by J. T. Wright
Grim determination and rage now took their turns in Joel’s eyes as the Scout rolled his shoulders and lifted his bow. Someday there might be a hint of pride for the decision his brother had made, but for now, at least half of the anger was for the idiot sibling who had left him behind.
Frank didn’t like what he saw, but there was nothing he could do for the Scout. Not here and now, in a Trial. The enemy was still coming. A normal army might pause if they suffered an attack that caused such losses, but Trial Beasts wouldn’t. The Corporal would have to keep his eye on Joel later, but they all had their hands full.
Matt had struck a significant blow but also left them without magic support. Arisa’s Level had risen, but there was a reason the Guard didn’t power level their recruits. She still only had a handful of Spells, and all those were low-leveled. It would take a lot of training to see her truly come into her own.
Matt had probably meant well, and what he had accomplished couldn’t be denied, but Frank didn’t think the Mage had thought through the action. There was a hidden danger in Survival Type Trials. The constant stress and the uncertainty that came along with ceaseless combat wore away at the best of soldiers and Adventurers.
The Corporal could see the warning signs in all his charges. He could feel them creeping up in himself. The Guardsmen knew how to cope with the stress, as much as they possibly could, but younger recruits and Adventurers were starting to get twitchy. They would start taking risks that they shouldn’t. They would freeze up in situations they would have faced head-on before. Desperate decisions would seem like crucial acts of genius, and lives would be lost.
Frank owed Joel a debt. Matt’s loss could have been prevented if the Corporal had paid better attention. It was easy to miss the signs, the vacant stares, the mood swings, but it was Frank’s job to see them. Matt’s death was an unnecessary loss. If Matt could gather the power to do what he had done, Frank could have found a way to use that power safely, but the stress had eaten away at the Corporal’s awareness, and a life had been cut short.
The screaming sound of enraged Orcs, the pounding of boots on earth, the slamming of weapons on shields, all this brought Frank’s attention back where it belonged. There was no Skill or Ability that could help you deal with a loss. Only experience taught you how to focus and move forward. Sometimes soldiers died, you mourned them after the battle.
There were four staircases leading to the top of the wall. Frank had positioned his men on two of them, wagering that the Orcs would ignore the other routes. There just wasn’t enough manpower to cover all angles.
Frank had traded his spear for a sword and stood halfway up the staircase on the left. The stairs were broad enough to allow three Orcs to charge at once. He and Keller could hold them off if they came in threes, but Merrill stood behind the two, wielding a long spear, ready to help if needed.
In a similar formation, Kirstin, Dirk, and Horace stood on the right. The two trios were too far apart to offer any aid to one another but were making the best of a bad situation. If anyone looked to be in trouble, Braum and Joel were leading the Recruits and would lend a hand where they could.
In the last few days, the Trial had been kind enough to provide bows and arrows for the defenders. Now everyone could be involved in the battle, including the Recruits. It had made a difference. It wasn’t much, but the fact that they were still alive had to be a testament to something.
As the charging horde came into range, Braum called for the recruits to fire. Joel, with his superior Skills, had started shooting long before anyone else. Frank was glad to see the Scout channeling his anger into his bow. Each arrow he nocked took a life, and Joel aimed where a death would do the most damage. Narrow pathways became choked with bodies, slowing the Orcs and providing the Archers with more opportunities.
Plenty of Orcs reached the stairs, though, and the defenders there found their own Skills put to the test.
With Dirk’s Shield Wall and Keller’s Unmovable Skill, the Orcs couldn’t push past the Defenders, and Frank thought they might survive this wave. He thought that right up until he took a deep wound to his stomach. He killed the Orc that had stabbed him but was forced to let Merrill take his place. They lost three steps in trading positions.
Lyra rushed to Frank’s side as quickly as she was able. The Healer had improved her Skills, and she patched the Corporal up without a word and only the slightest of disapproving looks. The wound was closed, but Frank was still weakened. Lost blood was still lost blood, and some things couldn’t be Healed. Even if she’d had an Advanced Class, Lyra didn’t have the time, energy, or Mana to completely restore the wounded.
