The Land of the Undying Lord

by J. T. Wright

  He had no family, remembered no childhood. His progress today pleased him because he knew his master would want him to know how to defend himself in a fight. She would want him to be able to kill. In a way, wasn’t he more beast than human?

  He could kill; it was easy. True, the Graks had been slow and stupid, the Hares fast and equally stupid, but he hadn’t hesitated once. Not until it came time to Harvest.

  Harvesting was unpleasant, and he really hadn’t wanted to do it. Then Francis had explained the purpose of the Skill. Anyone, even an Unawakened child, could cut into a dead animal for its meat and hide. The Harvesting Skill made these things easier, sure, but its true use lay in the Trials and Beast Cores.

  Monsters in the Trials disappeared after death, reabsorbed by whatever power gave them life. Sometimes when they disappeared, they left behind coins, supplies, or equipment, but it wasn’t a sure thing unless you had the Harvesting Skill. With this Skill, you could Harvest materials from Trial beasts. Harvesters were particularly appreciated because Trial beasts were more likely to have Beast Cores than monsters found in the wilds and the territories.

  Beast Cores had many uses. Francis hadn’t gone into the specifics, but they were valuable and could only be collected by a person with the Harvesting Skill. The higher your Skill Level, the more likely you were to find quality Cores.

  This information had made Trent approach Harvesting with more enthusiasm, although he still didn’t care to cut into the Graks. At least the organs (Core, heart, and liver) were used in alchemy and magic, and not eaten. Thankfully, their skin wasn’t valuable, he didn’t think he could have skinned a Grak.

  Graks were just too humanlike. Harvesting wasn’t meant to be used on humans or the other Awakened races of the world. Just beasts. He was pretty sure of that. Were humans supposed to be Harvested?

  He didn’t realize he’d wondered this last thought out loud until the conversation died around him. His eyes lifted from the fire to see six horrified faces fixed on him. Tersa was in the middle of swallowing a bite of dinner and gagged at his words.

  “Did Corporal Francis make you Harvest a human?” Lerner was a brawny Recruit, normally loud and boisterous. He was convinced he'd have a Knight Class someday. But Lerner’s face was pale as he whispered this question at Trent. All eyes went from Trent to the distant fire where the full Guardsmen were spending their evening. Was their own training about to take a disturbing turn?

  Trent held up his hands, waving them frantically as he responded excitedly. “No, nothing like that! Just Graks! We hunted Graks today, and they reminded me… they have hands.”

  “Graks are not human,” Bailey, the average looking Archer Recruit said firmly. “Having the Scouts Eyes Ability, I’ve seen their Status myself, and it clearly says basic beast.”

  Bailey usually tried to present himself as a reserved and cool-headed person. He wasn’t quite able to keep up that demeanor now. A smug look crossed his face as he announced his rare, for a Recruit, Ability. He’d been trying to casually work it into a conversation for a week. He might have thanked Trent for the opportunity, if he wasn’t still feeling a little queasy from the thought of someone Harvesting humans.

  “Um, no, Graks aren’t human,” Arisa said, her lips tightening, “but do you think they Harvest us? Ahh, hmmm, they are always trying to kill us!”

  Tersa spit the bite of meat that she just couldn’t swallow, into the fire. “Monsters eat us! They don’t, you know, use us and stuff."

  “We eat monsters!” Devon held up a roasted hare leg as evidence. He was a very truthful and literal person. He did not like to hear others make assumptions. “We eat them! That’s one of the things we Harvest them for. You don’t know for sure that they don’t have other ways of using our bodies.”

  “It’s not the same thing at all,” Tersa held her ground. “Harvesting, the Skill, is for finding Cores; humans don’t have Cores.” Having recently gained the Skill under discussion, Tersa considered herself an expert on the subject

  “We don’t have Cores. Right?” Lerner squawked. He wasn’t feeling much like a future Knight at the moment. “Not Beast Cores, of course, but what if we have human Cores that monsters need?”

  As the conversation degenerated, Trent found himself casting hopeful glances towards the trainer’s fire. Shouldn’t the Sergeant or the Corporal be coming to break this up soon? Please let them come soon!

