Absalom’s Trials

by J. D. L. Rosell

  The enchanter waited there for us, as did all our newly minted equipment. “Ah, there you are,” the painted woman said sweetly. “And here I thought you wanted them first thing in the morning?”

  “Thank you, Esperalda,” Sheika said stiffly, motioning for the rest of us to gather our gear.

  I'd already moved forward without prompting. After all, I was starting to get the uncomfortable feeling that Sheika felt that she was the leader of our party, something which I was not sure I was able to get behind. After all, I was the Catalyst, not her. Even if she had been a game dev at one point, I was the one who had to undergo Absalom's Trials and become his Champion. It only made sense that I was the leader and made the decisions.

  But I let the problem slip away for the moment as I picked up my gear with awe. Piece after piece had resistances that were perfect for fighting a dragon: 50% resistance to fire damage, 50% resistance to slashing damage, 50% resistance to influence magic… And with the enchantments on multiple items, the advantages stacked.

  Between my new channels and all this kick-ass gear, I was beginning to believe we just might be able to take Jin’Thal down. Looking around at my companions, my confidence only grew. Every one of us — from Farelle in red leather armor and a dragonbone bow in hand, to Sarai in her white robes shimmering with silver scales, to Sheika, dark and lithe as usual — looked ready for business.

  “Thanks, Esperalda,” I said with genuine feeling. “We'll keep our oath in mind.”

  The enchanter smiled wide. “I don't doubt you will.”

  With those last words ringing in our ears, we waded through the sea of cats and departed the strange shop.

  Despite all the shiny equipment we wore, our party’s mood had grown more somber by the time we stepped off the magic carpet. All our errands had been handled. Now only the job lay before us.

  “Well,” Farelle said hollowly. “I guess we just have to kill an elder dragon now.”

  I swallowed. “Yup.”

  Sheika looked between us with narrowed eyes. “Oh, come on, shape up. Especially you, Golden Boy — you’re supposed to be the one who slays it.”

  Maybe it was just the mood that had fallen over me, but her words irked me. “Easy for you to say. Even with all you’ve told us, you’re really the only one who knows what to expect.”

  “You think it’s better knowing what we’re up against?” She snorted. “You have no idea.”

  “That’s kind of my point.”

  “I’m not your cheerleader, Marrow. I’m here to make sure you get the job done.” She looked down the street. “Speaking of which, we’d better get going.” She started to walk off.

  I shared a confused look with Farelle. “Uh, I don’t think we’re walking there, Sheika.”

  She turned back and cocked a hand on her hip. “We’re walking to the mage’s shop. While you were acting like a kid in a candy store, I arranged for him to create a portal for us.”

  “But between both of us, we can teleport there,” I pointed out.

  “Actually, no. You can’t just teleport wherever you want; you can only teleport to places you’ve visited before.” She smiled slightly. “Besides, you might want to keep your teleport handy just in case we need to make a quick getaway.”

  It was a good point. The way I was feeling now, fleeing the dragon sounded like a distinct possibility. “Alrighty then. Let’s get going.”

  Even though it was now late in the morning, there weren’t nearly the crowds on Stalburgh’s streets that’d I’d come to expect. It gave me a nostalgic twinge in my gut. I’d played games before where the environment changed as the plot progressed, including one where a cataclysm came and decimated the place where you spent the whole first part of the game. There was always something sad about knowing a place wasn’t ever going to be the same, and it didn’t matter that it was just a game; it was still the same nostalgia.

  I turned my thoughts back to my problem of assigning points. For my status points, having already put 10 in spirit, I allotted 10 to health, 20 to stamina, and 20 to spirit. It killed me not to increase mana any further, but ever since my visit to the Night Sister, I realized I needed to specialize in one of the magics. By spreading my points over both mana and spirit, I would, in the long run, be weaker. And with the new channels I’d just learned and my ever-increasing relations with the gods, becoming the dark rogueish priest I’d originally intended seemed the ideal route.

