I nodded and turned away. I needed to think without distractions. I turned into a door that was slightly ajar and, finding the room empty, shut the door behind me. I looked out the window at the busy street below and let my mind turn without direction for a few moments. A lot had happened all at once; I suddenly felt very tired. Maybe I could steal a few hours for a nap.
Suddenly, a powerful gust of wind came from behind me, knocking me to my knees. Turning and drawing my weapons, I faced what I thought must be some foe come to kill me: a man all in red armor like a samurai, and a long, black mustache hanging from above his lips. Yet he didn’t move toward me, but stared down at me with a severe expression.
“Who are you?” I demanded as I scrambled to my feet, then thought to check his stats.
Ha’Shur, God of Glory (Divine)
You must be a higher level to discern further information.
“You were supposed to accept!” the god thundered. His katana was still sheathed, but I didn't doubt he could whip it out at a moment's notice.
That wasn't what I'd expected him to say. Maybe something more Inigo Montoya: You killed my father. Prepare to die. “Accept what?”
“Fool! What else? Become a captain of the mercenaries!”
My mind finally caught up with the situation. "You're the god who made it happen."
“We all contributed. But I am in charge of this trial. The Trial of Glory.”
“This is the beginning of it?” I asked incredulously. Maybe I hadn't caught up completely with what was going on here.
"Yes! Have I not already said so? You are a slow learner, I see." Ha'Shur stared down at me with a disapproving frown. "Hardly suitable for Absalom's Champion."
He could join the line of people who thought so, me among them. But since it seemed I didn't get a vote in the matter, I wasn't going to take more smack from this god than I had to. "Fine. No problem. I'll accept Brandeur's offer and start the trial."
The samurai god muttered something, then disappeared in another torrent of wind. Knocked on my bum this time, I nursed my wounded pride for a moment before striding back into the hall.
"Back so soon?" Malik asked acidly as I went up to the double doors.
I ignored him and entered within. Brandeur and his women had put their activities on hold, and the Ignoble captain was pouring himself some wine. He looked up at my entrance with a hopeful look. "Well?"
I withheld a sigh. “I'll do it. I'll be your captain.”
“Excellent! A toast to a long and profitable career!” Brandeur held up his goblet and, with a grin, drank back the whole thing.
I arched an eyebrow. He hadn't offered me any.
“Oh, and one other thing,” he said as he wiped his mouth. “We’re heading into a war with those frogs out east. Hope you're ready to do some commanding, Captain!”
New quest: The Second Trial: Trial of Glory (Lvl ???) [Absalom] [Ebretin] [Noble Ignobles] - Repel the Naiads of the Cerulean Empire before they invade Stalburgh and the Human kingdom of Ebretin. Oh, and do it with both hands tied behind your back!
Reward: +200,000 XP (+10,000 XP, +10,000 XP, +10,000 XP), increased alignment with Absalom, increased alignment with Ebretin, increased alignment with Noble Ignobles
*This quest is part of a series of quests: Absalom’s Trials. Failing any one of the Trials will result in permanent death by being sent to Faze-Aught.
My jaw dropped. “What?” was all I could think to say.
The Satyr clapped me on the shoulder. “Welcome to war.”
What the hell had I gotten myself into this time?
11
War Council
I met the other captains of the Noble Ignobles a couple hours later. Once urchins like Tip had rounded them up from the various brothels and bars around Stalburgh, they slouched into the war tent they’d erected outside the city. The Ignobles had camp set up on the northeastern side of Stalburgh where a short cliff overlooked the eastern road into the woods and the most direct path to the Naiads. It looked like a strategic position as much as I understood war strategy, but that was just the thing — I didn't know strategy. Even after my working through the Fralishk problem, my skill was still level 1. What the hell the Pantheon — or Absalom — was thinking putting me second-in-command here, I had no idea.