And there were more wounded all the time. Dirk’s Shield Wall had broken, and Horace pulled him back. The backfire of a broken Skill left the Heavy Infantryman dizzy and earned him a few nasty hits from a mace wielding Orc. Kirstin was favoring a leg as well, but there was no one to take her place.
The Archers tried to keep up their fire, but a company of bowman had arrived, and the defenders lost their ranged advantage. Now two groups of archers played a deadly game of tag in which the Orcs had the obvious advantage of numbers. Not to mention, every one of the Orcs had true Archer’s Skills while only Bailey, Joel, and Braum could say the same. Only their higher position on the wall was in their favor.
Still, if it were only Orcs, Frank thought they might have a chance. The numerical advantage of the Trial Creatures was diminished by the narrow approach, and, like the Corporal had hoped, the enraged attackers never tried to take advantage of the undefended stairways. But when the second Hill Troll made its appearance, roaring as it cleared fallen buildings from its path with a swing of its club, Frank’s optimism plummeted. He called for Arisa to concentrate her spells on it, but the young Mage was near Mana depletion. She wouldn’t be able to do much.
Frank himself was the best option for dealing with the Troll, if he and Braum could break through the Orcs ranks. The Troll looked to be half-blinded as a result of Matt’s Spell, if Joel could finish the job… a thousand ideas ran through Frank’s mind. None of them were truly feasible.
Knowing they were done for unless the Troll was taken out, Frank started up the stairs. He would take Braum and Joel, and the three would head for an open stairway, making their way to the Troll. If the Orcs didn’t intercept them or take their actions as an invitation to use the unguarded stairs themselves, there was a chance.
Frank traded his sword for a spear and started to order Joel and Braum to follow him. He dodged an arrow, and instinctively looked to see where it had come from. What he saw caused him to believe he hadn’t dodged the arrow at all. Surely, what he was seeing was the result of three feet of wood and steel plunging into his brain.
Jaw open, staring wide-eyed, Frank only managed to move again when another arrow slammed against the battlements near his head. He dropped low. The words that reached his ears, words that should have been impossible for him to hear from such a distance caused him to doubt his survival once more.
“Bloody Flaming Piss! Ash and shit, and fuck you, Orc Jerkfaces!”
“Don’t charge ahead, you insufferable female! The Troll, we need…”
Frank recognized the first voice, but the second was one he’d never heard before. He heard the tone that voice employed many times, though. He had often used that tone himself, and the way the voice had trailed off, that was a man accepting that some things wouldn’t change no matter how much you shouted.
Frank risked a peek over the wall and then sat down heavily. He was dead, he had to be. If he was still alive, then he’d broken under the stress. There was no way he saw what he thought he saw. There were no Mages in the Trial capable of freezing a Troll from the waist down and locking it in place with chains of ice! It just couldn’t happen!
Chapter 37
Trent heard Tersa and Orion shouting, but he didn’t take the time to look around. Tersa was following her own plan, as usual. That couldn’t be helped. Trent would stick to the origin
al plan. If it worked, he’d make it back to Tersa’s side afterward.
He stood at the Hill Troll’s feet. So far, so good. The beast was firmly locked in place by Orion’s Spell. Tersa was supposed to be here as well, but she was probably bashing away at those Orc Archers they had seen. Trent had seen the way her eyes lit up when she spotted those lightly armored warriors. They were perfect for bashing, much more exciting than a Hill Troll.
The ice that bound the Troll to the earth was thick, and Trent shivered from the cold as he made his approach. The sudden change in temperature was unexpected, since, up to this point, he had never experienced cold. Grabbing ahold of the ice, Trent began pulling himself up. If this had been ordinary ice, there would have been the danger of slipping, but this was friendly ice, created by Orion’s contracted Spirit. Trent couldn’t communicate with the Spirit himself, but if its master desired, it would keep Trent’s appendages from slipping, even if his fingers got so cold he couldn’t feel them.
