3. Agent of the Silver Dragon

The storeroom’s temperature felt near or below freezing. If the creatures didn’t break in and get him, the cold would. The mass grave was wet and sloshy and had left him soaked. Hypothermia wasn’t a risk, but an inevitability. Lukas hoped his now-ascended body would hold out for a while. Blood seeped from the shoulder wound. The exhaustion and starvation weren’t doing him any favors.

“What do you need from us?” El-One asked when he conjured them without a concrete plan in mind. The fatigue made it more challenging, and the second almost wiped him out, suggesting he had almost exhausted his magic stores. 

“Should we cuddle for warmth, boss?” El-Two enquired. “You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine, thank you.” Lukas sighed, collapsing onto his bottom. The ice-cold flour sack he used as a backrest soothed his sore back. “My head’s not working. Help me brainstorm.” El-One pulled a wrapped cheese wheel off a shelf. The other did the same with an arm-thick salami. They broke off bits for Lukas, and he accepted them hungrily. There was no water, but the clones found him a glass bottle of something that smelled like mead. It was sweet and quenched his thirst. “First of all, what were those things?”

“Raptor seems like the most apt description,” El-One said. “Drakas sounds like draco. The graffiti also looks dragonish.”

“Maybe dragons here are as much bird as lizard.” El-Two shrugged. “Maybe these things worship them? Would make sense if they consider themselves descended from dragons.”

“Oh. The skinny, pretty ones are the guys. The stockier, dull-colored ones are the girls.”

“None of that is particularly helpful.” Lukas sighed.

“I’m pretty sure the girls are the leaders?” El-Two added. “It certainly looks like they’re the ones commanding the rest.”

“Come to think of it, they were the ones wielding staves, too,” El-One continued. “Maybe Shamin wasn’t a name. Could be a mispronunciation of shaman, and only the females get to wield the title.”

“Now, that’s useful. We—”

The building shook, and the spellscript carved into the ceilings and support beams flared. Muted thuds and screeches came through the door. An enchantment just above the frame sizzled. 

“They’re not going to make it in.”

“This place would be ransacked if they could.”

“Or they were saving it for last or didn’t consider it worth the resources,” Lukas told the clones between mouthfuls of meat and cheese. He resisted more mead despite his thirst. The last thing he wanted now was to get drunk, and given his new body’s state, Lukas was sure he was now a lightweight. “Regardless, we can’t stay here for long.”

“Unless we cuddle for body heat,” El-One said. 

El-Two smacked the back of his fellow clone’s head. “He’s going to bleed out without medical assistance, dumbass. I wouldn’t be surprised if there are internal injuries too.”

“Smack me again, and I’ll cut you open to check.”

“This isn’t helping.” Lukas groaned as the adrenaline left his system, and his entire body protested. Head throbbed. His knees and hips felt as if the joints had melted into amorphous blobs like his soul.’ Lukas’s lower back told him it was done for the day. “There are too many of these—”

“Raptor-dicks,” El-Two interrupted.

“—of these raptors for us to wait them out. The chances of us outrunning them is also nil. We need a different approach.” Lukas paused, scanning his surroundings. The food helped him feel somewhat better. The pain didn’t fade, but focusing became easier. “Do we have the means to make fire?”

“We’re in a cellar full of preserved food and booze.” El-One pushed a chunk of exceptionally salty meat into Lukas’s hand as he spoke. “Fire wouldn’t be smart in here. What’re you thinking?”

“I have the start of a plan,” Lukas said, studying his clones closely. The new body looked fully grown but no older than twenty. He couldn’t but wonder whether a younger shell would come with all the drawbacks of one. Wild hormones. Impulsiveness. Changes in libido. He recalled having a wild time in his former body’s younger days and only calmed closer to thirty when the aging process started to slow down. The clones’ behavior sparked questions regarding his behavior. Lukas wondered whether he’d be the same if not for the dire situation and discomfort. “Maybe it's the bit before the start of a plan.”

“As long as it doesn’t kill you, I’m willing to try anything,” El-Two said, pushing an uncorked bottle into Lukas’s hands. “Smells like peach wine, but I don’t think it got the chance to ferment much.”

“Thank you,” Lukas claimed the bottle and downed several big gulps. “Find me fire. Chop. Chop.”

“A please would be nice.” One of the clones grumbled before getting to work.

Lukas’s hypothesis proved correct. The raptors had saved the building for last. He guessed they wanted to take the preserved food back with them to wherever they had come from and wanted it all well-preserved for the journey.