I now stood at the shoulder of Brandeur Three-Horned while the last of the captains entered. Even though he was out of bed, the Captain of Captains hadn’t opted to don a shirt. At least he wore a leather kilt over a chainmail skirt. I stood at his shoulder, so when he raised his goblet full to the brim of mead, I got a good dousing, as did the huge map of Kalthinia that was spread out on the circle table before us. From the patchwork of stains, it wasn’t the first time it had been spilled on.
“Gentlemen and scholars!” Brandeur Three-Horned greeted them. “Countrymen and cocksmen! Welcome, my captains, to the war table!”
The gathered men chortled and cheered. All twelve of his captains were male except for one. I was surprised even one could weather the gaudy jokes thrown around here. There were a number of Humans, a few Satyrs and Devalyn, one Gnarish, and even one Drakon, who stood stoically in the corner, eyeing the rest with a sulky glare. Or maybe that was just how humanoid reptiles looked. An assorted bunch, united mostly by rough aspects and crass manners. Examining their stats, I found most were in the low to mid 20s. I was the lowest level of them, as well as the youngest.
Brandeur drained his cup and slammed it on the table. “You know why we're here. The frogs are headed this way in droves, and we’re to stop them from laying their eggs all over Ebretin. King Fredrick himself has charged the Ignobles with the defense of Stalburgh — with our great duke overseeing from his dinner table, of course.” Brandeur picked up a pointing stick by his hand and indicated the city near the center of the map. “We’re the first bastion of civilization in the kingdom, and this is where the King wants us to hold the line. Any questions?”
“Yeah,” one of the biggest and baldest Humans asked. “Why are you repeating things any street-side whore knows?”
The Satyr thrust a thumb back at me. “For the new guy. Everyone, meet Marrow. I brought him onboard and put him above all you lowlifes, because frankly, I don’t trust a’one of you, and he has a knack for survival.”
The mood of the war council shifted immediately. I tried not to let my severe countenance falter as a dozen different people scrutinized me with blatant disapproval.
It was the Drakon who spoke out against me first. “Has he proven himself?” he hissed.
“That's what war is for! To separate the men from the boys.” He reached around and seized me by the arm, pulling me forward and nearly yanking my arm out. It was rough enough to ding my health. Fickle gods, but the Satyr was strong!
But if I wanted my authority to mean anything, I couldn't hide behind Brandeur this whole trial. I had to assume that like the last trial, I wouldn't succeed without some serious strategy and effort. Time to show up.
I pushed the Satyr's big hand away and straightened. “You don't know me. You haven't seen what I've accomplished or who I am. I don't blame you for not trusting me, or for being skeptical. I'm young, and you assume inexperienced. But I'll tell you: I've seen the enemy. I know how they operate. And under our captain’s leadership, I swear I’ll do everything I can to make sure we beat them.”
I glanced down at Brandeur, signaling the end of my short speech. The Satyr nodded, seeming almost thoughtful for once, then slammed a hand on the table. “There you go! He’ll be useful at least for fine words, eh?”
I kept my face composed. My words had seemed to have made some impact on my fellow captains for a moment, but that dissipated when Brandeur undermined me. What the hell was all my charisma for if it did me no good in situations like this? Sure, they were all already dead-set against me, but it would have been nice if the game worked with me a bit.
“Fine words,” the same Human as before said. “Just what we need. Maybe he can fight with th
ose fine words, eh?”
“How about we talk logistics,” I said, pointedly ignoring the barb.
Brandeur grinned with the rest of them, but he nodded. “Sure, logistics. How about you enlighten us as to what the hell those are.”
Me? The least seasoned of them all, and he calls on me. This should have been called the Trial By Fire instead.
Before I went and tried to spin out some crap plan, I needed more information. “The enemy. Do we know how many soldiers are coming? And calvary — are they riding horses? And siege weapons—”
“Wait,” the quarrelsome man interrupted. “Did you just suggest Naiads ride horses?”
