The Land of the Undying Lord

by J. T. Wright

  “We'll try it,” Frank said. He spit and continued, “If it looks bad once we’re up close, keep your eyes open for better. But in the meantime, that looks like the best we’re going to get.”

  Joel nodded and picked up the pace. Once more, the group was running and wondering when they’d be chased again.

  Chapter 33

  There was one thing Orion found more confusing than he found Trent. That was the Trial itself. The Land of the Undying Lord, as Trent said the Trial was called, constantly made Orion rethink everything he knew about Trials.

  Ignoring his own imprisonment, he was concerned about the variety of beasts that inhabited the Trial. Normally, challengers only had one kind of creature to face in Survival Type Trials; Undead, or Infernal, Abyssal or Animal. That was the rule. But so far, they faced both Undead and Infernal, and Orion was afraid they might face more.

  This worry was based on the next strange thing that Orion had noticed. There was too much of Al’rashia here that had been lost. Trent said he received his Class outside the Trial, but his sword, the Spirit Orb, and the Technique Ocean Meets the Shore had all been found here. Also, Al’rashia had fallen to a horde of Undead and Infernal beasts.

  That was enough to make Orion’s head spin, but what they found when they reached the fort where Trent and Tersa had supposedly been separated from the rest of the group was truly puzzling. The wooden fort, which Orion couldn’t help but notice had been built in the fashion of Al’rashian marching camps, had been burned to the ground. It had to have happened weeks ago, and the charred remains held no signs of life. Tersa had panicked at this, blaming herself, though Orion didn’t know how she could have prevented it, if she had been here.

  Orion and Trent didn’t know how to comfort the girl as she searched the ruins. Orion wanted to stop her, since the bodies of the dead would be claimed by the Trial, but he didn’t. Tersa knew as well as he did that unless the slain were carried out by their companions, the bodies would never be found. This was something she had to work through on her own.

  Orion also kept his mouth shut because the fort was in ruins. Trials cleaned up after themselves. Corpses and destroyed structures weren’t left to rot, they either disappeared or were restored. A common tactic in Survival Trials was to retreat to another safe position if your defensive position was overrun, and then return to a former location when that place was taken. Always, always, walls or natural fortifications that had been destroyed would be rebuilt when a group returned.

  When Trent started looking for signs that their friends had managed to run, Orion was tempted to tell him it was useless. Disturbances in the earth would also be restored by the Trial. This time Orion held back because he no longer knew what to think. If the fort hadn’t been restored, maybe it would be possible to Track in this Trial.

  Orion was numb, and Tersa was ecstatic when Trent found the foot sign that shouldn’t exist. The three set off at a run, moving as fast as Trent could find signs of passage. Orion thought they had to be walking into a trap but said nothing. A deception of the Trial could be dealt with. If it wasn’t, there was a chance of uniting with allies. Orion couldn’t take hope away from his two young friends.

  Instead, he offered Trent advice on Tracking. While he lacked the Skill himself, Orion knew enough to advise the Survivalist. No matter how good a tracker is, it is nearly impossible to catch up to a fleeing group by simply following their footprints. The technique is to determine where they are headed and what they need, and then use that knowledge to close the gap.

  This information wasn’t much help to Trent at first. He had no idea what Corporal Francis’s group needed. They had water, and food could be obtained through battle. All they lacked was safety, and that was hard to come by in this Trial. Trent could see the Safe Zones, but Orion told him that wasn’t something most people could do. It wasn’t something anyone could do, is what Orion wanted to say, but he could hardly tell that to a boy who clearly could.

  Trent followed the sign and tried to put himself in the position of Corporal Francis. The trail always led away from a Safe Zone, so where else could they be heading. It wasn’t until he found a battle site that Trent knew what his master’s group needed the most; defensive positions that would offset their enemy’s greater numbers. Defensive positions like the fort Trent himself had led the group too. After that realization and a round of self-recrimination for not seeing the obvious sooner, Trent’s Scouting abilities were put to the test. It was easy for him to put himself in the place of Corporal Francis and his squad. What they needed, Trent and his two companions needed as well.

