Lord Sorcerer: Singularity Online: Book 3

by Kyle Johnson

  “Yes, yes,” Saphielle replied dismissively, waving her hand as if swatting a fly. “Now, you will attempt to insult me and draw me into some sort of battle, correct? There is no need for your absurd bluster. I will be happy to oblige you.” The woman took a wooden practice sword and sheathed it at her belt, staring at the nonplussed man. “Well?”

  “Well what?” he snapped, suddenly unsure. “You want to fight me?”

  “I do not want to, specifically, but I am comfortable doing so,” she corrected. “However, you are not prepared. If you wish to avoid humiliation, you will need three or four companions, and you will need to draw your weapon.” She indicated the large, heavy-looking axe hooked to the man’s belt.

  The Traveler, though, took a step back and glanced at Aranos nervously, noticing the Sorcerer’s arrival. The half-fay, half-elf Sorcerer had quite a reputation with the Travelers, since in his first encounter with them, he’d managed to kill most of them fairly easily. “Look, I don’t want to kill you or anything,” the big warrior backpedaled.

  “And you will not, as that is not within your power,” the woman shrugged. “However, if you will not draw your weapon, neither will I.” As she finished speaking, the woman seemed to blur, and her knee simply appeared in the Traveler’s stomach. The big man folded in half as he was launched backward, vomit erupting from his mouth. He crashed to the ground in a ball, wheezing as his lungs scrambled to regain the air that her blow had squeezed from them.

  Saphielle watched him critically, shaking her head. “Had that been even this wooden blade, you would be dead, Traveler,” she told him. “You seem to believe that size is any indicator of Strength or Endurance. As you can see, it is not.”

  The Warrior scrambled painfully to his feet and yanked his axe free. Saphielle smiled and withdrew the wooden sword from her belt. “Much better. Now, do you wish to strike first, or shall I simply disarm you?” The Traveler narrowed his eyes and rushed the woman, whose wooden blade slid up effortlessly and guided the heavy axe off to the side. Her blade whipped up along the shaft of the axe, smashing the player’s fingers, and the man released the weapon with a yelp of pain, darting back and shaking his hand.

  “You have dropped your weapon, and you have no spare,” the guardswoman shook her head. “As I am still armed, I believe that we can both agree that I have won this match.”

  “Not yet!” the big man shouted, leaping toward the smaller woman, his arms outstretched. Aranos winced as Saphielle stepped into the rush, halting the man’s charge by slamming her right elbow into his chest. There was a sickening crack as the Warrior literally flew backward several feet, crashing heavily to the ground. The Lieutenant, who simply looked bored through all this, may have been small in stature, but she was enormously strong.

  When it was obvious that her opponent had no intention of getting up again, she turned to look at the others. “Lord Evenshade has asked me to instruct you as a favor,” she told them, her voice ringing across the suddenly quiet courtyard. “Know that I have no interest in whether you live or die, and so whether you wish my instruction or not makes very little difference to me.”

  She walked over and nudged the fallen and barely conscious Traveler with her foot. “However, if you choose to take my instruction, you will follow my orders. If you do not, I will punish you. If you challenge my authority, I will beat you, and I will do it without thought for your pride or dignity. If this is unacceptable to you, walk away now.”

  There was some grumbling among the players at her words, but the beaten Warrior hauled himself painfully to a sitting position, his hand on his chest, and looked at the woman wonderingly. “How did you do that?” he asked her. “Was that an Ability?”

  “Indeed,” she nodded. “That was the Shield Charge Ability.”

  “That’s not possible!” one of the players yelled out. “You weren’t even holding a shield, and you can’t use Shield Charge that way!”

  Saphielle turned toward the speaker. “Would you like me to demonstrate upon you, so that you can see for yourself that, yes, it can be used that way?” she asked simply, no trace of sarcasm in her voice. When silence was the only response, she continued.

  “Our Abilities and Skills are gifts from the gods. At least, so the priesthood tells us, although I personally have my doubts. It does not matter if they are correct or not, though, because relying on these gifts is foolish and will get you killed.

