by J. T. Wright
Even a few of the beasts that hadn’t been hit stumbled as they watched their leader go down. The man was still coming. Shouldn’t prey run from their assault? What was happening? Why did the axe in the armored man's hand feel like it was at their throats already? He was still so far away.
And then he wasn’t. The Dread Naught rushed into the pack of creatures, his war cry becoming a laugh as he tore through them. Thick hide was no match for axe blade. They should be faster than this armored terror, but they weren’t. It was beyond the pack’s experience and expectations.
Normally their prey would meet them with shields and spears, only to be overrun. This prey struck with axe and fist, never standing still, never taking steps back. Fear and intimidation were normally the pack’s greatest weapon, but this Dread Naught was without fear, and thus unstoppable.
The Infernal Corpses scratched at Cullen’s armor with poisoned claws and rusty blades. The Sergeant laughed at them as he struck out with a studded fist, crushing skulls and bones. He swept his axe and cleared his way forward. He struck again with the shaft, and demonic Wolves felt their teeth break.
Cullen was death to these creatures, and he loved it. He was both annoyed and impressed when Alistern's arrows struck three of the Infernal corpses, crushing their chests and blowing them back. Triple Arrow and Forceful Shot at once, the boy had gotten better since the last time they fought together.
Those shots were a little close to the Sergeant, though. Normally an archer would pick off enemies at the edge of a fight to avoid hitting comrades. That was probably Alistern telling him just how amusing he found the Sergeant’s little “training exercises" during their journey.
Maybe he’d lay off the boy from now on. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t.
Cullen howled back at a wolf as he split its skull with Peacemaker. Who would want to be an Archer? This is where a man could feel alive. Face to face with his foe, feeling its breath and tasting its defeat. Alistern should know that. The boy was talented at close combat! As skilled as he was with a bow, Cullen thought the lad was wasting his potential. The Sergeant could see that, and he planned to help the boy see it too.
Still, there was no denying the Lieutenant’s effectiveness in this fight. As the beasts tried to contain Cullen, only to be cut down and blown back, Alistern picked them off with Skilled shots. He didn’t try to conserve Stamina or Mana; he had plenty for his purpose.
Flaming Arrow, Rippling Shot, Piercing Force, he used them all freely. Soon the pack was dead.
Alistern jogged up to where Cullen stood cleaning blood and gore from Peacemaker with a cloth that he then tossed aside. The Sergeant would have to admit he’d done his part this time. He would finally cave and help with the Harvesting.
“Get to it, Lieutenant, still work to be done.” Cullen’s pipe reappeared and was soon lit. No, the Sergeant didn’t have to admit a damn thing.
**********
Trent darted forward and slammed Strife into a Fleshling’s elbow. The blade of the hand axe bit, but not deeply before it was repelled. Sorrow followed its partner but was similarly forced back without causing much damage. The Fleshling’s soulless gaze turned towards Trent. Its grasping hands and deformed body followed.
This was the fourth encounter the group had had with the Undead. Each fight was progressively more difficult. More enemies of higher levels appeared each time. The Guardsmen and Adventurers were still holding their own, but they were no longer able to conserve energy by using standard attacks. Only Skilled strikes could harm the creatures now.
This was bad news for the recruits. None of them had Skilled attacks to use. They were still able to serve as distractions and annoyances, but they had to move fast to keep away from the grasping hands of the Undead. Several times Corporal Francis had almost ordered them to fall back, but he had waited. Trent and the recruits couldn’t be protected in this place. As long as they were willing to fight, he would let them.
The fights were longer now, an hour or more each time the Fleshlings appeared, slowing the group’s progress dramatically. Sometimes they had had to fall back a safe distance to keep from being overrun. Frank was understandably frustrated by this.
Each step back meant it took more time to find a defensible area in which to rest. And the band needed to rest. Even the experienced warriors were starting to feel the strain. The recruits were nearly at their limit. Frank had already authorized the use of a Stamina potion. That only bought them time when what they really needed was sleep and food.