  In the end, though, that wasn’t much help. The tracks always led away from Safe Zones that Trent would have chosen to head toward. His master’s group seemed to be forced to travel at the whim of the Trial. As much as they tried to pick their own path, they were always forced to run, pushed by the approach of newer, stronger enemies.

  Trent was sure they would never catch up. His sword hacked at a Skeletal Warrior, and he stepped back as Tersa rammed the Undead with her shield. The Warrior crumbled, and Tersa leaped to smash at another even as Trent engaged an Infernal Hunting Cat. He had to put the Cat down quickly. Tersa was oddly incapable of working as a team. He had to follow her lead since she was too busy throwing herself into the fray to pay attention to his actions.

  Orion wasn’t much help, either. The man kept the two younger warriors from being overwhelmed, but Trent hadn’t seen Orion finish a beast in a week. The Al’rashian cast small spells on enemies to confuse and disorient them and offered the occasional healing Spell, but never cast the powerful attacks at which Trent knew he was proficient.

  Worst of all, Orion refused to explain this passive way of battling. He would merely say things like, “You'll never grow if you depend on me,” and deflect any question by critiquing Trent and Tersa’s methods, but mostly Trent’s methods. Orion had given up on Tersa ever since she had chosen the Brute Specialization. There was no guiding the Brute types, you just pointed them in the right direction and hoped they didn’t get lost on the way.

  If Trent found Orion’s actions frustrating, it was worse for the man himself. Trent had a kind of blind trust in his companions and accepted that Orion was doing what was best, even if the boy didn’t understand. But for Orion, holding back so soon after having a portion of his former power restored was torture.

  The Spirit Summoner smacked away an axe aimed at Trent’s back and forced a Skeletal Warrior to shuffle away, with a swing of his staff. He was careful not to do much damage. He could end this fight with a single cast; one Spell and the Mage could destroy all eight Undead that were left. The Infernal Cat and Imp would take slightly more. But Orion couldn’t do that.

  He had recognized what Trent hadn’t. Every time he got too engaged in the combat, the Trial upped the difficulty. More creatures swarmed out of canyons, beasts they were fighting became stronger, sometimes even the ground under their feet shifted, and footing became unstable.

  If Orion backed off, the challenges remained at Levels Trent and Tersa could hold up under. It was almost as if the Trial was warning him to take a support position only as if the Trial specifically wanted to test the younger two and wanted nothing to do with the more experienced Warrior. So, while Trent and Tersa did most of the work and thought they were doing well against opponents several levels higher than themselves, Orion grit his teeth and played the game the Trial insisted on. He guarded their backs, Healed their wounds, and tried to correct their mistakes.

  It wasn’t that they weren’t doing well either. Trent, especially, grew with each battle. The boy had finished off an Infernal Hunting Cat and moved on to its Imp handler. Orion admired the way the boy chained his Skills and utilized his basic swordsmanship to its limits. He needed to be faster and stronger, but his grasp over his weapon was only getting better.

  Trent finished the Imp with a flurry of slashes. The Infernals down, he went to help Tersa with the Undead. Tersa was currently facing off
against two, bashing one with her shield as she clubbed another with her mace. The remaining six were carefully corralled by Orion’s staff.

  Trent shook his head as a Skeleton broke free from Orion’s control and lumbered towards him. No, it hadn’t broken free, Orion had pushed it towards Trent. The Skeleton was still firmly under the man’s sway. Trent’s head shake wasn’t for Orion’s manipulation. The man had his reasons. If not for him, Tersa would have been surrounded.

  The shake was for Tersa. She just didn’t learn. They discussed their formations a dozen times, but she always forgot, or just ignored them, and waded into the midst of the Undead, roaring and swearing without a care.

  The fight lasted another half hour due to their lack of coordination. Trent hated the waste of time. They should be moving, catching up. His Tracking Skill had increased dramatically, and he could use it on the run now. The trail wasn’t a hard one to follow, and with every passing hour, Trent swore he saw more details than before.