I paused, fearing the worst, and looked around. The other captains grinned wickedly as well, except for the Drakon, but he was no help; his expression was as severe as always. “Not calvary exactly,” I hedged. “But they have their turtle creatures, and the walking seal things—”
Brandeur patted my arm. “That's enough, my boy,” he said with exaggerated kindness. “We know what you mean, even if you say it remarkably poorly. And I thought you had a silver tongue! Reports are still coming in, but we think the frogs field ten thousand infantry, plus hundreds of siege weapons pulled by these, as you say, turtle creatures.”
Ten thousand. It was a dizzying number, most especially when you were one of the people in charge of bringing them down. “And how many do we have?” I asked, trying not to let my uncertainty come through.
“Us? Well, what do you say boys?” the Satyr queried. “A thousand of us, and three thousand of the rank and file?”
“Jakad’s company split,” one of the captains said. “So minus forty.”
“Ah. There you are, Marrow — three thousand, nine hundred and sixty men and women, more or less. Now if they’ll be in a fighting state or falling over themselves drunk when it comes to the battle, we’ll just have to see.”
There was no way I could do this. They had over twice the men, better fighters, and no doubt better organization and leadership. They couldn't have worse than us at least. But what else could I do but try? Otherwise, I guess I'd face real death in Faze-Aught. And I doubted there'd be redos like in the Trial of Devotion; it wasn’t likely they’d stage a battle over and over just for me. Here, I just had the one shot.
I forced myself to breathe, but my mind was spinning too much to work things through just then. “I'm going for a walk to think things over,” I announced, then promptly walked out of the war tent.
The jeers went up immediately. “Think things over, eh?” the Gnarish captain sneered. “I’ll bet you’ve been thinking about how to scram ever since you first got in here, eh?”
I ignored them all and kept walking, though I did shove the tent flap a bit more than I had to. It was worse than a locker room for a geek in there. Still, there was nothing I could do but think my way through this. Time to hope another brilliant insight was on the horizon.
Somehow, I didn’t think it’d be that easy.
12
Reunion
I wandered aimlessly through the war camp. The mercs were a ragged bunch, that was for sure. Armor mismatched, weapons dented and notched, uniforms stained and crumpled. To say nothing of their manner. I got the stink-eye more times than I could count, and for doing nothing more than walking.
Their cleanliness, too, was abysmal. If they'd been a real army, dysentery would have taken half of them by now. Guess that was one way being in a game gave NPCs a little easier of a life, even if for the most part players came along and disrupted things, usually by bringing them to a brutish end.
Which made me think… I hadn't seen my fellow players lately. Where were Sheika and Gorget? Come to think of it, I hadn't seen any other players that I knew of in Stalburgh. Maybe I just couldn't distinguish them from the rest of the populace, but it was a bit eerie to think about.
Because here was the thing: If The Everlands was getting shut down, the players would be the first thing to go.
I was stuck in the game; surely a lot of people knew about it. By now, the VR parlor staff would have alerted my parents of it, and likely the devs as well. Was it a big enough incident to warrant closing out all other players? Would they consider shutting down the game with me still in it? And what would that do to me?
And an even more chilling question: Could they even do it at this point? Absalom clearly had extensive control of the game. It could be that short of pulling a literal plug, the god-child could find a way to keep the game going. He had beyond human intelligence, something the developers couldn't have planned for when they made the game.
And then there was the “Father” Absalom spoke of, who had pull even on the god-boy. If this Father was even real.
But I couldn't worry about what Abe might do at this point. I had to worry about what he would do if I didn't pass the second trial.
I knew what I didn’t have going for me, but I had to figure out my strengths. Sure, I needed to shore up the weak points of our defenses, but that wouldn’t win us the battle. We had to lean into what we already had going for us.
I knocked the ole noggin around as I continued to walk the camp and avoid the criss-crossing latrines on my path. First thing was we had a real-life human — me — on one side. That probably meant I’d have a bit more mental flexibility than the NPCs, as I wasn’t acting out the character I’d been assigned. Of course, they could always just be programmed to be better at this than me, but I could hope at least.
