by J. T. Wright
The second floor wasn’t going quite as well. Mostly, because Kirstin was still distracted. As party leader, she should be sharp, clear-headed, and aware of her surroundings, but something was digging into her, like a thorn under her armor, and she couldn’t focus. This floor was still goblins, but here they worked in pairs and sometimes groups of up to five. Still, not truly dangerous, but you had to pay attention if you didn’t want a knife in the back.
It was always strange to her that the Dungeons, as Adventurers preferred to call the Trials, even had goblins. They were an intelligent race, after all. Sure, there were wild goblin tribes that raided more civilized areas, but there was also at least one goblin kingdom that their own kingdom traded with. She’d read about it somewhere, and hadn’t she seen a goblin Adventurer in the Guild before? She wondered how they felt clearing the first two floors. She’d also heard tales of Dungeons with human monsters, and it wasn’t killing humans that made her want to avoid those Trials, it was...
This really isn’t the time for these thoughts, she reminded herself, too late. They were facing six goblins now. Four warriors and two archers. Everyone else was doing their job quite well.
Dirk, the party’s Defender, had drawn the warriors in and was easily holding them off. The goblins’ low levels and weak weapons weren’t even able to scratch his enchanted armor. They were moving too fast for him to catch with his war hammer, but his Enraging Aura Skill kept them from moving past him. A lot of Defenders didn’t care for Enraging Aura, as it could draw a lot of attention quickly, and the unprepared could be overwhelmed.
Dirk thought it was perfect for these early levels. Bring ‘em in quick, finish ‘em quick! Though, this would be a better motto if he could swing his war hammer fast enough to hit more than air. Fortunately, his shield was nimble enough, keeping them back and in position for the faster moving damage dealers.
Joel, the archer, was dueling with his goblin counterparts and had already taken out one goblin archer with a well-placed shot to the throat. He currently had another arrow nocked and was just waiting for the other goblin archer to pop up.
Lyra was watching closely, in case a goblin got in a lucky hit, and Mathias was ready to fry any that got past Dirk, or possibly that last archer if he had a clearer shot.
That left Kirstin and Allen. They both preferred swords. Kirsten, a Duelist’s rapier, and Allen, a plain longsword. In this formation, which was, in all honesty, their only well-practiced formation, Allen would move on Dirk’s right, Kirstin on his left, and with a couple of quick thrusts, the warriors would be down. Then the archer would soon be cornered.
Allen was moving to do his part just fine, matching his movements to Kirstin’s so they would strike at the same time. Kirstin seemed to be doing her part perfectly, as well. Her sword was steady, her steps smooth, and then an irritation and a stray thought about goblin kingdoms popped into her head. Distracted, her left shoulder caught on something sticky, and she was yanked to a stop, tripping, but not falling.
Allen kept moving forward, oblivious, and a second later, the first goblin warrior fell to a flashing blade. The others hopped backward, defensively, dodging Dirk’s war hammer and concentrating all their attention on Allen. Normally, at this time, Kirstin’s rapier would settle two of them right away, maybe even all three. She may not be the swordsman Michael was, but she was fast.
This time she was staring up at the ceiling as a disgusting mass of legs and eyes bore down on her, spitting web and hissing. Oh! There are spiders on this level, aren’t there? Kirstin thought absently. Only instinct managed to get her blade between her face, the spit web, and the fangs of the two-footed arachnid whose trap she’d gotten caught in.
Dangling from a thread connected to the ceiling, the spider descended on the bemused young woman, sliding around her sword, the tip of which was now stuck to the tunnel wall, and hissed its war cry. That war cry cut off abruptly as an arrow slammed into the spider’s face. The momentum carried it into the wall with a crack, and then the spider was hanging from its own thread, killed by a quick-acting Joel.