  He stared down at the tracks the three of them had just created. There, that was where the carefully discussed attack formation had fallen apart. That was where he and Tersa had been separated, and where instead of pulling back to cover him, Tersa had plunged ahead.

  That muddled print over there was where he had almost slipped into using Ocean Meets the Shore and had to consciously hold himself back. The Technique begged to be used, but Trent almost always got clobbered when he used it. Holding back the Technique had interrupted his flow, and he realized he couldn’t follow Tersa; he moved to engage the Imp. They had to take out those Imps fast; they were powerful, and they could be nasty.

  Those blurry prints there belonged to Orion. Those were beyond Trent’s Skills, both as a tracker to analyze and as a warrior to understand. Orion’s staff would twirl and spark, and his feet beat a rhythm that the Undead were forced to follow. He never caused more than superficial damage, but the enemy was also never out of his control.

  We can do better than this, Trent thought to himself. We can, we must learn to do better.

  “Tersa, I think…” he said out loud. He broke off as Orion’s hand fell on his shoulder. Tersa, who was happily Harvesting and collecting loot, didn’t even look up. She hadn’t heard him.

  “She can’t help it, Trent,” Orion said in a low voice. “The Brute Class… we gain more than Skills with our Classes. You haven’t noticed yet but our Classes define us. As a Survivalist, you will feel uncomfortable outside of the wilds. As a Swordsman, you will seek battle, in which to perfect of your Skills. It’s hard to tell with some Classes. But the Brute Class…”

  Orion sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “Brutes, well, it’s in the name. It is not an elegant or far-thinking Class. If we can, we should encourage her to get away from it.”

  Trent nodded like he understood, but Orion knew he didn’t. How could he? Orion was sure this was the first time the boy had seen a friend choose such a Class. Tersa was already impulsive and reckless, the Brute Specialization would only make her more extreme. And it could lead her to great power. It was unlikely but possible. Tersa was probably already caught up in the Strength the Class brought. It would take a powerful shock to get her to even consider another way.

  “Where to next, Trent?” Orion asked to take the boy’s mind off the problem presented by Tersa.

  Trent’s lips twisted as he pointed at an oddly shaped mountain in the distance. “I think the tracks are leading that way, but I hope I'm wrong.”

  With Far Sight, Trent could make out the fortress in the distance. They passed a cave a day ago, and he had found evidence that their friends had been there. At first glance, the fortress looked like the ideal place for a group of tired soldiers to hole up, but it wasn’t a place that Trent would ever lead anyone.

  He saw the Trial differently. He spotted the Safe Zones, noticed the traps, and so many of the Trial’s wonders and secrets were laid bare before his eyes. He could clearly see that this fortress was no marvel, no hidden location promising safety and treasures. No, that fortress was a trap.

  A haze of black surrounded the whole area much the way a wall of white surrounded the Safe Zones. He didn’t know exactly what it meant, but just looking at it sent shivers down his spine. His fingers rubbed nervously at his palms at the thought of Kirstin and Corporal Francis being stuck in that place.

  “What’s wrong with that mountain?” Lacking Scouting Skills, Orion couldn’t even make out the fortress, much less see anything about the distant landform that was any more ominous than the rest of the land.

  Trent’s shoulders rose slowly and then fell all at once, as he let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “I don’t know, but we’re sure to find out.”

  Chapter 34

  They knew the second they started up the path to the fortress gates that they’d made a mistake. Steep canyon walls rose on both sides of the group as they scurried towards the shelter. The baying of hounds sounded behind them. Their pursuers were getting closer.

  The floor of the canyon rose sharply, but no matter how far they climbed, the smooth walls around them rose higher. Those walls concerned the group more than the sound of their approaching enemies. If this canyon came to a dead end, there would be no easy retreat. Corporal Francis doubted they could scale the rock face even if they had the equipment and the Climbing Skill.

  Tripping over stones in their haste, the group found their legs growing heavier as they struggled to overcome the sloping terrain. When the ground finally leveled out, it should have brought welcome relief, but what awaited them robbed them of what little hope they had left.