Orion watched Trent pull himself up, hand over hand, and his tension grew with each step the boy took. This plan was risky, even if Tersa had kept to her part. Orion himself was already doing all he could. His Spell was powerful, but it required him to continuously feed Mana to the Spirit holding the Troll in place. With Tersa otherwise engaged, Trent was on his own.
Tersa was helping, in a way. She had activated Enraging Aura. It was her highest leveled Skill, and it drew the attention of all the Orc Archers, a few Orc Warriors, and the bound Troll. Orion doubted that was her intent; Tersa just liked to make people angry. But the Troll was already confused by its previous injuries and, with Tersa pissing it off further, it never noticed when Trent reached its back.
Trent gagged as his hands left the ice and grabbed hold of a strand of greasy Troll hair. The creature reeked, and his mask did nothing to block the smell. Trent took shallow breaths through his mouth, but it didn’t help. He started to wonder if his mask had gained a new Ability that amplified smell.
He wanted to continue climbing; the sooner he reached the top and finished this stupid plan, the better. He wanted to, but there was a small problem. He couldn’t feel his fingers. He was able to grab hold of the Troll’s thick cord-like hairs, but only his feet still planted in the ice kept him in place. The Troll was eyeing Tersa and struggling desperately to get loose. Trent didn’t think it even recognized it was bound, it just wanted to crush the redheaded girl with the infuriating aura.
Flexing his hands to stimulate them, Trent wished he could stop briefly before continuing his ascent, but beneath him, the ice was making disturbing crackling noises. The Troll’s struggles were starting to pay off. Even with Orion constantly providing Mana to the ice, it was still made from lesser Spirits. It was remarkable that those Spirits had lasted this long. Knowing time was short, Trent pulled himself up the Trolls back.
Despite the smell, the Troll’s thick hair made the climb easier. For Trent, the worst part was ignoring the accumulated filth that was coating his hands and scale armor. He reached the Troll’s shoulders quickly. The beast never noticed his presence, though whether that was due to its injuries, Tersa’s distraction, or some other factor, Trent couldn’t tell.
Hanging from the Troll’s hair, Trent reached into his pouch and pulled out a red ball. He’d learned a little about Spirit Summoners while traveling with Orion, but he was still fuzzy on what they were capable of. From what Orion had taught him, he knew Spirit Summoners were more often guides and priests than true Mages. They could adapt their spells to combat, but that wasn’t their true purpose.
And that was why Trent found himself dangling from a Troll’s neck hair, holding a condensed ball of Spirit Flame. Orion said it was possible to propel the ball through the air with a wind Spirit, but that wasn’t something he was qualified to do at his Level. The ball would have to be placed and activated by hand.
The stench was worse near the Troll’s ear. That and the tossing of the Troll’s head was starting to make Trent nauseous. He needed to finish this. Pushing with his feet, he positioned his body near the side of the Troll’s head and hooked his hand holding the ball, into the beast’s ear.
He heard a squelching noise as his hand entered the beast’s ear canal. He tried not to think about what his fist was pushing through. He didn’t want to know what the slimy substance could be that filled the creature’s inner ear and now coated his arm up to his elbow. Right now, he really wished he knew the Self-Clean Charm!
Releasing the ball of Spirit Flame, Trent pulled his arm free, or he tried to. A sense of panic grew, along with his nausea, as the Troll’s ear refused to let go of his arm. Slime or ear wax held him firmly in place; the slurping noises it made, as he tried to free himself, sounded like laughter to his own ears.
Bracing his feet on the leathery neck of the Hill Troll, Trent pushed with all his might. Suddenly his arm broke loose, and Trent was flung backwards. He almost lost his hold on the Troll’s hair but managed to hang on, even when his momentum sent him swinging around to crash into the Troll’s skull.
Ignoring the goop that covered his hand and forearm, Trent grabbed another handful of hair. His flailing and kicking had caught the Troll’s attention, and it began swinging its head wildly from side to side, attempting to discover what was crawling on it. It was all Trent could do to hang on as he was whipped from side to side.