  He just hoped that when they did come, Tersa knew not to ask them if humans had Human Cores. If she did, he just knew his name would be brought up.

  **********

  Trent would be waiting a while for an authority figure to step in. Cullen and Francis weren’t in the camp. The other senior guardsmen had started to send the trainees to bed, but the thought of stumbling, bumbling recruits getting knocked around during training, because they were too tired to think straight, stopped them. A lesson and a laugh in one, where was the harm?

  Corporal Francis was currently sitting on the sand next to the Burning Lake, leaning against a stone monument that hadn’t been there the day before. He wanted to sit on the grass, preferably a mile or two away, but made himself stay where he was. He chewed on a blade of grass, aimlessly whittled on a stick with his belt knife, and waited. The Sergeant should be out soon enough.

  He'd been waiting for almost two hours and was about to give up and take it in, but before he could make his mind up, Cullen appeared on the beach. One minute an empty beach, and the next, a pale-faced Sergeant Cullen was facing Francis, his back to the lake, taking deep slow breaths.

  “That bad, huh?” Frank raised his eyebrow at the obviously disturbed Sergeant.

  Cullen’s eyes focused on the Corporal then on the stone block the Corporal was leaning against. Ignoring Frank’s question, Cullen stomped over to examine the stone. The monument was square, standing waist high and two feet wide. A message was engraved on the top. Cullen’s hands tightened into fists as he read the words.

  “Son of a bitch! Pox ridden whore of a Trial!” Cullen shouted at the lake.

  Frank stood up and brushed sand off his trousers. “Did you not read it before going in?”

  “It wasn’t here before I went in!” Cullen’s eyes were blazing. Engraved in the stone in elaborate script were the words,

  The Trial of Perseverance. Cry for mercy and be removed. Endure and be rewarded.

  “It’s learning!” Cullen spit angrily. “It finally put out some instructions! After I’d already gone in!”

  “What’s the problem? You cleared it, right?” Francis stretched. The trick with the Sergeant was not to take him too seriously. This didn’t always work, and sometimes it backfired horribly. But for the most part, it was the best way to manage the man.

  “You’re damn right I cleared it!” Cullen took a deep breath. “But if I’d seen this, I might not have. “I’d say this Trial isn’t going to be popular,” he continued, “except for the rewards. The runt got a Secondary Attribute, named weapons, and Titled equipment. Some people would do anything for that kind of loot.”

  Cullen didn’t say what his reward was, and Francis didn’t ask. Some things were personal. Besides, Cullen hadn’t gone in for the reward. He entered the lake because of the look on Trent’s face.

  The boy had looked terrified when he put his hand in the fire. He expected to be burned. He looked crazed when the flames didn’t melt his flesh. A wild unthinking smile, wide-eyed, and deliriously happy. Cullen had never seen the like. Or rather he had, but not from men you wanted to be around.

  Cullen had been afraid, terrified that the Trial had broken the boy. That wasn’t a problem in and of itself; all recruits were broken in one way or another. Some lied, some stole, some didn’t have a thought in their heads. Some came from bad homes and either couldn’t trust, or trusted too easily. They came broken, and Cullen fixed them.

  The look on Trent’s face that morning was a broken he didn’t know how to fix. He entered the lake to understand. And he’d gotten that, that w
as his real reward. He knew now that Trent would be alright. The fire refined, and Trent had come through it.

  What really pissed Cullen off was that he’d figured that out halfway through! If he saw the monument, he would have left immediately. Not from fear, he just had no reason to press on. Trent had things to prove, to himself, to the world. Cullen didn’t; he expected the world to prove itself to him.

  Cullen growled. Stupid lake, it was lucky it had shelled out a decent payment, or it was no use, really. Hard to get back at a Trial.

  Another growl, this time at himself, then, “How did the runt do today?”

  “Kid did fine.” Frank spread his hands in a self-congratulatory manner. “I did amazing, taught him two Skills today. Feel free to put my name forward for promotion.”

  Cullen ignored the Corporal’s banter. “Did he manage a kill? He’s soft, we need…”

  “Kid took to killing like a Sergeant takes to drink.” Frank still couldn’t quite believe it. “Nothing over Level 2, but still. Seven Graks, five Hares, and a Carrion Fox, and not a scratch on him, either.”