Unfortunately, the goblin archer took this opportunity to fire at the still stuck Kirstin. Low-leveled dungeon monsters didn’t shoot the well-crafted flying death that higher leveled monsters and Adventurers used, but as Duelists wore little to no armor, the Goblin’s sharpened stick was more than enough to remind Kirstin why it was stupid to get distracted while delving. The arrow penetrated her shoulder easily and rocked her back on her heels. She screamed and would have fallen if she hadn’t been stuck to the thrice-damned wall! Joel immediately fired a shot at the goblin archer, but it was already ducking away, and his arrow bounced off stone uselessly.
The whole party found the situation bewildering. Did Kirstin just get injured on the second floor? Had that ever happened before? Dirk used Shield Bash to force two of the goblin warriors back and positioned himself to make it harder for the archer to get a shot at his leader. Allen darted forward to wound, but not finish, another warrior, and while they did so, the third goblin warrior, slipped free from Enraging Aura, around Dirk, and headed straight towards the stuck and screaming noblewoman.
A grin, too wide with too many teeth, under a nose that was too long and too green (from a human perspective), lit the goblins face as its rusty sword blade reached for the woman’s throat. Its beady black eyes scrunched up in shock and then horror as an ornate wooden staff slammed into its own throat. The Goblin screeched as flame erupted from the staff to melt its face. The small green warrior had been so close, but Matthias, the Flame Elementalist, had been just as close.
Lyra was a step behind him, her staff dispelling the web which held Kirstin in place. Her hand that should dispense mercy, roughly ripped the arrow from Kirstin’s shoulder and cast a healing Spell. It was probably Kirstin’s imagination, but the chant of Minor Heal sounded a lot like, “You idiot, how could you be so stupid?” It had to be her imagination; that wasn’t even the right number of syllables.
As the cool healing magic washed over her shoulder, Allen finished off the last two warriors, while Joel’s arrow finally finished his own archer’s duel. This was just the second floor! These were, at most, Level 13 goblins. There was no threat to be found here. If it wasn’t for the Duke’s ridiculous rule declaring they had to clear from the top each time, they would never set foot on the second floor. The loot and Experience weren’t worth it.
“Milady, are you alright?” Lyra asked in a neutral tone.
Kirstin was amazed again. How did the Healer do it? The words “idiot” and “stupid” weren’t even in that sentence, and yet they rang clearly in the now quiet Dungeon.
“I’m fine,” Kirstin said, sheathing her sword and touching the torn cloth where just moments before she hadn’t been fine.
“You’re sure?” Lyra questioned relentlessly. “You aren’t poisoned? Maybe you were poisoned earlier and didn’t tell me? Is that why your reactions and wits seem slow?” Lyra’s face was white. They had all been injured in the Dungeon at one time or another but not in a fight like this. This was closer to a death than they’d ever been before. A hand’s width and they’d be explaining to the Duke that her mistress and best friend...she didn’t want to think about it.
“I was distracted,” Kirstin mumbled. “Won’t happen again.”
The tunnel lapsed into silence. Allen scanned front and back in case more greenies showed up, but all eyes were on Kirstin. The party leader wasn’t allowed to be distracted. Even if they didn’t need her direction now, she still needed to be ready to give it. She should be the last one to need this much cover.
“It’s as much my fault as any,” Joel offered. “Where the hell did that web and spider even come from? I should have seen it.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” Allen said, still vigilant. “I’m the Scout here, it wasn’t there until it was. We’ve all seen it before. The Trial likes to toss shit like that at challengers who are in areas where they top the beasts by more than a bit. It k
eeps us on our toes.”
He spit and looked over his shoulder at Kirstin briefly. “And if you’re on your toes, you step around the web, give a warning so the party can adjust, kill the spider, and get on with life. You know, just like we have a hundred times before!”
“Well, maybe we’re a bit complacent today. We should have taken a few days off after the guardian.” Joel tried another tack after Allen shot down the last.
“Not we, Joel,” Kirstin said tiredly. She recognized and appreciated what he was trying to do but it wouldn’t help. “Me. I messed up. But it’s not complacency. I’m just distracted. I don’t know why.”
“If you’re this preoccupied on the second floor, then we need to pack it in,” Allen replied. “The Trial will be here another day.”
Kirstin sighed and nodded, and then flinched when Lyra added, “We’ll need to report the injury.”
