by J. T. Wright
“Oh, you’d like to know that, would you Master Helmand?” Cullen snarled. “What I’d like to know is where you get the nerve to issue an order to my, the Captain’s, recruits without even a by your leave. You’re a Diviner, right? Why don’t you divine how many teeth you’ll have left if you ever pull that shit again!”
“Enough, Sergeant!” Lewis ordered. He looked at Helmand. “Michael was wrong yesterday, but you will not feud with the Guard.”
Helmand bowed his head in acknowledgment.
Cullen turned to Michael. “What did you do?”
“I threw him against the wall,” Michael said squaring his shoulders. “It was wrong, and I am sorry, Helmand, but I will not have you issue orders to the Guard behind my back.”
“You’re damn right it was wrong, Brat!” Cullen snapped. “I taught you better than that. With Helmand’s type, you wait till they aren’t looking and hit them from behind. Preferably at night when…”
“Cullen!” Lewis said irritably, “Perhaps instead of threatening my aide, you could explain why we should abandon our own plans for yours!”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Cullen straightened and cleared his throat. “This morning with only a few hours training, the runt, Trent, raised multiple Attributes and learned both Herbalism and Unarmed Combat. Unarmed Combat he picked up from striking a training post. In all my years I’ve never seen the like. The boy is gifted, but, unfortunately, he’s so gifted that anyone who is looking will see it. You send him to the Guild, and reports of him will be on the desks of every major house’s recruiting department within the week.” Cullen closed his mouth and waited.
The Duke leaned back in his chair. He knew of Trent’s potential. He had expected the boy to learn quickly, perhaps picking up Herbalism within three or four days, but this. This was too fast.
Granted, learning Skills and mastering them were entirely different things, but Trent hadn’t even gained his first Level or Classification. Bleeding suffering, he hadn’t earned a single Point of Experience!
“I’m not sure sending him into the wilds is wise,” Helmand said slowly, “but this news does change things.”
“Only Kirstin and the Sergeant can personally issue Trent’s quests,” the Duke said just as slowly. “Without the Guild’s Questing Pillar, it’s either send him to the wilds with Cullen or have Kirstin give him servant’s chores. Servant’s chores and training are safest.”
“But I will make him a warrior.” Cullen’s eyes glowed. He already knew what the Duke’s decision was. “Strong enough to stand on his own.”
The Duke nodded. “Michael, make the appropriate preparations for the Sergeant and a small group, say six recruits and four trainers, to leave on a training expedition. They will leave in the morning.”
Michael was headed to the door before the Duke had finished speaking. Lewis then told Helmand, “I’d like a private word with the Sergeant.”
Helmand blinked at the dismissal. He started to protest but held it in. He stood and bowed, before returning to his desk in the antechamber.
As soon as the door shut, Cullen, who had been standing, took one of the empty chairs. Sitting, he took out his pipe and lit it as he waited for the Duke to address him.
Lewis watched for a moment before taking out a pipe of his own. He filled it with tobacco and lit it. The two men regarded one another in comfortable silence for a few moments.
“What are you really planning for the boy Cullen?” Lewis said eventually.
“My plans are the same as your plans, I imagine,” Cullen said casually. “It’s been twenty years, twenty-two years since the last time the Trial was cleared. Bad things are coming, if no one challenges it and succeeds, soon. Five years if we’re lucky. With the way this kingdom is run, we can’t afford to draw a personal Tribulation by having an uncleared Trial.”
Cullen leaned forward, pipe held between his teeth, “I’m not saying the boy will be ready to clear a major Trial in that short of a time. I work miracles, but that’s a tough one, even for me.”
“But as things stand, we don’t have a team ready,” Cullen continued, taking his pipe in hand and gesturing with it. “Aaron and Michael are fine commanders, but they’ve resisted our urging them to go out and get real Core. Neither has a good team of his own. If need be, they can lead a raid, and we’ll gain another twenty-five or thirty years at the cost of a hundred good men. Leaving the only option being you or me.”
The Duke snorted, “Is that an option? Trials tend to be harder on repeat entrants. Even with our levels.”
