The journey with the Whitecaps was garbage. We had been traveling for a couple of days, but we were not going where those abominations of Dark Elves were. We were heading to a sacred site for the Blood Elves. I went prepared. There must be at least a few thousand runes still untranslated by our scholars. If only half were attack runes, it would be worth it. As soon as we decided to go, all the Redcaps prepared decrypters, adapters of their runes to our versions—to have enough power to begin invading other cities was something we could not let pass. Our leaders agreed. Even though I was a level-nine mage—meaning I mastered almost everything there was to know about offensive magic—I still could not face anyone alone, not if I wanted to avoid getting hurt. That was why we were all going. That was why I agreed to travel with a bunch of goody-two-shoes who thought about doing good all the time.
Throughout the journey, I began to see that not all were the same. It was true that those present were Whitecaps in clothes and attitude—slow, simple-minded, only thinking of the good of others. But as I studied them up close, I managed to distinguish some subtleties. Those of low levels and even two of the high levels had an attitude bordering on sanctimonious. But the rest were serious, harder. They had not limited themselves to appearances, but to actions. Three of them took enough time to eliminate a small band of kobolds who had no intention of attacking us—they simply passed playing a few hundred meters from where we were. Without losing a moment, they got up and went there. I felt their auras increase as they tracked little ones who could not even measure more than eighty centimeters. I did not know the magic used, but soon after, they returned with some organs of the beasts in question. When some of their group asked about the procedure, they insisted they would use these as a complement to a couple of spells they hoped would enhance the floral aromas of Stormhammer's gardens. Very suspicious, since the effects of such magics did not require animal organs. Yet they seemed to believe them and did not discuss the matter further.
I confirmed that at least a dozen of these mages were not very trustworthy. I was the leader of Bloody Coin and knew perfectly when someone was trying to fool me. I constantly saw them preparing small magics—attack spells that would not kill any mid-level mage. Yet they kept elaborating similar runes. I was already a little worried, so I told my people not to stop preparing some of their heavy magics. After all, we had to face the possible annihilation of a very powerful mage. Few listened to me, as we were still far away—at least another three or four days. Still, I prepared some gravity spheres and a teleportation one. I was not a high-level mage just because I distrusted my people. I had to be cautious with everyone.
Finally, we reached halfway—at the mountain's edge. There, the Whitecaps argued a lot. It seemed they were undecided whether to look for some defensive scrolls inside a dwarven tomb just a few hundred meters from where we stood. The two I identified as the "foolish" faction insisted that even though it was an advantage for improving the villagers' quality of life, it was a great waste of time, and we needed to hurry. The rest—the majority—insisted that good protection or assistance magic might be buried within those walls, set into the cave, seeming to absorb the heat of a summer day into a pit of darkness and possibly enemies.
Even though I thought they would refuse, soon one of the foolish ones came to us and asked for a few hours to search, as his companions assured there were records of a magical shield that negated any enchantment, discovered in historical dwarven texts. There was a possibility this place was a king's tomb, so the things taken must be sufficient to contain an enchantment of that nature. I did not think even he believed it, but going at this speed was tiring. So we set up camp outside the place. At midnight, they entered.
To be exact, they entered at eleven-thirty. I followed them. I did not want dwarven magic, if you understand me. But if there was something there with such recognized military application, I could not leave without it. So I used one of the few defensive spells I knew and, wrapped in a mist that smothered noise, scent, and even voice, I followed this pack of beings who at times seemed more fearsome than the enemies.
They were mad! At least that was how they seemed to me, and I was thankful for the enchantment I had cast on myself to avoid detection. Just as we reached the library hall, several began scattering the corpses on the floor without much ceremony. The fools wandered among the shelves, letting out little squeals of happiness when they saw an interesting spine, only to be disappointed because the information contained in the scroll or book was no longer there. When my eyes adjusted more, I saw that on a chair where a king should have sat was a figure that perhaps in the past was elven but now dark and twisted—just a lost husk in a library of filth. And we had come here when no one would reward us. That seemed to be what the two foolish ones thought, as they approached to read the book held by the one on the king's chair. That was when one of them blew its head off with a sacred laser.
It was so sudden I almost lost control of my stealth magic. One second, one of them was leaning; the next, his brains splattered like a spray over that corpse. The remaining one was not so foolish—his shield was ready, as was his resistance. Not a second had passed before he stood face to face with the leader of the tough ones.
He accused him, but with that voice of knowing the other would not answer. I probed a little among those not so powerful. Most agreed with what was done. But several were simply afraid and seemed to want to flee. Then I admired the shield raised by this fool. Truth be told, even with one of my most powerful magics, I could not damage the shield on the first try. He said he was leaving and would ensure these traitors would never be admitted to Stormhammer again. In response, one of the level-nine mages invoked a lightning sphere that struck the shield with nothing to indicate it had worked.
Just as I had thought, offensive magic was not their thing. At least I was happy he could emerge victorious. What was happening here was dangerous, and even though my superiors would celebrate, I thought it was no longer time to think about defeating the Whitecaps if not this super-violent sect. At that moment, all extended their hands. Anticipating another attack, the remaining one reinforced his shield with protection and resistance against physical and magical damage. They laughed at him.
Like a macabre ballet, all began to launch in small groups runes with identical magics: five fires, seven ices, six thunders, a couple of lightning bolts. The shield was not an entity that needed to control until the damage exceeded its capacity—it was a barrier that nullified magic, adding a little of the user's to stabilize the solidified force field's integrity. So even though they were not very powerful, they did not stop coming. Hundreds of lightning bolts, dozens of ice balls, heat radiation, and many more magics that consumed only a small part of a mage of their level's magic. But the rune of magic could not handle so many different ones. He fell backward with a reddened face, his shield reduced to rubbish.
He still tried to reason—and perhaps that was an example of why the Whitecaps did not deserve to govern. Under their command, due to tolerance related to their own character, many gangs and bands formed under their auspices. They survived on bribes and such, but never used magic—that was the only indication of where they exercised power. These Whitecaps stepped aside for their leader. There I could see the son of the Whitecap secretary. He told him he appreciated the speech, but now they served someone else. A small gravity sphere left his hands. When it made contact with the defenseless man, I could only think it was some kind of containment field—not that the sphere entered his mouth and exploded everything from within. As he fell, they turned.
"Brothers!" he said. "Today, we no longer serve humans or their common good. We have a new master—a lord of death, someone who will help us achieve the power to satisfy our thirst for knowledge."
He said it with his robes soaked in blood, but neither his garments nor those of the dead, twisted puppet remained with that disgusting paint. Quickly, his robes began to absorb all the waste. I even saw a black flash from the dead one on the throne. This tasted bad. Better to withdraw. As I did, I could hear promises of power, fortune, and vengeance. I had to tell my leader. I could say nothing to my companions. A difficult battle was coming, where I would not decide which side to take—if there was any side between evildoers and just plain evil—but knowing that whoever won would be killed. Though it would not be so easy. Now only to think how to do it without being discovered... Suddenly, the domain of Redcaps and Whitecaps did not seem so important. I had to speak with his leader—there was too much at stake!