It took them several minutes to break the door open. A sack of flour welcomed the breaching trio. The bag exploded into a white cloud and left them coughing. Lukas broke free, mouth covered with a rag, and threw another ripped sack at the bunched-up group waiting just behind them. None stood around and charged at him. Only the one with a torch hung back, and much to Lukas’s relief, the sack exploded at his target’s feet. His third death of the day followed.

The cloud ignited as soon as the flour came into contact with the fire. A deafening explosion rocked the area around the storeroom’s entrance. The smell of burnt feathers and flesh filled the air.

“Dragon fire!” A raptor in the distance screeched. It sounded more amazed than frightened. Several others echoed his words. 

When another Lukas peeked out of the storeroom, he found the creatures bowing instead of fleeing or charging. Rather than running for his life, he marched toward the raptors, holding a ripped white sack over his head. 

“That’s right, you big chickens,” he yelled, struggling to keep his voice from cracking. His heart raced, and his shoulder throbbed. “Your little friends got cooked by dragon fire. If you don’t want the same to happen to you, take me to your leader.”

“Did the Noscale just speak Drakin?” A stocky specimen squawked, almost sounding like a confused parrot.

“Noscale spoke Drakin, new Shamin,” a small and skinny raptor said, sticking close by her. He carried a big pack and was half the size of the other creatures. “He did. He did. I hear him.”

She smacked him. “Shut up, Softscale.” The raptor bowed at Lukas. When she continued speaking, her speech was far more refined but still awkward. “You wish to meet our chieftain, Dragon Warrior?”

“Did I stutter, Shamin?” Lukas asked, lowering his peace flag. He didn’t know if the white cloth meant anything to them, but they weren’t firing arrows or magic at him, which was a net positive. “I have been sent here across realms by the Great Silver Dragon to guide your tribe to greatness. The Lady Silverspine is impressed with your victory here and deems you worthy of her patronage. Take me to your chieftain, or I’ll burn you like I did these Softscales and find your chief myself.”

“You serve the Silver Dragon?” The raptor’s head bobbed up and down, and its beady eyes widened. “The Great Silver Dragon. The slayer of demigods and the quencher of starfire.”

“Indeed I do.” Lukas grinned, flashing his teeth and placing his hands on his hips. “I think it's about time you bowed!”

“He serves the enemy!” The raptor screeched. “Skewer him. Crush him. Rip into bits. Fetch me his eyeballs and tongue, Softscales. Slay him for the Glorious Crimson Wyrm!”

“For fuck sake.” Lukas sighed. He grabbed a dead raptor’s spear and fled back into the storehouse. Its entrance and the area just beyond it were charred. “Why did I overplay my hand?”

The barricade they had constructed was also burned black but still stood. The treated wood and metal had done well to resist the flame and blast. A wall of ice blocks from the lower level also stood around it and had done well to shield them. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough. When the raptors flooded into the building, the bottleneck and cover only bought him five minutes. He took out a baker’s dozen before one got past the defenses and drove a dagger through the side of his rib cage.

The original Lukas, El-Prime, crept through the ruined settlement. He had considered running but then decided it was a fruitless endeavor. He was too tired, too weak, and in too much pain to make it far. Only strength and power would help him make it to his second day on Fracture.

The Great Lady Silverspine's interests lay in the fallen estate. Find the blade that slew her ancestor before it falls into the Wyrm Cult's claws. You will be rewarded for your efforts, and the journal’s capabilities will expand beyond power tracking and translation.

Lukas and the clones had dedicated several seconds to cursing Lady Silverspine while cuddling for warmth. Instead of transmigrating him to somewhere safe where he could smoothly transition into his new life, she had thrown him straight into the fire where his only chance of survival lay in seeing her interests protected. He had agreed to do so, but it wasn't supposed to be an obligation or the only choice.

The rewards better be good.

The seconds following the explosion had served as the perfect distraction. He exited the storehouse just before El-Two while the raptors were still shielding their eyes and ducking for cover, and the dust had just started to settle. The transmigration had claimed his old knowledge and abilities. However, sneaking was a skill not easily robbed. Lukas lay low and hoped the raptors’ intelligence had come at the cost of enhanced lizard—or bird—senses.

“It's a shardling!” The new ‘Shamin’ called, words full of rage and hate. “Find him, Softscales! He be our sacrifice to the Great Sunbirther! Silver bitch’s blood nourish him!”

“For the Sunbirther!” Her little minion yelled. “Kill the star quencher’s spawn!”

“FOR THE SUNBIRTHER!” Dozens of raptors echoed the sentiment all around Lukas. There were far more of them than Lukas had assumed.