“Yeah, they’re tougher but more rewarding as well.” Cullen’s eyes practically shone at the thought of the challenge that awaited them. “You may spend a lot of time behind that desk, Lewis, but I doubt your Leveling has fallen behind. Taylor and the Lady Vanessa have gotten damn scary since you and I last partied together. Those paladins you’ve got masquerading as generals haven’t been slacking any, and myself…” Cullen shrugged, not humbly. There was just no need to say that he was the best at what he chose to do.
Lewis snorted again in agreement and amusement. When they were alone, Cullen always addressed him as Lewis, but the Sergeant always referred to his Duchess as Lady Vanessa.
“The Trial can only be cleared so often. I’d like for one of my children to have the chance.” Defeating a Trial’s final Guardian and tests came with remarkable rewards, Skills, Abilities, and equipment that you couldn’t find anywhere else. Lewis didn’t deny that he and his old companions had the strength to accomplish what they had managed to do before, but that strength was a direct result of their former accomplishment. If Aaron or Michael, preferably both, could follow his example, the territory would be the better for it.
“You have three fine children, Lewis,” Cullen began.
“I have five excellent children, Cullen, just because two didn’t become warriors.” Lewis’s eyes narrowed at Cullen’s implied criticism.
“Yes, yes, they’re all wonderful sprouts,” Cullen interrupted, he didn’t begin to kneel or apologize at this offense. “Aaron and Michael could easily be brought up to clear the Trial if you stopped coddling them. Kirstin won’t be ready, not for years. But a Tribulation is coming, and if we aren’t prepared either to act or allow them to act…”
The two men considered the issue quietly. Trials needed to be challenged. Cities depended on them, treating them as farms for materials and resources, but that wasn’t their true purpose.
As the descendant of the first person to clear Al’drossford’s Trial, Lewis’s permission was required for any to attempt a full clear of the Dungeon, but, currently, no one wished to do so. This meant the Trials’ power grew. Within a few years, that power would summon a hoard of beasts or legendary tier monsters. The city that benefited from the Trials’ gifts would be destroyed by it.
Cullen sighed. “But we’ve gotten off the subject. You’re keeping something back about the boy, Trent.”
Lewis chuckled mirthlessly. “A wise but stupidly stubborn man once told me that a secret is only a secret when it’s kept by one. Once two know…”
“Don’t go throwing my own words in my face.” Cullen chided. “The whole keep is aware of the boy, and I’m sure there are rumors and suspicions aplenty.”
“He’s a Summons,” Lewis sighed. “Kirstin’s Summons, to be exact. A talking, human Summons with seven Class slots, and seven Profession slots.”
“Well,” Cullen huffed, “shit.”
“Shit,” Lewis agreed.
Suddenly Cullen laughed. “He might be ready to clear the Trial in a few years at that!”
Chapter 9
Trent found that following Lieutenant Nell around was exhausting. He trotted along at her heels as she made her rounds and inspections, dealt with supply issues, and disciplinary matters. He was in awe of how she made “walking with a purpose” look so easy and natural.
He longed for the moments when she had to stop for paperwork or discussion with various personnel around the Keep.
At least he did at first.
The first few times, he was directed to sit and read quietly, perhaps with a snack, while she worked. He thought this would be the routine and was quite pleased with it.
Then the gentle suggestions started coming.
“Oh, Trent, be a dear, and do a few push-ups for me, twenty-five should do. Oh, that was only twenty, five more, please.” She hadn’t even been looking when he paused, face against the cool stone after twenty.
After that, the “suggestions” came again and again.
“Trent, sweetness, go ahead and read for a while, right after nine sets of sprints. I believe the Sergeant walked you through those.”
“Oh, Trent, fifty squats, please, but don’t worry about going too fast, slow as you like, as long as you keep moving.”
It was amazing how her sweetly voiced suggestions made him long for Sergeant Cullen’s shouted orders. At least Sergeant Cullen was honest. Nell’s words felt sneaky, tricky, devious. Trent felt she could kill with a smile. No, rather, she could kill while smiling, and the victim would apologize for not dying swiftly or tidily enough.