At this point, Tersa should have been standing by with a spear to act as a distraction. In the original plan, Tersa would have been standing just beyond the Troll's reach, screaming insults and waving her weapon, to buy Trent a few seconds to act. He just needed a few seconds.
But Tersa had dropped the spear and reclaimed her mace when she charged the Orc Archers. The redheaded Brute was now too busy dealing with her own problems to worry about Trent’s.
The Orcs she had challenged to a smashing contest were considerably stronger than any other opponents the trio had faced in the Trial. It was all Tersa could do to avoid being surrounded, and she had yet to land a solid hit to a single opponent. The Orcs didn’t need Enraging Auras of their own. Their refusal to stand still and take their bashings like men was more than enough to infuriate Tersa. Never mind the plan for dealing with the Troll. At this point, Tersa had forgotten that Trent even existed!
Fifty feet in the air, his teeth clenched with determination and to avoid biting his own tongue, he crashed from one side of the Troll’s head to the other. Trent had to do something! If this went on much longer, he’d lose consciousness and plunge to the earth. He might end up falling to the ground anyway, but he’d rather do it with his sensibilities intact.
Before he could rethink that bit of nonsense, Trent focused his Fire Manipulation Ability on a small red jewel attached to his vambraces. It was three days after he acquired and bound the forearm protectors before he noticed the gem. It wasn’t large, not even a half-inch in diameter, but he was certain it hadn’t been there when he first examined the vambraces.
It was after he showed the jewel to Orion that he learned what it was. When all the Spirit Elementals had left the cavern to take up residence in Orion’s staff, one had chosen to enter Trent’s armor. It was the Fire Spirit that had taught Trent Ember. Trent could communicate with the Spirit in a rough fashion through Fire Manipulation, but so far, it hadn’t revealed any abilities and hadn’t taught Trent any more spells. That gemstone now had absolutely no use as far as the two could tell.
Orion was also certain that other Spirits had chosen Trent’s vambraces for a home when the cavern collapsed. He couldn’t say how many or of what type they were, but he knew they were there, sleeping. Only the Fire Spirit was awake enough to form a gemstone.
Unable to discover the Spirit’s secrets, Trent might have forgotten about it altogether, if it wasn’t for the Troll. Elemental Spirits were connected, and through Fire Manipulation, Trent could briefly share in their community. This hadn’t proved to be very useful so far, but with any luck today, it would.
Waking the Spirit in h
is vambraces, Trent encouraged it to speak to its kin, the Spirits that had been molded into a ball and buried in the Trolls ear. He couldn’t command, even Orion couldn’t so that, but he could ask. Spirits enjoyed doing things for people they liked, and the vambrace Spirit was eager to help Trent.
What was surprising was that the other Spirits seemed to like him as well. It wasn’t a conversation of words, more of a trading of feelings and intent, that Trent wasn’t truly able to follow. But the impression of energy building was unmistakable, and Trent knew he’d succeeded.
He was about to break the connection – he still had a Troll to climb down, after all – when something occurred that almost caused him to lose his tenuous hold. The Spirits agreed to his request, but instead of releasing him, the connection between Trent and the Spirits tightened. At first, Trent thought they were using Fire Manipulation to strengthen themselves, but then he realized they were reaching deeper than that. Fire Manipulation was just the surface. What the Spirits wanted was Heart of the Inferno.
He could have stopped them. It all happened so quickly! Conversation and consent, all achieved in the blink of an eye, but just as he couldn’t force the Spirits to act, they couldn’t control him. He consented without knowing why. Perhaps, it was foolish, trusting fire not to burn him, but he allowed Heart of the Inferno to activate and was only curious, not afraid.
Seconds later, he knew it had been foolish. Elemental Spirits were basic things. They knew only need. Fire burns. Fire purifies. Fire explodes. Fire does not consider the consequences.
Trent’s connection with the Spirits shielded him from the actual blast. It did not prevent the force of the explosion from hurling him outwardly. The Troll’s head was gone! Simply gone! All that was left of the beast from the neck up were two thick strands of hair that were tightly clutched in Trent’s fists!