  “Carrion Fox? What did you expect him to learn from that?”

  Frank grinned and chuckled. It had been the best part of the day, really. “Expected him to learn situational awareness.”

  He described the look on Trent’s face when the creature had bit at his ankle. He mimicked the yelp the boy had sounded when it scrambled up his back. When he told how the boy had gagged as the fox’s scent had reached his nose, Cullen was chuckling too. Hard to forget the smell of a Striped Carrion Fox.

  “Good lesson for the runt to learn,” Cullen approved. “Let’s head back. Archery tomorrow, I think. Boy’s got a bow he still can’t use.”

  Chapter 17

  Trent was still at the camp the next morning following breakfast. Today he was being allowed to train with the black short bow that Master Taylor had provided him with. He was excited at first when the Sergeant told him to grab his bow. That excitement wore off as the morning crawled by.

  Training with the bow meant drawing it, releasing the bowstrings tension slowly, and then drawing it again. He performed this over and over while Cullen kicked his feet and adjusted his shoulders. They hadn’t even given him any arrows! This felt like mere exercise, not training.

  “Alright, Runt, you’ve got the form! Go ahead and shoot!” Cullen finally told him.

  “Sergeant?” Trent looked around. Nope, still no arrows.

  “Fire, Runt, shoot!” Seeing the dumbfounded expression on Trent’s face, Cullen pressed the heel of his hand against his eye socket. “Trent, have you been carrying that thing around all week without knowing how to use it?”

  Trent nodded slowly. Cullen sighed. He couldn’t even yell at the boy. It was Cullen’s job to instruct him, but somehow, he’d never gotten around to explaining. This was why you shouldn’t teach recruits too much at once. In a way, it was Cullen's fault; most recruits couldn’t learn as much or as speedily as Trent had.

  The Sergeant was getting frustrated. Normally when he introduced trainees to weapons, the right weapon for that Recruit would be apparent right away. They wouldn’t learn the spear Skill yet but picked up the axe or sword with a little practice. With more practice and some practical drills in the wilds, or a Trial, the Skill the trainee was most suited for would level in no time.

  Trent, on the other hand, learned anything you put to him but remained at a low level. Yes, he’d gotten Small Blades, Dash, and Riding to Level 2, but he’d also spent the most time with those Skills. Honestly, Cullen didn’t know what to push him towards. He was starting to suspect the runt might be suited for longer heavier weapons, but Trent didn’t have the strength to wield them.

  Cullen took the bow from Trent. “This isn’t much of a weapon. More of a training tool, but it does have one feature that makes it practical.”

  The Sergeant drew back on the string while inserting Mana. The bowstring drew back, and a wooden arrow was formed. The draw of the bow was much too small for the large man, but when he released the tension, the arrow kept forward and slammed into the center of the round of wood he had set out earlier. The arrow quivered for a moment and then disappeared, leaving behind a small hole.

  “The more Mana inserted, the stronger the arrow.” Cullen handed back the bow. “From five to fifty Mana is all it takes. If you manage fifty Mana, one arrow with a steel broad-head is formed, but when released, three arrows are fired. Do that enough, and it’s possible to pick up the Create Arrow and Triple Shot Skills.”

  Trent looked at the bow and then at the Sergeant doubtfully. He only had a Mana pool of eighty. Sixteen weak shots or one powerful shot didn’t seem very useful, and his Mana recovered so slowly.

  Under the Sergeant ‘s expectant glare, Trent sighed, and drew back the string, carefully channeling just the right amount of Mana. Trent was dismayed to discover the bow was harder to draw when Mana was channeled into it. He managed, though, and as his fingers reached his ear, an arrow was nocked and ready.

  The arrow was little more than a pointed wooden stick. Trent wondered if you could even use it for hunting common animals. He certainly didn’t want to shoot it at a Horned Hare. The stick would probably be just an annoyance to a hare, but the Sergeant looked pleased when Trent managed to draw the bow, and he nodded in satisfaction as Trent’s first shot plowed into the ground a foot from the target.

  “Just as I expected.” Cullen said sarcastically, “Pathetic! Are you even trying? Do it again!”