“Oh dear, Trent,” she said after the boy completed yet another set of pushups and scrambled to his feet, “you look just awful!
“Your face that is,” she murmured. She brushed at his shirt. “It’s red and sweaty, but there’s not a speck of dirt to be found on your clothes. Master Taylor must have added an enchantment somewhere. The man does do good work.
“You have a Stamina potion left, Yes?” she said, ruffling his hair. “Two? Good. Nasty things. Probably stunt your growth, but best drink one. Still a lot of daylight left, and no naptime today, I’m afraid.”
Before the Lieutenant could change her mind, Trent hurriedly opened a vial of life-saving green liquid and gulped down the deliciousness within. Lieutenant Nell was prone to changing her mind. He had heard a withered old man, one of the servants assigned to the guard’s barracks, muttering about the capriciousness of cats, women, and officers, after he had been dressed down by Nell for one thing or another. The servant had seemed to be implying that the Lieutenant was all three of these things. The servant had been old and slow, but after the Lieutenant looked back to ask him to repeat the phrase, he had disappeared. Like magic really, and it was a magic Trent wouldn’t mind learning.
Trent closed his eyes as the Stamina potion’s refreshing power did its own magic. He sighed in relief at the renewed energy that filled him and reopened his eyes in time to see one of the keep’s runners pass a note to Nell.
It was common for low-leveled children of servants to act as pages and runners until they had enough Core to change Class or Professions from Commoner to whatever they were destined to become. Trent wondered if this runner, a tidy- looking girl in the keep’s uniform and a ponytail, would remain a servant or perhaps become a Seamstress or Cook. Was her Commoner Status a Profession or Class? Maybe she would join the Guard or become an Adventurer.
He found himself envying her, though he knew his own prospects were more varied than hers. He didn’t know what the future held for her, but she had a past and presumably, dreams for the future. He only had an absentee Master and not enough knowledge to form aspirations beyond getting stronger.
He chewed his lip, as the girl disappeared on her errands, and Nell read the delivered note.
“Well, speaking of Master Taylor,” Nell said, folding the note and tucking it away, “it seems we have new marching orders, Trent! How positively exciting!”
She beamed at him and Trent frowned. People seemed to fear the Lieutenant’s anger. Trent thought she was most dangerous when she grinned like that. “New orders, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, we’re off to Taylor’s chambers,” she announced brightly. “Lots of stairs between here and there. You like stairs, don’t you, Trent?”
She whirled and set off immediately. In her defense, she did try to provide Trent with a great deal of positive reinforcement. She would have been a little hurt to see the anguished look on the boy’s face as he fell in behind her.
**********
Nell opened the door when a familiar calm voice from within called, “Enter.” Trent followed her into the tailor’s quarters. He managed to put aside the ache in his thighs and calves to glance around the room curiously.
Master Taylor’s room was packed full of things. Lace and beads, fabrics and leathers, odds and ends, not all of which looked to be useful for a craftsman. Admittedly, Trent’s exposure to crafts was limited, but what use did a Tailor have for a halberd? Was that a cauldron?
The room was as neat as its occupant, a place for everything and everything in its place. If that place wasn’t exactly where you expected it to be, that didn’t mean it was wrong. Why shouldn’t trays of ribbons be stacked on the floor next to the entrance? Soft pelts could fill a bookshelf as easily as books, and the books certainly didn’t look out of place on the desk, even if they were piled high. They weren’t falling over, were they?
Master Taylor himself sat on a stool, in the middle of his organizational puzzle, sharpening a knife. A perfectly reasonable thing to do. Trent had seen him use several knives when they’d met the first time. It was Nell’s eyes that narrowed at the finely crafted stiletto in the man’s hands. It was clearly a weapon and not a tool. Taylor noticed her noticing him and smiled. As quickly as the smile appeared, the weapon vanished.
Wrist sheath? Surely, he couldn’t have put it in his boot so speedily, she thought.
“My, that was quick,” Taylor said standing. “I received word that you would be coming not three minutes ago.”