  Joel was particularly flummoxed. The fortress stood beyond a ravine. Its wall looked mostly intact and its gate was open. From what he could see, the fortress itself was a ruined mess. The once impressive structure had been destroyed, either by siege weapons or magic, it was hard to tell.

  What confused Joel was that there was no way this was the building he had seen from so far away. The fortress Joel had seen was sunken but still protruded above the nearby mountain tops. This one was surrounded by a ravine, like a bottomless, dry moat, and the walls of the canyon towered over it. There was no way he’d have been able to see it from a distance.

  A stone bridge crossed the ravine and ended at the gate of the fortress. It was broad and sturdy, 100 feet long and 50 feet wide. In the eyes of Corporal Francis, the bridge was in unbelievably good shape. There were no signs of decay or weakness, no holes or gaps. The bridge could have been built yesterday and looked strong enough to support the weight of an army, an army the Trial would surely provide, one that could already be approaching.

  With no other options, Frank and Joel led the way toward the fortress. Frank smirked as his feet left the bridge. The damn thing hadn’t even trembled under their boots; there would be no collapsing it to prevent anyone that was chasing them from crossing.

  The gate, however, clearly was not of the same caliber as the bridge, but Frank figured that the gate and its rusty portcullis might stand up to a battering ram. Not for long, but it wouldn’t collapse instantly. They could shelter here for a while, probably for the rest of their lives. There would be no running from this position. They were well and truly trapped. Their life expectancy wasn’t long.

  The fortress’s interior was a mess of fallen buildings. No infrastructure remained intact, only fallen stone and rotting wood. They would have to make their stand from the wall. There would be no retreat into a keep or tower if the enemy gained a foothold.

  The Guardsmen secured the gate, and Adventurers made a search of the ruins, hoping to find something of use. Frank made his way to the top of the wall and looked back the way they had come. A cloud of dust announced the presence of their pursuers, and judging from the size of the dust cloud, the Trial had increased the difficulty again.

  Frank spat over the wall and swore under his breath. What he wouldn’t give for a simple Permanent Trial, one where the challenges were well known and the pathways well mappe
d. This Instant Trial was the perfect example of why Adventurers called Trials, Dungeons. No one who entered a Dungeon could expect to leave it quickly or in one piece.

  Frank stamped his feet against the stone, less to test it and more out of frustration. The wall wasn’t as high as Al’drossford’s, but at sixty feet, it could be a formidable obstacle if it were well manned. Which it wouldn’t be. Under normal circumstances, fifteen people could never hold a wall two hundred feet long and thirty feet wide, no matter how high it was.

  Here they had a slight advantage. The ravine started where the wall stopped. Looking down, it felt like the wall could fall into the abyss at any moment. The only approach was the bridge. Fifty feet of access, that was doable, not ideal but doable, as long as they blocked the gate and the enemy didn’t have siege weapons or Mages.

  Frank didn’t feel too optimistic. Blocking the gate with rubble was a dream. The enemy was too close, and their numbers were too few. Even if the forces outside lacked a ram, a catapult, or a siege tower, even if they only had a few ladders and archers, Frank couldn’t help but remember the last fort at which they had taken shelter. Made of wood, it hadn’t been as sturdy. Its wall wasn’t half as tall, and for a time they had held. For a time, and then the enemy came from behind. Not with ladders or towers, they simply appeared. How long until that happened here?

  Frank rubbed his face with both hands. He wondered how much longer Cullen needed to find the Guardian and clear the Trial. He had no doubt the Sergeant could do it; the man was a force of nature. Whether Frank and his small band could hold out until Cullen crushed whatever stood in his way, that was the only thing Frank found doubtful.

  Hearing footsteps behind him, Frank took a deep breath and cleared the anxiety from his face. He could at least look confident even if he couldn’t feel it. His charges needed that from him.

  Merrill and Braum surveyed the wall and seeing what they were working with, started informing the recruits of what would be expected of them during the coming battle. Arisa with her magic and Bailey with his bow would be allowed to help the Guardsmen, but the rest would be responsible for watching the courtyard unless directed otherwise. As they were explaining what else might be required, Keller and Horace joined Frank.