  As for my attribute points, I largely followed what Sheika had advised, putting a whopping 12 points into fortitude to bring up my previously dun trait to 22. Hopefully, with Sarai’s negation channel, it would put me beyond Jin’Thal’s thrall. I also bumped up my vitality by 4 so I would be a bit hardier. But my real plan was to avoid getting hit in the first place, so I put 4 points in agility as well. No matter how good my armor and vitality was, if I took a hit from an elder dragon, I wasn’t sure I would survive. Last, to ensure my channels had the best chance to pierce the dragon’s hide, I put my last 4 points into belief. Annoyingly, it still wasn’t as high as my charisma. I’d have to amend that the next level up.

  Dismissing the overlay, I saw we had turned down the last desolate street before the mage’s shop. Suddenly, hooves came clopping toward us from behind. I tensed and turned with my hand on my sword, expecting to see a horse and rider galloping up the street.

  Instead, it was none other than Brandeur Three-Horned, panting and looking as out of sorts as I’d ever seen him. As usual, he wore no shirt, revealing numerous cuts and bruises underneath the curly hair that spread over his body. His pants were torn and bloodied at the knees, and his falchion, bumping along on his hip, dripped red.

  The oversized Satyr came to a halt before us and bent over wheezing. “Captain Marrow!” he said between gasps. “I finally found you!”

  I blinked. “You’ve been looking for me?” I was also stunned to hear him call me captain still. I hadn’t exactly been around since the battle, nor had I done much to ensure the success of the Noble Ignobles during it.

  “Yes!” The Captain of Captains’ eyes bulged as he looked up. “I need to ask a favor, good man! Can you grant me one favor?”

  I hadn’t much seen this needling side of the usually brash Satyr, and I didn’t care for it. “Brandeur Three-Horned,” I said in a stern voice. “You’re acting like a fool. Straighten up and tell me what’s the matter.”

  My act didn’t have quite the effect I had hoped for. Brandeur bent fully double again, but this time with helpless laughter. “There he is!” he wheezed through chuckles. “The man who inspired the coup that would unman me!”

  “Coup? What coup?”

  “What coup? Ah, if you’d only been around, Marrow.” Chuckles still attacking him, Brandeur stood up straight and looked me in the eye. “Arala took them away from me. There before all the other captains, she challenged me and walloped me, then sent me scrambling from the camp!” The laughter bubbled back up in him again, and his head lolled forward. “I’m just Brandeur Two-Horned now.”

  I reached up and awkwardly patted his shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll get your manhood back. Metaphorically. If she literally unmanned you, though…”

  He waved his hand. “No, no, all metaphor. Though I have literally been deposed.”

  Sheika stepped forward. “We don’t have time for this. Sorry and all that for your troubles, but we’re leaving now.”

  The Satyr perked up. “Leaving? Perfect! I’ll travel with you for a time.”

  As he strutted up beside us, I shared a look with Sheika. “He could be useful,” I muttered. “Just look at the size of him.”

  “He’s always struck me as more of a coward than a fighter,” Sheika whispered back. “But I suppose at the very least, we can use him as a distraction. I think they used goats for luring dragons in the darker fairy tales.”

  “They used what?” Farelle had popped into the conversation.

  “Er, nothing.” I quickly turned to Brandeur. “Looks like you’re i
n!”

  “Excellent!” the Satyr boomed. “So, where are we going?”

  I grinned. “Just you wait and see.”

  I left Brandeur to try and pry answers from Sarai as we walked the last stretch to the mage’s shop. The former captain of the Ignobles only grew more confused when we entered in.

  “Never much cared for magic myself,” he muttered to me. “A sharp sword and a strong arm always better served me.”

  “Didn’t you just get ousted from your own mercenary company?”

  He didn’t have a reply to that but turned away muttering back to the Devalyn priestess. They quickly seemed to be forming a bond. I wasn’t sure what to make of that.

  Sheika went up to the mage, and after the suspicious man ran his eyes over all of us, he huffed and turned away. “Follow me,” he called irritably behind him.

  The mage led us to the backroom, where what looked like the frame to a huge mirror was set up in a circular chamber. The portal, I didn't doubt.