It was tempting to call forth another clone, but Lukas resisted. By estimations, he only had enough magic left for another use of the ability, and he wanted to save it for during or after Lady Silverspine’s task. Now, an additional body increased the chances of detection.

It’s been a while since clones and magic were such a sparse resource.

A third of the raptors scoured the ruined settlement while the rest spread out, checking the roads leading away from it or the woods further downhill. Few moved toward the manor. They all looked outward while Lukas crept between them, keeping low and stepping carefully. The ‘Shamin’ continued squawking orders, and her minions echoed them. Occasionally, he threw stones to redirect attention or draw away creatures that got too close. On several occasions he found the perfect opportunity to push a hunter down a hole, off a cliff, or to slit a throat. Lukas resisted. He couldn’t risk giving away his location or objective. The creatures had assumed that he meant to flee, and he didn’t intend to correct them.

The journal hummed as Lukas approached the manor. He ignored it at first, but the vibrations and sound grew lighter, forcing himself to relieve it from his pocket. The book took to the air, breaking free of his hold and moving independently to float a foot in front of his face.

Arcane Clone has progressed to rank 2!

I don’t think that information is necessary right now. Does the rank do me any good?

Magic demands are reduced.

Fortunately, the journal's pages didn’t light up. He guessed the function was exclusively for low-light environments.

Can these be saved for non-lightful situations?

Yes. However, it's worth noting that the journal, its contents, and the light produced by it are only visible to its soulbound owner.

Regardless. It's distracting. Is there anything important to tell me pertaining to the task at hand? Perhaps the blade’s location?

Negative.

Then don’t bother me unless it's urgent.

The journal returned to his pocket and ceased its humming. Lukas took relief in the fact it could read his mind and didn’t require verbal communication. He double-checked that none of the raptors had detected him.  Fortunately, they remained clueless, looking around instead of within.

A tall, skinny raptor wielding a bow watched from the path leading to the manor. He wasn’t the only one. Lukas’s new eyes didn’t have any natural or magical enhancements, but he was sure he saw movement near the destination, too. The raptors, more specifically the Wyrm Cult, already had agents hunting for the relic. Lukas didn’t have much time to waste.

Since the path wasn’t an option, he climbed the rockface, gritting his teeth through the pain. Lukas’s shoulder protested, and the bandage—formerly a flour sack—reddened faster as the frozen shut wound reopened. He was almost near the top when pebbles clattered above. A handful rained around him, barely missing Lukas’s face and shoulders. 

A raptor stood at the top, bow ready and arrow nocked as it scanned the settlement below. A boulder shielded the rockface from the settlement, hiding him for most of the ascent. However, if the raptor were to look down, his efforts would prove fruitless. Even though an arrow to the face or neck was enough to prematurely snuff out Lukas’s light, he didn’t retreat.

No going back now. Only forward. 

When he reached the top, muscles and lungs screaming, the creature was targeting someplace in the distance where his brethren had gathered. The new ‘Shamin’ screeched, pointing in the direction.

“It's tha hoomin!” A particularly shrill raptor called. “Stick it with the pointy end!”

“No!” A very human voice protested. “Please. I won’t tell anybody about this. I—”

Well, that’s a freebie.

Screeching raptors drowned out his protests. Lukas didn’t feel particularly bad about the man dying in his place. Despite their apparent stupidity, the creatures had brought down the settlement and its protection. They either got lucky, had more magic than they appeared to have, or were far more competent in combat than he initially assumed. It was more likely they had overwhelmed the defences with numbers in the middle of the night. Lukas ignored the chaos below and focused on the creature above.

The journal didn’t say so precisely, but Arcane Clone seemed targetable within a couple of meters of himself as long as the spot was within his line of sight. Lukas shimmied around the rockface so he wasn’t directly below the raptor. The act left him exposed to all below, but Lukas took the risk anyway. They were all sufficiently distracted. He used the ability, focusing on the spot just behind the archer. 

It worked. 

A clone solidified, blossoming from the sparse grass like a weed in grey clothing. It didn’t emerge from exactly where Lukas intended, but it was close enough. His left hand snapped closed on the raptor’s beak while the other claimed the dagger hanging from his belt. The blade found a home in the feathery throat. The movements were awkward and not at all smooth since the body lacked the necessary muscle memory, but they were so quick the creature failed to react. Then, El-One carefully lowered the gargling mess of a raptor to the floor.

“A little help,” Lukas whispered, extending a hand.

El-One rushed to assist without quipping or protesting. Neither spotted any obstacles on their way to the manor and crept onward, ready to complete the job and hopefully start their new life soon after.