Trent’s advanced Class Survivalist gave him considerable reserves of Stamina, but he was still only at Level 1. He gasped for breath as he ducked and swiped with Strife. He wasn’t severing limbs anymore. All he could do was draw the creatures’ attention and wait for more able warriors to finish them off.
Kirstin wasn’t doing much better. Duelists were a fast attacking Class. She knew Skilled strikes and could inflict significant damage on the Fleshlings, but not nearly as often as she liked; her Stamina pool was limited. Her rapier was also a poor match for fighting this type of enemy. Her normal thrusts and cuts did less damage than Trent’s, despite her superior strength.
These two kept at it, though; there wasn’t any other choice. They found a rhythm during the numerous battles and worked well together. They weren’t putting the Fleshlings down, but between the two of them, they were able to keep five or six of the creatures distracted.
Arisa was also starting to feel like a burden rather than a help. For her Level, she was a skilled Mage, but now it took her five casts of Fireball to eliminate a single disabled opponent. With her current Mana, she was only able to do this three times at most, and that was only if she had enough time to recover between encounters.
Why had she left her staff with her horse? She was weaponless in this unexpected Trial. She had set her enchanted staff aside while they were dragging Howlers to be buried. It had proven to be a mistake. As she cast another Fireball and felt the effects of Mana drain set in, she vowed never to be separated from the tools of her trade again.
Fortunately, Matt was able to pick up the slack for Arisa. He had his staff and was a much more powerful Mage, even if he didn’t feel like much of one in this situation. He should be casting widespread devastation amongst his foes, not carefully torching the disabled Undead. The Fleshlings never gave him that chance, always appearing suddenly, too close for his usual tactics.
Purification was still the most effective way to deal with the Fleshlings. It did require substantial Mana now; Mana that Lyra could ill afford to spend. People were hurt in these brawls. She wouldn’t call them battles; they lacked the organization and precision that that word drew to her mind.
So far, no one had suffered worse than a deep cut. Most injuries were twisted ankles and strained muscles. The road was broken in places, and the footing was often treacherous. In normal circumstances, these minor wounds would be left to heal by themselves, but they couldn’t afford that now. Every little hurt slowed them down.
Corporal Francis and Keller worked together to hack apart the last Fleshling, then stepped back to allow Matt to do his job. Trent and Tersa had already started Harvesting without having to be told. The other Recruits followed behind them, picking up the drops while the Guardsmen stood watch and recovered.
Corporal Francis sighed as he looked over the meager loot provided. Trent and Tersa had both leveled up Harvesting. They collected more Cores of higher quality now, but that didn’t mean much to the group. Beast Cores wouldn’t help them.
A bag of dried fruit, another of dried meat, a handful of coins, a weak Health potion, and a small common knife. Except for the knife and the coins, these were all things they needed, just not the things they needed the most. Enchanted armor and weapons, Skill and Ability Stones, Spell Scrolls, anything to increase their combat power were what Frank wanted to see when Trent Appraised the loot. This Trial was far from generous.
He rubbed at his chin, then swept the items into his storage pou
ch. He didn’t immediately call for the group to move out. They couldn’t rest long, but everyone needed to catch their breath.
“Trent, how far to that village?” He hoped it was a village. It was what kept everyone moving, hope that there was a town ahead with a wall to hide behind. It was a slim hope, but so far, no better alternative had presented itself.
Trent consulted his map. He pushed up his mask and scratched his cheek as he tried to make a rough guess at the distance. It had to be a rough guess; their progress had been too slow and sporadic to allow him to compare the distance traveled to distance remaining with any certainty.
“An hour? Maybe less, probably less. I’m not sure,” Trent offered weakly.
Frank started to tell him it was alright, he was doing fine, when Keller cut in, “We need to make it less, Corporal.”
Frank turned to the Guardsmen with the Sentry class. Keller had a unique role in the Guard. He was a habitual slacker, a lazy good for nothing, always talking about how he’d be rich someday. He was also trusted and respected. In the Trials and in combat, Keller was the consummate professional.
