Free Web NovelChapter 23: Corrupted shaman
The goblin scout arrived at dawn, riding a compy whose feathers were still wet with river spray.
Rex was at the training ground, running through sword drills with Rhea. His movements were sharper now.
The Stage 2 evolution had given him speed and precision that would have seemed impossible weeks ago but his mind was elsewhere. The Blood Bond hummed quietly in the back of his awareness, a web of forty-seven threads, each one a life depending on him.
The scout’s compy skittered to a halt at the gate. The goblin—a wiry female with ritual scars across her cheekbones, one of the chieftain’s messengers—slid from the saddle and spoke rapidly to the nearest guard. Within moments, Tor was running toward the training ground.
"Rex." His voice was tight. "Goblin scout. She says the Stone Fists are moving."
Rex lowered his sword. The Blood Bond told him what his eyes couldn’t: Tor’s thread was vibrating with something between fear and fury. Old wounds, torn open.
"Where’s Nara?"
"Already at the central fire. She’s translating."
By the time Rex arrived, a crowd had gathered. The goblin messenger stood in the center of the circle, her compy shifting nervously beside her. Nara crouched at eye level with the scout, her expression calm, Screech perched on her shoulder. Boulder-Heart loomed at the edge of the gathering, his burning-coal eyes unreadable. Several Lizardkin warriors stood nearby, their golden gazes fixed on the scout.
Nara rose as Rex approached. "She says the Stone Fists broke camp before dawn. At least forty warriors, maybe more. They’re marching north. Toward us."
"Forty," Rhea repeated. "That’s more than we expected."
"There’s more." Nara’s mouth tightened. "They have a shaman with them. One of the corrupted ones. The scout says she could feel the dark magic from half a mile away."
The word corrupted sent a ripple through the crowd. The River Folk had seen what dark magic did—the Mouths, the grey skin, the puppet-like emptiness. The idea of a human shaman wielding that same power was a new kind of horror.
Tor stepped forward. His voice was hoarse. "The shaman. Did the scout describe her?"
Nara exchanged a glance with the goblin, then translated the answer. "Young. Female. Dark hair. She wears a necklace of finger bones."
The color drained from Tor’s face. "That’s her."
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the wind seemed to still.
Fen grabbed his brother’s arm. "Tor, you don’t know that. It’s been five years. It could be anyone—"
"No." Tor’s voice cracked. "The finger bones. That’s what they did to the ones they took. The ones they... turned." He looked at Rex, and his thread—through the Blood Bond—was a raw, open wound. "My sister’s name was Alara. She was ten when they took her. I’ve spent five years hoping she was dead, because the alternative was worse. But if she’s their shaman now..."
Rex felt the words hit him like a physical blow. Through the Blood Bond, he could feel Tor’s grief, Fen’s desperation, Rhea’s cold fury, Nara’s sorrow. The web of threads was alive with pain.
He stepped forward and put a hand on Tor’s shoulder. "If it’s her, we’ll know. And if she can be saved, we’ll save her. If she can’t..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "If she can’t, we’ll make sure she’s free. One way or another. No one deserves to be a puppet for the dragon."
Tor’s jaw clenched. He didn’t speak. But his thread steadied, just a little.
"We need a plan," Rhea said, her voice cutting through the tension. "The Stone Fists are marching on us. Whether the shaman is Tor’s sister or not, forty warriors with dark magic support is a serious threat. Do we meet them in the field, or do we fortify and let them come to us?"
"Fortify," Fen said immediately. "We have the barricades, the watchtower, the Ash Giants. Let them break against our walls."
"And if they don’t break?" Rhea countered. "If they surround us and wait for the Mouths to reinforce them? We can’t survive a siege. We don’t have the food stores."
"We could strike first," Tor said. His voice was still rough, but there was a new edge in it—something hard and hungry. "Hit their camp before they reach the river. They won’t expect an attack from us. They think we’re just a village waiting to be slaughtered."
"Risky," Nara said. "We’d be leaving the village lightly defended."
"We’d take the Lizardkin and a handful of our best fighters," Rex said, thinking aloud. "The Ash Giants stay to protect the village. The goblins can scout ahead and harass their flanks. If we move fast, we can catch them in the forest before they reach open ground."
Boulder-Heart rumbled, his voice like grinding stone. "The Stone Fists are mortal. But their shaman... corruption is not a weapon. It is a sickness. If she is fully turned, she will fight like a Mouth, even if she still wears a human face."