  “You have seen that mindlessly banging your blades around will increase your Sword Mastery, and you think that this, alone, will be enough to see you through a battle. I assure you, though, that each level of Sword Mastery grants you only the barest competence with the blade. It does not teach you tactics or strategies; it allows you to use the sword, but it does not teach you how to use it well. That is what I will teach you. The sword, the spear, the axe; I can train you in these and make you better, smarter, more skilled, whatever level of Mastery you may gain. You need but be willing to learn, and to respect those with greater ability and skill than you. If you can do this, return to your drills. If not, leave now, and perhaps Lord Evenshade can find some mindless, manual labor for you. The choice is yours.”

  The Travelers grumbled, but they turned back to their mock combats, and Saphielle turned and nodded at Aranos. He grinned; she obviously had the group well in hand, and after that demonstration, he didn’t think the others would be too willing to challenge her. “We will start back at the beginning with the first form,” she announced. “It is the first because it is the most basic, and thus the most important. Into your stances!”

  Aranos grimaced silently. As much as he wanted to return to his training, that wasn’t likely to happen, from what he was seeing. If the brusque and commanding Lieutenant was having issues, he was certain that the others were probably having even more. Resigning himself to having to finish his training once the Travelers were seen to, he walked away from the militia training field over toward the archery range of his estate.

  As he neared the large branch where his Follower was teaching archery, he slowed his pace. He watched silently for a minute or so as the tall, muscular Geltheriel moved among her students, correcting their form and offering suggestions as they fired at distant targets. While the Travelers were still a bit unruly, they looked like they were paying far better attention than Saphielle’s wards had been. Aranos guessed that meant that he’d missed the part where Geltheriel had put the students in their places.

  “Control your breathing,” the golden-blonde woman instructed, her hair a bright contrast against her black, leather armor. “Do not hold your breath, or you will pass out. Or I should say, you will pass out again. Sight the target. And by the Light, do not check your notifications after each shot!”

  Aranos grinned; he had the opposite problem, in that he often held off longer than he probably should to check notifications, but for some of these players, the Skill gains they were getting now were probably more than they’d received the entire rest of their time in the game. Geltheriel was skilled with the bow, and her instruction was certainly helping them a lot more than simply practicing on their own would do. He guessed that at the end of their training session, most of these players would see their Bow Mastery Skill go from Untrained to Trained, which would provide them with a much bigger boost to damage than gaining a level or two in the Skill. He got why they were checking their notifications, but Geltheriel was right; it was a bad habit to get into.

  As she saw him, a sly grin crossed her face. “For those of you who were doubting how beneficial my instruction might be,” she called to the others, “you should know that my Oathbinder counts among my students. Perhaps he will show you a small demonstration of what you may one day be capable of accomplishing. Oathbinder?”

  Aranos sighed; the woman knew he hated showing off his Skills. He was Expert-ranked in Arcane Archery – in fact, he was Expert rank 10, the highest Expert rank, although he didn’t think he was going to reach the Master ranks any time soon – but that
had nothing to do with Geltheriel’s training. She’d given him one lesson and quickly realized that all he needed was practice, since he’d been granted his abnormally high Skill level as a sort of Quest reward. He knew how to shoot a bow with expert precision, but he had no real practice actually doing it.

  Still, all the Travelers were staring at him, now, so he didn’t really have much choice in the matter. If he didn’t perform, it would weaken her authority over the players; if he did, it would cement that authority. She knew that, as well as knowing how much it would annoy him to be put in that position, which was of course the main reason she did it. Geltheriel was his Follower, but she never passed up a chance to tweak him a bit.

  He slowly reached back and removed his Bow of Fire and Ice, one of the items he’d Enchanted with his High Enchantment Skill. Although he could fire arrows of pure mana, air, water, fire, ice, or radiant energy, he knew that anything he did with those would look like an Enchantment, not his own skill. Instead, he strung the bow and pulled out a normal, non-magical shaft. “What’s my target?” he called out to the crowd.