  “None of you have any combustion enchantments on you, do you?” The mage stared at each of us accusingly.

  “The mangy dog,” Brandeur muttered behind me. “As if I'd soil my hand with coward’s magic.”

  Considering what we were up against, I wished I had a few combustion-enchanted items at the moment, coward's magic or not.

  The wizard glared at Brandeur then turned to Sheika. “Stand back,” he said gruffly. “This will take a moment to activate.”

  Sheika obliged, and the mage raised his hands before the empty space in the frame. He began muttering, his voice rising and falling in nonsense syllables, and his fingers waggling. In the real world, he looked exactly like a crazy person who thought he could do magic might. But here, wisps of violet light began to stream from his fingers, forming into threads like spider's silk. Slowly, the threads made their way into the frame and began to fill it, forming a thick, opaque surface that gleamed like oily pearls.

  When the frame had filled, the mage stepped back and swayed, blinking rapidly before rubbing at his eyes. “It's complete. Now go so I can seal it and not bring anything back through.”

  “Bring anything back through?” Brandeur asked, looking to each of us in turn. “Where exactly are we going again?”

  I grabbed his arm with a winning smile as nerves assaulted my stomach. “You first, oh Captain, my Captain.” Then with a strength I didn’t know I possessed, I hauled the big Satyr through the portal. He roared as he went through it, the sound cutting off as the oily magic sucked him up.

  I shrugged at the rest of them. “Doesn’t look like he exploded. I guess we’re good.”

  Sheika rolled her eyes. “Let’s go, Golden Boy. Before our big-mouthed friend announces our arrival to Jin’Thal.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. Without giving myself another chance for doubts, I turned and stepped into the frame.

  As expected, the magic clung to me as I stepped through it, somewhere between sticky and oily. I had to fight to get through it, blind and senseless. It felt like I was running through a pool of sap.

  But finally, the inky blackness of the portal yielded to the world on the other side. As I fully stepped through the portal, I had no time to take in my surroundings beyond the intense heat, for a pair of massive hands gripped me by the front of my hauberk and hauled me into the air.

  “Just where in all the blasted Everlands are we?” Brandeur hissed at me, his face twisted with more fear and fury than I’d ever seen in him. “This place has a dark feeling to it. Way more magic than I signed up for, Captain.”

  “I’m not a captain to you any longer,” I said calmly, making no attempt to release myself. “And you should ask where you’re going when you hitch a ride.”

  “I thought—” he began to protest.

  “Just put me down, Brandeur. If you want to go, the portal will hold.” I grinned. “I think.”

  The Satyr eyed the portal, which hovered midair in an indistinct cloud without a frame to bind it. “Perhaps,” he muttered darkly.

  We both jumped a bit as Farelle emerged. She appeared more gracefully and prepared than I had, immediately falling into a crouch with her dragonbone bow in hand, her new strength buffs allowing her to half-draw it and keep it at the ready. “This looks even worse than I imagined,” she observed, rising slowly.

  I found I agreed. Around us, a ruined ancient village made of blackened stone huddled against the fierceness of the surrounding terrain. And what a place it was. Sulphur rose between the cracks in the rocky ground, giving the air a smell of rotten eggs left too long on the burner. Though it was daytime in this place as well, ash clouds hovering above us cast the world in an unhealthy orange light, like we'd not just traveled to a different part of Kalthinia, but to a plane of hell. Flecks of gray ash blew like leaves in the hot winds surrounding us. And how hot they were — the sweltering air settled on us like wool blankets in summer, with all the humidity of the Mired Copses thrown in.

  And above us, atop the high cliffs of the mountain peak, loomed the ruined castle where Jin'Thal waited.

  As I scanned the area, Sheika and Sarai entered through as well. I watched, forlorn, as the portal dissipated into thin air. Next to me, Brandeur muttered and cast his eyes about mistrustfully, a hand resting on the hilt of his large curved blade.

  Sheika inhaled deeply. “Ah! The smell brings back good memories.”

  “You're a sick person, you know that?” I observed.