Second: we had the defensive position. Stalburgh didn’t have high walls — only thirty feet or so — and they weren’t the thickest either, but it was more than the enemy had. We also had the high ground if they came through the forest, the most direct path from J’anteau and the Cerulean Empire. If they went around, we’d lose the advantage of the cliff and height in general. I’d have to prevent that somehow.
Third… was there a third? I couldn’t think of anymore. Two advantages, and one of them shaky — it wasn’t much. My optimism, buoyed by sheer willpower for so long, started to dip. I knew I had to get out of here. I couldn’t stand this smelly, awful camp a second longer.
I practically ran out, shame flushing my face as the mercs watched and smirked. If any of them recognized their new captain, this would be a hell of a first impression. But I didn't have the mental bandwidth to deal with that right now.
I found myself fleeing back into Stalburgh and wandering the streets at random, my thoughts spinning vaguely through my head so that I barely recognized them. I was a ball of anxiety unwinding. Why was this trial getting to me? It looked insurmountable, but so had the last one. Maybe it was the episode with Absalom. Or maybe it was this business with Faze-Aught seeming closer than ever.
When I looked up after a time, I found my feet had a destination after all. Farelle's old hut rose up before me. Strange to wish to see an NPC above anyone else. I definitely wanted to see my parents and hug them, but they only understood me as far as parents could. Farelle, on the other hand… she was a computer program, and she didn't even have a good conception of what Earth was. But I felt like she saw me for who I really was. The real me, maybe, or the best me. I wished I could have that again.
The door to the hut cracked open, and I watched it blankly. Had she left the door unlocked when we left on our adventure, and some hobo moved in? But as it opened further, I saw it wasn't any hobo at all. She stood there herself, petite but strong, clad in the familiar leathers of a Wilder. Her eyes were a sparkling green as the sunlight hit them, and her hair nut-brown and pleasantly curly around the two short horns on her head. Her hooves tapped on the ground as she took a few steps forward, then paused, mouth slightly parted to speak.
I was nearly speechless myself. “Farelle?”
The next moment, she'd thrown herself into my arms, and I was burying my face in her hair. She'd always had an intoxicating earthy smell to her, and I breathed it as I grinned.
But one thought interrupted the happiness of the reunion, and I pulled back. “I
was literally just wishing you'd be here, and here you are. But how? I thought you'd be back in Maluwae.”
She didn't let go of my arms, and still wore a fierce, small smile. Her eyes, however, looked the slightest bit uncertain as they flickered back to the hut. “I couldn't stay when I heard what you’re going through. These damn trials… You just had to go following will-o'-wisps, didn't you?”
“You know?” I said in astonishment. “About Absalom's Trials?”
She nodded.
“But how?”
She tossed her head with a coy smile. “I have my ways. But honestly, it was as simple as asking Yalua. She's quite talkative these days.”
Yalua, Satyr goddess of the forests, had helped on my behalf. It was nice to think I had allies among the Pantheon. “But how did you know where to find me?”
“I'm a Wilder, Marrow. I'm supposed to be good at tracking!” She scuffed a hoof in the dirt. “But… I actually had help there too.”
I grinned. “Ooh, big bad Wilder, are we? Who helped this time?”
“Who else? Your little cat-crush.”
That caught me off-guard. “Sheika? You're saying Sheika's here?”
Farelle eyed me strangely. “Why would she not be here?”
That changed everything. If Sheika was here, that meant some players were still in. Best of all, it meant she’d kept her word about returning. But why? Why would anyone be allowed to log in? “How did she track me?”
Farelle shrugged. “Some magic of hers. I think she has a map that can follow her friends’ locations or something.”
Wait. Was there a player search feature I hadn't known about? I'd have to look into it later. In any case, it made a lot more sense how Sheika was able to show up just in time before like with the crag troll at Helene's Pass, and the resurrection shrine the first time we met.
Absalom’s Trials Page 10