"Can she be unturned?" Rex asked Nara.
Nara was quiet for a long moment. "I don’t know. The Binding of Flesh can be reversed in theory—the scroll said as much. But it requires a sacrifice. And I don’t know if it works on someone who was corrupted as a child. The spirit may be too far gone."
"Then we prepare for the worst." Rex turned to the group. "We hit them at dawn tomorrow. Before they reach the river crossing. Tor, Fen, Rhea, and I will lead the strike team. Ten Lizardkin. Five goblin scouts. We move fast, hit hard, and target the shaman first. If she can be captured alive, we try. If not..." He met Tor’s eyes. "We do what needs to be done."
Tor nodded. It was the nod of a man who had made peace with something terrible.
The council dispersed. Rhea lingered, walking beside Rex as they headed toward the forge.
"You’re sure about this?" she asked quietly. "A preemptive strike is a gamble."
"The Stone Fists are coming for us whether we gamble or not. If we wait, they hit us at full strength with whatever dark magic their shaman brings. If we strike first, we control the engagement." He paused. "And Tor needs this. He’s been carrying his sister’s ghost for five years. If there’s any chance of closure..."
"You’re leading a raid because one man needs closure?"
"I’m leading a raid because it’s the right tactical move." He met her gaze. "And because Tor is my friend. Because I can feel what he’s feeling through the Blood Bond, and it’s tearing him apart. If I can give him a chance to face his demons, I will."
Rhea studied him for a moment. Then she reached up and touched his cheek. "You’re getting softer."
"I prefer ’strategically compassionate.’"
She snorted. "That’s not a thing."
"It is now. I’m the Dragon-Bound. I get to invent phrases."
Despite the tension, she smiled. It was small and fleeting, but it was real.
[DRAGON AFFINITY: 55 → 56]
Rex felt the familiar pulse of heat in his chest, the silent acknowledgment from the system. He ignored it. The numbers didn’t matter right now. What mattered was the plan.
---
That evening, Rex gathered the strike team in the central meeting ground. Tor and Fen stood side by side, their copper weapons freshly sharpened. Mira had insisted on coming—"I’m your best shot, and you know it"—and Rex hadn’t argued. The ten Lizardkin warriors were led by Kress, the scarred veteran who had confronted Rex about the Draconic Aura. He still regarded Rex with a guarded respect, but his loyalty to the alliance was absolute.
The goblin scouts—five of them, including the messenger from that morning—were already in the forest, tracking the Stone Fists’ movements. They would signal with bird calls when the enemy camp was located.
"We move at midnight," Rex said. "We’ll reach the forest by dawn. The scouts will find their camp, and we’ll hit them before they break for the day. The shaman is the priority. If we neutralize her, the rest of the Stone Fists lose their magical support."
"And if she’s... if she’s really Alara?" Fen asked.
Rex looked at Tor. "If she’s Alara, we try to take her alive. We restrain her, bring her back, and Nara examines her. If there’s a way to reverse the corruption, we find it."
"And if there isn’t?" Tor’s voice was steady, but his thread was ice-cold.
"Then you make the call." Rex held his gaze. "Not me. You. She’s your sister. Whatever happens, it’s your choice."
Tor didn’t answer. But his thread, through the Blood Bond, flickered with something that might have been gratitude.
Rhea stepped forward. "We should rest. We leave in a few hours."
The group dispersed. Rex walked to the watchtower and climbed to the top alone. The valley was dark, the river a silver ribbon in the starlight. Somewhere beyond the forest, forty Stone Fist warriors were marching toward his home. Somewhere beyond them, Valthorion was watching.
He knows what you are.
Rex closed his eyes and reached out through the Blood Bond. Rhea’s thread was steady, her presence a warm anchor. Tor’s was taut, vibrating with tension. Mira’s was bright, eager. Nara’s was calm, distant—she was meditating, preparing her rituals. The village hummed with life, forty-seven threads woven together.
And to the south—the cold spot. The void. Valthorion’s domain.
Tomorrow, Rex thought. Tomorrow we take the fight to them.
He climbed down from the tower and went to find Rhea. There were still a few hours before midnight. He intended to spend them with her.
[DRAGON AFFINITY: 56 → 57]
System, not now.
But the panel didn’t answer. It never did when it mattered.
