a larger group and the fear-scent was stronger, so I slowed down to think. This looked a little trickier than previous encounters. A gaggle, perhaps ten people strong, was on foot and seemed to be brandishing weapons. They had their backs pressed against each other to form a defensive circle, while half a dozen riders cantered around them in a tight orbit. Arrows and spells were cutting the defenders down as I watched. This was not acceptable. These people belonged to me.

  I was hidden by the smoke and fog, and I’d been careful to approach from within the thick scrub that lined the road. I took careful aim and unleashed a belch of fire down one side of the defenders, then another on the other side. The attacker’s horses were well trained, but the dragon fire lingered on the ground, and no amount of conditioning could force a horse to walk into draconic flames.

  The encirclement was broken, and half the riders were thrown from their saddles as the horses reared back. I threw myself in a blur towards the ones who had kept their seat, and a series of leaping attacks left them unconscious on the grass. I turned to deal with the rest and found that the farmers had used their pitchforks, scythes, and flails to stab, slice, and puree the three who had previously fallen. On the plus side I hadn’t killed them, and I could understand why the farmers had been so pissed off.

  Seven bodies were scattered around where the peasants had held their ground. Two women and five men were pierced, burned, or broken and lay dead at my feet. I scanned across the faces of the ones who had fallen on their backs, staring at the sky, then leaned down to roll one of the others over. Mick. The grumpy, cowardly old farmer who’d taken me into Larney’s Wood to hunt down Bun-Bun wouldn’t be getting any more ales at the Cod ever again. Was it that I knew this man, or was it the lost revenue that infuriated me so much?

  I scooped the bodies into my belly pouch as a pitchfork slammed into my back and the tines protruded from my stomach. I reached around and yanked it out, knocking away the wielder and causing them to lose their grip on the weapon. Wood splintered as my fist tightened. I dropped the remains and glared at the woman.

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  “The bodies will get a proper burial. I’ve got some prisoners tied up by a burning hut back that way.” I waved a hand towards where I’d built my impromptu POW camp. “Go guard them. The cavalry from the town will be along shortly. I’ll have a few more to add to them by the time those slow bastards catch up.” Without another word, I turned and moved toward the next blob of pink that the monocle could sense.

  Five more pairs of riders had been added to my pile by the time the angry farmers made it there. I was dropping off the eleventh and twelfth victims when they arrived. I straightened from binding them to the others and found the civilians glaring at me.

  “Where are the ones I knocked out?” I called as they approached.

  “They didn’t make it,” snickered a male voice.

  “Just kill them,” the woman who had stabbed me snarled. She held a short knife in one hand, a poor replacement for her pitchfork, and was waving it at my prisoners.

  “No,” I replied flatly.

  “Why not? The bastards have killed enough of us!” snarled a man. His tatty coveralls were marked with more than just mud. Splashes of crimson ran up one side, the lifeblood of one of his friends, no doubt.

  “I won’t kill them. And I want at least a few of them left alive to answer some questions. The rest? I don’t care.” I glared at the peasants. “Do you want them on your consciences?” I waved a hand at the captives, a few of whom had woken up and were listening quietly.

  “I won’t lose any sleep over it,” said another man, a flail dangling from one hand, as he stepped towards the prisoners. I shrugged and began walking back toward where I assumed the rest of the enemy troops were hiding in the smoke.

  The sound of hooves cut through the quiet, and I spun back towards the town, dropping into a fighting stance to face the new threat. A small force of cavalry was charging at my position, and I prepared to unleash a blast of fire and acid to break them up.

  “Hold, Bob!” called Johnson, and I relaxed at the sound of his voice. The Stompers slowed to a trot and formed a cordon around us. They all faced outwards against any new threat, except for Johnson, who walked his horse over before dismounting next to me. “How many more are there?” he asked as he held the reins in his left hand and stared at my captives.

  “No idea. Enough.”

  “You must have killed a hundred to take so many alive?”

  “I haven’t killed anyone. However, I’d really like to, so why don’t you babysit this lot and I’ll go punch some more people in the head?” I growled.

  “They’ll be dispersed. Let my boys have some fun as well, eh?” he chuckled. “No point you running back and forth. Kelsy, mute the mages,” he called to a nearby rider who trotted up.

  The man dismounted, his armour glinting in the sun.

  “Silentium Oris Massae!” he declared, and I watched the mana move once again. Flowing down from his core and into a sigil on his hand. It looked like a picture of a strip of cloth. Lines of purple-pink light shot out, wrapped themselves around the prisoners' mouths, and the murmurs of fear were immediately cut off.

  “Won’t hold ‘em for long, sir. But long enough for our purposes, I think,” he said calmly as he nodded at the captain. The colour of his magic had reminded me of my own.

  “Where are their weapons?” Johnson asked me, and I simply shrugged.

  “Wherever they dropped them. What was that magic?” I asked the Stompers' pet mage.

  “Control spell of mass silence. Some of them are a bit strong for it to hold for long. Did you check them for items and trinkets?” Kelsy asked me.

  “Nope. Didn’t know I needed to, and they were asleep when I dragged them back here.”

  “Jinkee, Laslut, check the prisoners!” Kesly ordered.

  “Yes, Sarge!”

  Two more troopers dismounted, passed their reins to their neighbours, and moved to start rifling through the pouches of the prisoners, checking for rings and necklaces as they went. Anything of interest was tossed in a pile to one side.

  “I want loot rights.” I was angry, but I wasn’t going to miss out on an opportunity to make a little profit.

  “It’s a bit early to be worrying about that,” Johnson said disapprovingly. “There’s the rest of the skirmish to win, first.”

  “Fine.” I turned and walked away, leaving the humans to deal with their own.

  I took down three more teams and dragged them to the camp. Johnson had broken his own troops down into groups of five and sent most of them off into the smoke to hunt down the pairs of the enemy. Only ten had been left to guard the ones I’d caught.

  I stopped to peer at the items piled neatly on the ground, a safe distance from the still-silenced prisoners. Rings of Might, Jaded Necklace of the Cynic, Scrolls of Happy Meals, a Blotter of the Damned, several Scrolls of Long Range Dysentry, which sounded horrific. Even with the flavour text, I couldn’t work out what half of it did. I glanced around and found Johnson staring at me, so I replaced the jewel of Monstrous Magic I had been carefully examining to one side.

  Item: Amethyst of Monstrous Magic

  Monsters for magc or magic for monsters.

  “I want that stone!” I called as I approached Johnson, who was standing with Kelsy, the pair of them glaring at the prisoners.

  “The Amethyst? Why? You’re a Spatial Mage of some sort, right? Although you clearly have some kind of rare boosting spell as well,” said Kelsy. “I can’t follow your mana channels at all, they’re out of shape and all tangled up.”

  “Maybe you could help me with that? I got a new type of magic recently, and I need a teacher–” I was cut off as an arrow sprouted from Kelsy’s face and sprayed blood into my eyes. I wiped them with the back of one hand and blinked hard to clear them in time to see that Johnson was now slumped over what I assumed was Kelsy’s corpse, with something sticking out of his shoulder.

  “I think you’ve caused quite enough trouble for one lifetime, stranger,” a voice called. Three arrows slammed into my chest, and I growled as I pulled them out like I had just finished my turn in a game of darts. The horseman appeared out of the smoke, accompanied by eleven friends.

  “You guys see to the captain, I’ve got these assholes,” I snapped at the remains of the Stompers.