  “I do,” she said primly, then pointed up. “But you'll have to put up with me a bit longer. Looks like our Broodmother isn't too old to make babies after all.”

  I whirled as I drew my new sword, the weight balanced but still unfamiliar in my hand. Approaching from the old castle, a dozen black silhouettes steadily grew larger, first the size of seagulls, then eagles, then approaching small propeller planes.

  Jin’Thal wasn't called Broodmother for nothing.

  “What are our chances against those dragons?” I asked Sheika nervously.

  “If we blow all our items now to keep alive? Slim.”

  My sword was sheathed before she finished. “Run!” I shouted. “We have to make it to the castle!”

  Around me, my party sprang into action. But as the wyverns neared, I feared it was far too late. They were too fast and too many. And we expected to be able to defeat one that was supposed to be ten times the size of any one of those.

  The Trial of Courage wasn’t off to a promising start.

  28

  Unruly Children

  Thus began a terrifying game of cat-and-mouse. Or, to be more accurate, dragon-and-tasty-humanoids.

  “Duck!” I shouted at Farelle as one wyvern dove toward her, its mouth gaping open and yellow fire building in its throat.

  The Wilder kicked into gear, just reaching a low stone wall before the dragon unleashed its breath. It was terrifying sight: not only a plume of fire projecting fifty feet down in a mind-bogglingly straight line, but it hit with the impact of a dozen sledgehammers. I winced as stone fragments kicked up around my companion and flames licked over the top.

  But I had my own problems. Another of Jin'Thal's brood was bearing down on me, its scales as red and angry as boils. Its black reptilian eyes glared down at me as it pulled up short and aimed its maw filled with fire at me. Cursing, I channeled, hoping it would work as I hoped.

  As soon as I thought of the channel in my mind, I was immediately thrust into a gray world, all color leached from it. Across my shoulders lay a cloak both as light and heavy as darkness can be. Not about to waste the steep cost of Shadow Mantle, I started sprinting away from where the dragon still aimed its fire. Even with my increased movement, I only barely made it out of the way.

  I stole inside a ruined house just as the channel ended and the world once again appeared in color, the cloak formed of shadows shredding away. I shuddered as dragons screamed outside, their fury and delight in chasing us seeming too sentient for comfort.

  But I couldn't linger. We h
ad to make it to the castle, and I had to make sure everyone made it with me. That included Sheika and myself as well. If either of us died, I had no idea which resurrection shrine we’d appear at, or if we'd be able to return to help in time.

  Steeling my nerves, I turned out of my temporary shelter and back into the ashy outside. I immediately spotted one of my companions in trouble: Sarai had wedged herself in a crack to escape the claws of a dragon, but had left herself vulnerable to its gathering breath. Without hesitation, I ran toward them and cast Blizzard. As icy crystals began pelleting the dragon and slowing it and tamping down its breath, I ran into the midst of my spell and, untouched by the magic, threw myself on the wyvern to stab into it with my sword.

  The ironcore blade was every bit as effective as I’d hoped. If it wasn't as easy as cutting through butter, it wasn't much harder than cutting through crusty bread with a dull knife. The wyvern screamed as my sword stabbed through its scales and into its spine near the base of its tail, thrashing its body to dislodge me. Unable to jump free, I clung desperately to the hilt. It was the most insane bull ride I could imagine.

  “Calm,” a resonant voice commanded. My muscles slackened before I found the will to resist. Fortunately, the dragon didn't possess the same presence of mind. For a moment, it ceased struggling, long enough for me to draw my sword from its back and leap free.

  But no sooner had I opened the wound afresh did the dragon break free of Sarai’s thrall and renew its attack, this time all of its attention aimed at me. With both my mana severely flagging and my spirit half gone, I knew better than to think I could win this fight. But with my companion still pinned down, I knew I had to try.

  “Run!” I shouted at Sarai, then rolled out of the way as the dragon swiped at me. My agility proved true, and the attack missed. But another strike swiftly followed the first, and soon I found I was in a deadly dance with an opponent with far greater reach, strength, and stamina than myself. My only advantage was speed, and that I had only for so long.