“What is it?” The Corporal questioned.
“Riders, heavy cavalry most likely, coming at a trot. Not sure of armaments or numbers, they’re at the edge of my Skill range.” Keller pointed to the distance.
Frank looked and cursed. Keller’s Skill range was a bit more than five miles. At that distance, in the direction Keller was pointing, a large dust cloud was rising into the air.
Frank looked at Trent. “Trent, I need a location, as close as possible, with broken terrain, limited access, and an approach from a single location only. That should slow those riders down considerably.”
Trent scratched his cheek again and said, “The village seems like the best option, but that canyon over there has a narrow point, and it’s not far from here.”
Frank looked at the canyon. A sharp slope led downwards into the crack in the earth. It wasn’t so steep that horses couldn’t be ridden down it. Not far in, sloping walls became cliffs and continued for as far as the eye could see. The cliffs were narrow, but no cover, no obstructions, and no easy way out. The group would be trapped in there, and once trapped, they’d be overrun easily enough.
The Corporal made up his mind. “Stamina potions, drink them now! We're moving out at a run, a full run, and we don’t stop until we reach shelter.” If the village or whatever it was could even provide that. He kept that last thought to himself. “If we run into Fleshlings, we plow through them and keep moving. Trent.”
Trent looked at the Corporal expectantly, and Frank didn’t like his next order. “I still need you at point. If you spot a trap or beast spawn point, call it out and keep moving.” Trent was the only one who could see the locations where Fleshlings spawned. That Ability was all that kept them for being surprised and was most likely why they hadn’t suffered any serious injuries.
But Trent wasn’t exactly suited for plowing through the enemy. Lightweight and lightly armored, he wasn’t going to be pushing Fleshlings back. Point position in this situation was the last place he should be.
“Don’t worry, Corporal,” Tersa spoke up. She had her mace in one hand and a confident gleam in her eye. “I’ll run with him. Anything gets in the way, I'll move it! If that’s alright.”
Frank almost told Tersa to shut up and keep to her place. It would take more than a fourteen-year-old girl with a cheap mace to push through things, but everyone else would be needed for a proper formation to clear a path. Tersa was willing and expendable. At least Trent would have someone at his back.
“Do it. But fuck up and get yourself or anyone else killed, I'll drag your body behind me and feed your corpse to the other recruits as a warning!” Tersa smiled at his threat, pleased to get her way. There was something wrong with the girl. “Enough! Form it up, standard positions! Trent and Tersa have the lead. Trent, you set the pace but make it fast. I'm counting on you, ki… Recruit. Move out! Run!”
Trent ran with Tersa on his heels. When he got some distance, the other fifteen followed in three columns, just like always, but now with a sense of urgency. They all heard Keller; they all saw the approaching dust cloud. They didn’t know what was coming, but they didn’t want to meet it in the open.
Trent took off running. His Agility wasn’t outstanding, but if he pushed it and activated Dash, he could set a decent pace. He kept a Stamina potion handy, just in case, but hoped he wouldn’t need it. Since gaining the Secondary Attribute, Endurance, his Stamina had soared. It drained slowly and refilled swiftly. Even with Dash activated, he could maintain his pace for nearly thirty minutes. It had to be enough.
His speed was fast enough that Tersa had trouble keeping up. Her basic Agility was a little higher than his, but she didn’t have Dash. She didn’t regret volunteering for this, but she wished Trent was a little more considerate. Fortunately, her Stamina was high. If she really dug deep, she could just stay with him. She tried to focus on his back, but occasionally, she glanced back over her shoulder at the dust cloud in the distance. It was getting closer, but maybe that was her imagination. She hoped it was. It was hard to tell with sweat rolling down her face. Maybe they were outrunning whatever was behind them. She felt like they should be the way she had to pump her legs.
Trent ran and never looked back; his focus was only on the ground ahead of him. No traps or shining runes appeared, but rather than easing his stress level, he only wondered what he might be missing. His Skills weren’t developed enough to be trusted.