Maybe it was time to move out of the Keep. If she moved out of the Keep, she wouldn’t need to report anything. Her father was going to make her wear armor after this. Armor! On a Duelist! It wasn’t unheard of, but it was rare enough that it would be gossiped about. Often, and loudly, all around the Guild, especially when Kirstin could hear. It was practically Guild law.
**********
Trent stared down at his new clothing. It had taken less than an hour, boots and all. Taylor had even made a belt. It was just a long strip of leather that he had attached a previously prepared buckle to and then punched a couple of holes in. It had only taken seconds, but Trent found it most impressive of all.
He found himself wearing a long-sleeved black shirt with silver accents that was tucked into loose-fitting (but not too loose, too loose is just another way of saying sloppy, so said the Tailor) trousers. The trousers themselves were snuggly held in place by that clever belt. Black leather boots hugged his feet securely. Taylor promised there would be room for his feet to grow, but that was due to the Well Fitted enchantment he’d worked into them. It wouldn’t last forever, but Trent wouldn’t need a new pair until he had grown more than a couple of inches.
Trent hadn’t worn the clothing he’d been summoned in long enough to know if they had been comfortable. He had no impression of them at all, but his new clothes felt good. Taylor had also explained how the minotaur hide would offer a certain amount of protection. Piercing and slashing…something…something. Honestly, Trent didn’t understand it. Hopefully, he would someday, but not today.
“Well, that’s all from me, lads,” Taylor said, packing up his material and equipment. The word “lads” managed to encompass both Trent and Michael, but it was entirely to Trent he said, “You remember to come and see me when you have the chance. I’ll have the rest of your clothing delivered, but you come and see me anyway. I might have a thing or two I can teach you.”
Trent nodded, bowing slightly in thanks to the old man. Michael thanked the Master as well and saw him to the door before he asked Trent, “What do you think?”
Michael’s question had mostly been about what Trent thought about Taylor and his offer. He, therefore, was at a loss for words when Trent replied, “I like socks.”
Trent for his part was also surprised. He meant to say belt. He accepted his statement faster than Michael did, though. He realized that he did like the socks. They were made from a smooth, warm fabric that cradled his feet in a very acceptable fashion.
Michael thought about asking a follow-up question but ultimately let it go. He studied Trent with an experienced eye and liked what he saw. Not quite the uniform of a servant or the uniform of a soldier, but somewhere in-between. The outfit was also rather more striking than the boy himself. Trent was extremely-ordinary looking, and anyone looking at him was bound to see the clothing and forget the boy, which would be for the best.
“If you’re ready, we’ll go get you evaluated.” With Trent’s nod, Michael led the way out of the barrack’s infirmary.
Michael thought Trent’s new clothing made him slightly less noticeable, and it occurred to him that that might have been a feature Master Taylor intentionality added. This was easily within the old man’s capabilities.
Michael still thought it best not to take chances. Boy and man, noble and soldier, he’d spent a good part of his life exploring the Keep. He knew the best way to get where he was going while avoiding attention. He could use the passageways that were supposed to be known only to his father, his brother Aaron, and himself. He could save time and run into no one. That would be a little overly cautious. Risking one secret to protect another wasn’t wise.
So, it took a bit longer, a bit more up and down travel, but in just under an hour, Michael brought them to their destination. Trent already looked somewhat tired. Not falling down exhausted, but after going up one staircase and down another, he could use a seat. They really needed to work on his Stamina. There would be a chair in his future soon enough.
Duke Lewis Al’dross always kept to a schedule. That schedule was only known to a handful of people who would be made aware of it the night before. But, if you knew his schedule, barring an emergency, you could always know exactly where the Duke was at any given moment with a high degree of certainty. Conveniently, the Duke’s schedule for the day had him spending most of the morning in his study. It was almost as if he knew his son would want to meet with him privately at that time, and he planned for it.
The antechamber to the Duke’s study was sparsely decorated. Two senior guardsmen armed with spears and short swords stood at attention beside the door, and to the side of the door was a desk for the Duke’s Adjutant. Two Pages to act as runners should have been present as well, but they must have been sent on errands.