  Various suggestions were offered, from the most distant human-shaped archery target to an apple on someone’s head – the person whose head was offered seemed less than enthusiastic about that idea – but Geltheriel silenced them all with an upheld hand. She reached into the money pouch at her side, reminding Aranos once more that, for whatever reason, she held all of their money and he was basically broke at any given moment, although thanks to the House screen at least he knew that he had 138 platinum links to his name – and pulled out a bronze disc, the most basic unit of currency. The disc was the size of a silver dollar and gleamed orange in the light, but at this distance, Aranos had to squint slightly to see it.

  “Shall we also see how your Perception training has been working, Oathbinder?” she yelled with a grin. “If you miss, I will be sure to let Jhaeros know that perhaps he has been lax!” Aranos groaned under his breath; Jhaeros, the old, elf trainer that had been working with Aranos on his physical Stats and Perception, was an admitted sadist who took great pleasure in seeing Aranos suffer. He would relish any excuse to make the Sorcerer’s training even harder than it was, simply for his own amusement.

  Aranos fitted the arrow and took a wide stance as the woman reached down and tossed the gleaming coin up into the air. His bow rose almost instinctively, and he pulled the string hard against his cheek, sighting quickly along the shaft. The Shadedancer was strong, much stronger than Aranos, and she tossed the coin at least twenty feet into the air, but it was spinning and wobbling unsteadily as it flew. Aranos ignored all of that and let his body and mind do the work. He felt the moment he should release and loosed his arrow, quickly doubling it into two in midair with his Multishot Ability. Before the arrow had gone far, he summoned an ice arrow and released it, as well, cloning it into three separate arrows as it flew.

  The mundane arrow struck the coin with a high-pitched ring of metal, knocking it higher into the air where its clone struck it again. The glittering coin dropped to the ground in front of Geltheriel, landing between her feet…and suddenly, the three ice arrows drove into the wooden ground, surrounding the coin in a nearly perfect triangle. There was a vast silence from the gathered players, while Geltheriel glanced down at the slowly melting ice arrows and then up at Aranos, her face deliberately unimpressed.

  “Holy shit!” The curse broke the silence as one, then the mass of players rushed forward to look at the coin. “Look at that…he hit it in the exact same spot with both arrows!” “Did you see how close those icicles landed to the coin? How did he know where it would land?” “How the hell did a fricking Wizard do that? He’s not even an Archer!”

  Aranos should have felt proud at the praise, but he only felt saddened. The Skill wasn’t his own, developed through long hours of practice and arduous training. It had belonged to Lythienne, the Last Sorcerer just as he was First Sorcerer, his mentor and guide when he first accepted his unique Class. She had sacrificed those memories to him willingly and made him an Expert archer and a Master tracker and herbalist in a single breath. He treasured those Skills, and they had saved both his and Geltheriel’s lives repeatedly, but he couldn’t take pride in them. They weren’t his accomplishments to claim.

  “You have a long, long way to go to reach that level,” Geltheriel instructed, turning away from Aranos to face her students. “And it will only happen if you work hard, every day, starting with these simple targets and stances. As has been said, my Oathbinder is no Archer, so imagine what those of you who devote yourselves to this could someday do, if you are willing to work for it!”

  Excitedly, the Travelers returned to their places, carefully placing their feet and sighting on their targets as Geltheriel left them and walked over to Aranos’ side. “That was well done, Oathbinder,” she said approvingly. “The Sorcerer’s gifts continue to serve you well.”

  “That they do,” he nodded, not wanting to think long on that. He’d been forced to kill Lythienne – at least, the twisted, Corrupted thing she’d become – in order to free the Fallen Realm of Haerobel, and remembering what she’d become still pained him. “Hey, I need your help with this whole ‘Lord Evenshade’ thing.”

  “Of that I am certain,” she nodded with a grin. “As you have barely been able to navigate life in Eredain to this point, I do not know why the added complexity of becoming a noble would make things simpler.”