  Trent fired again, and again. By his fourth shot, he managed to hit the target’s edge. His twelfth arrow struck a hands-width from the center. This shot also earned him the Archery Skill Level 1. He told the Sergeant excitedly but was informed that he should talk less and shoot more.

  His thirteenth and fourteenth shots were his best yet, but under the effects of Mana drain, his fifteenth shot missed altogether. As he drew to fire again, head swimming, eyes not focusing, Cullen snatched the bow away.

  “Know your limits, Runt.” Cullen said mildly. “Mana loss makes it hard to think, tougher to act. You thought you had sixteen shots? Maybe fourteen if you’re desperate. You can fight to zero Mana if you have to, but not many can do anything beyond that. Now sit, rest, drink this.”

  Cullen handed Trent a glass vial filled with a blue liquid. The label read Mana Restorative Potion. Trent greedily gulped it down. His Mana pool instantly refilled. It was a relief to feel his focus sharpen, and his eyes cleared.

  “Alright, now for the real day’s training,” Cullen said, gesturing for Trent to stand. “Hunting. You may choose your prey; you can even decide what weapon you want to use. However, you will only eat what you manage to kill with the bow.”

  Initially, Trent’s spirits had lifted, but as he took the short bow back from the Sergeant, he frowned. Somehow, he didn’t think he’d be eating all that well tonight.

  **********

  Guardsman Keller reclined in the grass. His hands behind his head, he watched the clouds float by. The camp was empty since everyone was off training or instructing. It was Keller's job to mind the campsite. This was a necessary job but not an important one. That was exactly the type of work that Keller preferred.

  In all the Guard, encompassing both the keep and city watch, he was the only one with the actual Guard Class. There were a few that had picked up the Profession over the years but none with the Class. Keller was often picked for assignments like this one because of that.

  He picked up the specialized Class, Sentry, a while back. It was a godsend! Now he could complete Class Quests and earn Experience just by standing watch. Of course, to do that, he had to take the job seriously, wear his armor, walk his rounds. It was too nice of a day for all of that.

  He lay in the grass, feeling the breeze and watching the clouds drift by. His Class Skills would alert him if anything entered his area of responsibility. He could even fall asleep if he wanted to, and no one could approach the camp without him knowing it. He w
as the perfect Guard.

  He could easily become a senior Guardsman, responsible for the quieter and more important aspects of the Keep. The pay was better, but it would seriously cut into Keller’s nap schedule, so he never even considered it. Besides, he had bigger dreams.

  Guard had been his Basic Class, Sentry when he specialized, and someday, he would be a Sentinel. Sentinel was an advanced class highly prized by the military for their abilities to watch and defend. Not that Keller would waste his talents staying in the Duke’s service. The Duke was a fine man and fair employer, but military service wasn’t where the money was.

  He wouldn’t be an Adventurer either. Sentinels weren’t popular members of adventuring parties. Adventurers were all about pushing forward, quick movements, and hidden ambushes. Sentinels were all about being in the open and standing their ground.

  No, for Keller, the life of a Merchant Guard was best. Traveling in a wagon or standing watch over a warehouse, that is the best life could offer him. All for high pay, of course, but merchants valued Sentinels. Nothing got by those sharp-eyed men when they had chosen their ground. As soon as he got that Advanced Class, the money would practically fall into Keller’s pockets.

  Dreams of money and how he would spend it filled Keller’s morning. He could have happily spent the rest of the day fantasizing. It annoyed him to no end when his Skills informed him that six horses and riders were approaching. Still over a half-mile out, and though they were not exactly galloping their mounts, they were coming this way swiftly.

  Keller stood and stretched, frowning in the direction of the approaching horsemen. His helmet and armor lay in the grass. He wore his sword belt, and his spear leaned against the nearby wagon. He didn’t need them. These unwelcome visitors didn't look threatening, probably just a band of Adventurers out adventuring. He would need to advise the Sergeant and the Corporal, though.

  “Shit,” Keller hissed. If he reported the Adventurers, the Sergeant would return, probably immediately. The man was unbelievably fast sometimes. Keller got away with quite a bit of slack, but if the Sergeant caught him on duty without his armor, life would become unbearable damn fast.