The group ran, and the Recruits were starting to feel the pressure. Arisa and Bailey both had to use Stamina potions. It had been a long day, and their Constitution was low to begin with. The others only just kept pace. Worried glances were cast backward more and more frequently. Whatever was back there was catching up. Would they even have the strength to fight when they reached wherever they were going?
After thirty minutes of steady running, all the recruits ran with heads lowered and chests heaving. When Trent’s voice called out that they were almost there, they missed hearing it; they were too caught up in their own misery.
Frank and the older members of the group heard and looked ahead with hopeful eyes, but whatever they were heading towards was hidden behind a rise in the road. The dust cloud behind them was close, a mile or so away now, according to Keller. Trent disappeared as he crested the hill, Tersa close behind. Frank picked up the pace.
Trent was dashing downhill. It wasn’t a village ahead but a small military outpost. A wooden palisade surrounded it, more of a fence than a wall, the barricade was in poor repair. Still, it was something. As long as it wasn’t hiding a bigger threat behind it, they might stand a fighting chance, with a wall to defend them. Trent pushed his legs to move faster and headed for the palisade’s open gate.
He was almost there when his eyes caught sight of something ominous. It was a hole, a dark swirling hole that appeared from nowhere. A pit trap? A nest for burrowing creatures? Nothing good, surely.
Trent skidded to a halt, inches from the swirling black spot. He held up a hand and started to call out. “There’s some…” He was hit hard from behind. His words were cut off as his body flew forward. His arms went flailing wildly as he tried to catch his balance. He was falling, falling into the hole! A hole that seemed to have no bottom.
Tersa’s attention had been completely on Trent’s back, but she hadn’t noticed him stop. She hadn’t heard him speak. She never saw him raise his hand. She had a moment of elation when she thought it was finally becoming easier to keep up. When she hit him, it was with enough force to send him forward, while she tumbled back and sat down with a grunt.
Her first thought was to wonder when he had become so solid. Not long ago it had seemed like a light breeze could pick him up and carry him for miles. She should have run over the top of him; she shouldn’t have bounced off. Then, she felt a little indignant about the whole matter. What game was he playing stopping like that?
&
nbsp; Her indignation faded into horror when she realized Trent had fallen forward into a hole in the ground. No, not in the ground. Ground holes didn’t shimmer and swirl like that. She clambered to her feet. Her mace had dropped, and she grabbed it up. She failed to notice her water skin still lying on the ground. She ignored the twinge in her ankle. Was the shiny hole getting smaller?
Trent couldn’t be seen. It was to her credit that her next action reflected a cool head and not panic. Whatever this hole was, Trent shouldn’t face it alone. Calling out her friend’s name, Tersa leaped forward and was immediately swallowed by the darkness.
Only twenty yards behind, Corporal Francis saw it all happen. The words that sprang to his lips were not praise for her bravery, but curses for her recklessness. A few for his own stupidity in letting the fool girl run point, were also mixed in as he came to a stop. The hole was gone. The Trial had taken two of his charges. Dead or alive, they were beyond his help now.
He looked at Tersa’s dropped water skin. That would mean laps when she came back, more running than the girl could imagine when the Corporal got hold of her. And that was just for starters. Once the Sergeant and Lieutenant Ranchell heard his report, Tersa would probably wish she were dead. Unless, of course, she was already dead, in which case maybe the Recruit had finally got lucky.
Dark thoughts swirled through Frank’s head as he bent down and picked up the water skin. He didn’t really want Tersa dead; he wanted her back, wiser and more careful, but back. Maybe the Trial would take an arm or a foot. That would teach her to keep her eyes open, and she could earn the money to have it grown back in three or four years if she was frugal, six at most.
He squeezed the water skin tightly as the rest of the squad raced up. Kirstin was the first to arrive, followed closely by Braum. Neither had clearly seen what happened, and they cast curious looks at the Corporal.