There were no tapestries or paintings or comfortable chairs in the room. The decor said you showed up when you were supposed to, or you could stand quietly and think about your life’s choices.
Michael led Trent to the simple but expensive-looking desk, set to the right of the study’s door, and looked down on the sour-faced man that was seated behind it. Helmand was the Duke’s private secretary and adjutant. He was normally the soul of courtesy and, if his position had given him a slightly pompous air, it happened to the best of men when they were given the trust of those greater than themselves.
Helmand was a normal-enough looking man with dirty-blonde hair. Most found him intelligent looking. Michael found him greasy and never understood why his father kept him around. That was only his opinion, and he never spoke it out loud, but, nonetheless, he found the man hard to deal with.
Today, as Michael approached, Helmand pretended to be busy, shuffling papers about on top of the desk. That he had to pretend to be busy explained part of his sour mood. There was plenty that needed to be done. There always was, but for some reason, the Duke had canceled all his appointments and holed up in his study.
Michael waited patiently for Helmand to acknowledge him. He waited patiently for almost three whole seconds. After three seconds, he cleared his throat noisily while placing his hands on top of the desk and leaning forward to get the secretary’s attention.
“The Duke is indisposed. You may stand, over there,” Helmand said gruffly, pointing to a far corner. “I will call you when he is ready to see you.”
Michael blinked. He did not normally throw his weight around, not as Captain or Noble. He was beginning to think that that was a mistake. In this Keep, his authority was only below that of the Duke, his brother Aaron, who was the Duke’s heir, and a certain member of the Guard. There were a few others that held authority as high as his, where certain matters were concerned. He was not going to issue orders to the Head of Maids without good cause, for instance, but only three men in the Keep would think to order him about. Perhaps it was time to remind people of that.
The two Senior Guardsmen on duty brought themselves even further to attention if that were possible. You didn’t become a senior Guardsman without the Ability to judge an officer’s mood. They had a feeling Helmand was about to start wishing he had a similar Abilit
y.
“My father will see me now,” Michael said calmly.
“The Duke will see you, Captain, when he calls for you.” Helmand sneered. “If you wish to see him as family, then he sets aside an hour a....”
Helmand found it rather hard to speak as Michael’s left hand gripped him by the throat and lifted him from his seat. Michael considered the two slaps he delivered with his right-hand light taps. To the best of Michael’s knowledge, Helmand’s highest profession was a specialized version of Scribe or Secretary, and he held no Combat Class. It was best not to go too far.
To Helmand, those light taps felt like they had loosened a couple of teeth. His hands automatically grabbed at Michael ’s wrist, for all the good it did him. Iron would give way sooner. The secretary waited for the guardsmen to come to his aid, but somehow, they simultaneously came to the decision that their duty was guarding the Duke’s door and not his Adjutant.
Michael was a bit stunned by his own behavior. He was a young man with a young man’s temper, but he kept it in check well-enough. Violence was a crude tool that had no place in the Dukes Keep and yet…
“Now, my good Scribe,” Michael said ever so calmly, “I’m going to throw you to the side in a moment. You’re going to hit the ground and most likely slide into the wall. When you arrive at that point, I implore you to carefully consider a few things. Your first impulse may be to accuse me of overstepping my authority. This might be true, and you are free to do so. But think carefully.” Michael tightened his grip on the scribe’s throat and pulled him across the desk. “The Duke may reprimand me for assaulting you, but immediately afterward, he will most probably order me to seize and flog you for delaying me from seeing him. So, think closely before you complain. Hopefully, you will remember that I... Am... Captain... Of the... Guard. You insipid worm!”
Michael, holding a squirming Helmand easily off the ground, punctuated this last sentence with a squeeze that practically had the man’s eyes bulging from his skull. Then, with a casual display of strength, he carried out his earlier threat, and Helmand did indeed slide into the wall with a thump. He lay there, gasping and coughing, and did not attempt to stand. Scribes are intelligent people; they only need instruction once to master a lesson.