  “Hey, I’ve done okay,” he protested.

  “Things have turned out well,” she corrected. “That is not the same thing as your handling them well, as you are certainly aware.”

  He paused and considered her words for a moment before admitting that she was probably right. “Okay, yeah, you’ve got a point,” he said heavily. “And that’s why I want to talk to you. I feel like so far, I’ve been very reactive, and I don’t like that. When Gorrid challenged me to that stupid duel, I just ignored it. I didn’t make any plans to deal with it, or with him, or with his House. I had no idea what was happening in the city because I was too busy in the Blightlands and didn’t bother to gather the info I should have about Keryth. I might have saved everyone a lot of trouble if I had.”

  Geltheriel nodded. “That is certainly possible, Oathbinder. What will you do to remedy this, then?”

  “I need information about running a House, and you’re the only person I know who trained for it,” he smiled at her. “I don’t know anything about elven politics, what my duties as a House Patriarch are, or even what benefits and rights it gives me. I also have no staff or retainers and no idea how to find them.” He looked at her seriously. “I need help.”

  “And you shall have it, but I am not the best person to instruct you,” she replied, placing her hand on his shoulder. “I have been far removed from the games of Houses for too long to be of much use. I do, however, know of one who is an expert at such games, and who can teach you what you need to know.” She turned away and started walking back to her fledgling archers. “When I am done here, we will go to Uncle Durlan’s shop, Oathbinder.”

  “Durlan’s?” he repeated. “Is there a Skill book for this stuff?”

  “In all likelihood,” she shrugged. “But that is not the point. My uncle knows more of elven politics than I would learn in several lifetimes, and he will be of more use to you than ever I could. I will finish with this group – they have but another half hour to train – and we will go together.”

  And so, Aranos found himself an hour later standing before the diminutive but aged elf Durlan, Geltheriel’s uncle and owner of the most exclusive bookshop in Eredain, if not the Elven Realms, as Geltheriel explained the Traveler’s dilemma. Durlan listened attentively, asked a handful of questions about funds and how quickly the pair needed assistance, and had then shooed Aranos to the back rooms.

  “My niece and I will make these arrangements, as we have far more experience in such,” the shopkeeper had assured him. “You will serve best by spending this time train
ing your Skills, especially those that will aid the marvelous fenrin that you have returned to our world.” Durlan had a soft spot for Silma, whose race had been lost to the world since the Feast of Virnal, when the Dark gods unleashed a literal Hell on Earth and had broken the power of the Kingdoms of Light. Silma had elected to remain back at the estate – with her new size, traveling through the Stronghold was a bit difficult and also attracted a great deal of attention – and Durlan seemed disappointed that the fenrin hadn’t come along.

  “I really think I should learn how to do this stuff,” Aranos had protested. “I’m supposed to be the Lord, after all, and it makes sense that I should be able to run the daily activities of my House, right?”

  “In fact, that would make very little sense, Traveler,” Durlan chuckled drily. “Do you truly believe that the Patriarchs of the Houses handle such mundane details as managing a staff, ordering foodstuffs, and maintaining their estates? That is the purpose of hirelings: you will pay others to do this for you, which will free you to pursue the activities that will grow your power and your House’s influence.”

  Aranos frowned but nodded as he realized that made more sense than trying to handle everything by himself. He’d drive himself crazy trying to do everything, and his progression as a Sorcerer would probably grind to a halt. The issue, as he saw it, was that he needed to hire people he could trust – Exxidor’s betrayal had proven that elves, like humans, could fall prey to ambition and pride – and he had no idea how to find them, and he told the pair as much.

  “Yet, while you may not, Uncle Durlan has many connections and is skilled at such,” Geltheriel assured him. “I will act as your agent, Oathbinder, and Uncle Durlan will guide me in who to approach and make sure that all arrangements made are fair and equitable. Your presence will not likely be needed, although certainly if it is, we will summon you immediately.”