“I hope we’re not interrupting, Master Taylor?” Nell said slowly, nodding a greeting. Where had the knife gone? Her experienced eyes could find no sign of a bulge, wrinkle or hilt to give it away.
“Not at all, lass, umm, Lieutenant.” Taylor beckoned them further into the room. “Close the door, please. I’m not unprepared for you, just surprised that you arrived so soon.”
“Come stand on the stool, lad!” Taylor told Trent. As the boy obeyed, the older man walked to a table and picked up an item he’d left there. “I’ve already had the rest of your things delivered. This last item I didn’t think you’d need right away; wasn’t sure you needed it at all. I made it mostly on a whim. Honestly, I was quite surprised when the Duke requested it, or something similar, for you. Surprised twice in one day. Would you believe me if I told you that normally that was a rare occurrence?”
He examined whatever it was the Duke had requested and then turned around to carry it over to the stool, where Trent stood waiting. The item, in question, seemed to be a long, black leather coat, and, from appearances, it was much too big for Trent.
It was much too big. When Taylor had the boy put it on, Trent found that his hands did not protrude from the sleeves, and if he hadn’t been standing on the stool, the leather would have pooled on the floor.
Taylor fussed with the high collar and then began buttoning up the front. Trent was amazed when the jacket that was big enough to get lost in a moment before shrunk! By the time Taylor finished buttoning the jacket and began tightening a few straps, the clothing fit perfectly. It was even a snug fit, though not in a way that constrained his movement.
Taylor noticed his astonished look and chuckled. “The enchantment is in the stitching, lad.”
A high, stiff collar protected Trent’s throat while allowing free movement at his head and neck. The shoulders and elbows seemed reinforced, and the sleeve’s ends that he hadn’t been able to find before were securely fastened around his wrists.
A long strap which appeared to have four knife sheaths built into it ran from left shoulder to right hip. The torso of the jacket fit tightly but moved with his chest as he stretched and took several deep breaths. From his waist down, the leather loosened and flared out, split front and back, providing cover without impeding his legs.
“Not bad,” Taylor murmured. “Walk around some, my boy, get a feel for it. It’s not armor, not in a
traditional sense, but it’s about all you can carry at present.”
Trent hopped off the stool. As his feet touched the ground, he lost some appreciation for Taylor’s creations. This wasn’t armor? It was heavy! Trent frowned as he wondered just how long, and how often, he would be expected to wear this monstrosity disguised as a jacket.
“That’s hardly gratitude I see,” Taylor tutted. “I can only work with what you give me, lad. Anymore enchanting and you’d need ten levels before you’d be able to equip it. But do not despair, I have a solution to your dilemma!”
The crafty old man leaned close as if sharing an important secret, “All you have to do is get stronger!” Taylor laughed at his own joke and added, “And I’m afraid the worst is yet to come.”
Ignoring Trent’s panicked expression, Taylor dragged a chest from under his desk and pulled it to the stool. Opening the chest, he began pulling things out and putting them on Trent.
First, four identical knives with thick blades and bone hilts were placed in the built-in strap sheaths. Before Trent could thank him and decline any further gifts, Taylor was buckling a sword belt, complete with a short sword, around his waist. Following this, a stiff leather bracer was strapped to his right arm, while a disc of wood and iron went on his left. A reckless use of appraisal and Mana told Trent that this “low-quality” disc was called a Duelist’s Buckler.
“What you will be most grateful for, though, is this.” Master Taylor pulled a leather cap over his head and tugged it sharply into place. It covered his skull, ears, and the back of his neck, and was not what Trent would call comfortable.
“Seeing your scowl just now, I know you doubt my words! The cap you should thank me for, lad, because, otherwise, Cullen will have you in the steel helmet of the guard. It’s not my own work, so you’ll have to break it in yourself.” Taylor tapped Trent on the chest. “Remember, gratitude and strength. And if that old bastard tries to make you trade helms, you tell him to piss off. He does love to put his recruits in armor two sizes too big and then yells at them for wearing it wrong!”
