“Jamie,” I said, having to lick my lips to moisten them before replying.
Michael glanced beyond me to Tara. “First battle?” he asked sympathetically.
“Yep,” I replied.
“Don’t worry, Tara will take care of you. She’s one our best fighters. One word of advice, though. Tara has probably forgotten to even mention this, but don’t neglect your Techniques.” Michael leaned in close. “That women seems to have a supernatural knack for battle. I swear she doesn’t even make use of any of her Trials-gained abilities. Not so for us lesser mortals. I wouldn’t have survived as long as I have without them.”
Michael’s warning was timely. In the chaos of my arrival and the rush to get here, I had forgotten about my Techniques. I smiled gratefully at Michael. “Thanks,” I said.
“No problem, friend,” he replied before turning his attention back to the murluks.
I shot a glance at the creatures myself. They had not begun their advance. I had time yet, so I willed open the Trials core in my mind and recalled the messages stored within. As it had on Earth, a translucent window edged in gold unfurled in my mind and words spilled out.
I inspected the Trials alerts.
Disappointingly, none of my Disciplines and Attributes had changed from what Aurora had shown me on Wyrm Island.
It seemed I would have to wait until I levelled up and visited the dragon temple before I could acquire further magical skills. But in the meantime, I would have to make do with the few useable Techniques I did have.
As I reviewed them, I realised with a start that I knew how to use the abilities already. The knowledge was instinctive and deeply ingrained. Not pausing to marvel at the minor miracle, I prepared myself to cast mimic.
Fool that I was, I hadn’t thought to use it yet. But in a camp of humans in the throes of battle, the chance that anyone had bothered to analyse me already was negligible.
I opened my magesight. Reaching for the magic at the centre of my being, I tapped into its core and looked upon the world through the lens of magic. It was the first time I had performed such a feat, yet it felt as natural as breathing.
Turning my gaze onto myself, I studied the flowing lines of my spirit and found that I understood its design. Taken all together, the threads of intricately interwoven spirit that formed my being mapped out the core of who I was—and my Potentials.
I knew already that players did not see this intricate weave of spirit when they applied analyse. Most did not have the magesight needed, and those who did weren’t likely to have the necessary knowledge to understand the complicated twists and swirls of spirit.
For most players, it was the Trials itself that interpreted a target’s spirit weave and reported back the results. But now, courtesy of the Mimicked Core Trait, I had the knowledge, not only to understand the threads of myself, but to alter them. Only superficially, of course, but enough so to confound any player’s analyse.
Reaching out with my mind, I plucked the first filament of spirit and shifted it to where it needed to be. I worked swiftly from there, and in only a few seconds my task was completed and my Magic Potential disguised.
It did not take long for the Trials to confirm the changes.
Mimic activated. Your true Magic Potential: extraordinary has been masked and will be seen by others as: meagre.
I nodded in satisfaction at the results. I couldn’t conceal my magical Potential entirely. If I did that, I would have a hard time explaining how I was able to cast any spells at all. With my Potential revealed as meagre, even though I would still be noteworthy for having the ability, the true strength of my magic would be hidden.
Or so I hoped.
Out of curiosity, I turned my magesight towards the nearest murluk. Its being was a chaotic whirl of spirit, but disappointingly I could not fathom their hidden meaning.
I closed my magesight. It seemed each being’s spirit weave was unique and would require its own store of knowledge or careful study to decode. In time, perhaps I could gain the skill to do so, but for now, just like any other player, I would have to rely on analyse to understand my foes.
Drawing on my will, I reached out and cast analyse on the murluk, and in response, received a report from the Trials.
The target is a level 12 river murluk. It has no Magic, meagre Might, is gifted with Resilience, and has low Craft.
Knowledge of the murluk filled me as I willed away the message. In an eyeblink, I understood more of the murluk than I knew of most creatures from Earth. My mouth dropped open in astonishment.
Then the sense of the information the Trials provided penetrated and my mouth worked again. For a different reason entirely.
Fear.
The murluk’s level was far beyond my own. The creature likely needed only one hit to kill me!
What am I doing here again?
“Relax, champion,” Tara said, sensing my agitation. “Just remember to drive your spear forward and pull it back. Don’t worry about anything else.”
“But those creatures are more than ten levels higher than me!” I protested.
“You are a… trifle less prepared than my regular recruits,” admitted Tara. “Most of them usually manage to get in some basic training and visit the temple before needing to face the murluks.” She held my gaze. “But you can get through this.”
I stared at her in disbelief. A little less prepared? Who is she kidding—
My thoughts ground to a halt as, with loud, slurping cries and darting tongues, the first of the murluks hopped forward in attack.
The battle was about to begin.
✽✽✽
My mind blanked and my eyes unfocused, mesmerised by the approach of the mud-spattered, blue-skinned toads, their large black alien eyes, and their darting pink tongues.
Tara jerked her arm backwards and swatted me—hard. The world snapped back into focus. “Get it together, fish,” she ordered.
I shook my head to clear it and wrapped both my hands around my spear. Tara was crouched low behind her shield and held the spear in her right arm at ready.
I hadn’t realised it earlier, but Tara was barely over five feet in height. At six feet tall, I literally loomed over the diminutive fighter, which would make my job of stabbing from behind her in the second row much simpler.
I breathed easier. I can do this, I thought. Setting my stance as best I could, I waited.
The murluk line crashed against the human wall in a fury of sound and a flurry of thrusted spears. Ignoring my chattering teeth, I kept my eyes fixed on Tara and waited for her to move first.
A murluk emerged out of the horde, appearing with a suddenness that nearly caused me to fall back in surprise. Only Tara’s stillness kept me in position.
The warrior thrust his spear towards my companion. With enviable calm, Tara flung her shield upwards and parried away the murluk’s strike. Then, in a blur of movement, she slashed out with her own weapon and ripped open the murluk’s torso.
Tara’s success fuelled my courage.
Despite the dread thickening my limbs, I forced myself into motion. Stepping forward, I jabbed downwards at the much shorter murluk. Aiming for the murluk’s throat, I missed, and grazed his face instead.
“Good job! Now pull back!” shouted Tara. I withdrew my spear. Tara stepped into the gap and punched through the murluk with a second thrust. The creature fell lifelessly to the floor.
Another took his place.
The second murluk was more cautious than the first. He feinted, then thrust his spear in a half-hearted fashion towards Tara’s legs.
Instead of dodging backwards as the murluk probably expected, Tara leapt forward, and slammed her shield down onto the spear, trapping it beneath the wooden plank.
After a second’s hesitation, I stepped forward and jabbed my spear forward again. Tara, following through on her first attack, struck out as well.
The green-eyed fighter’s blow tore through
the murluk’s unprotected armpit, while my own merely scratched his arm.
The murluk hung on to life somehow—alive, but mortally injured. Tara did not relent. Stepping forward, she bashed in the murluk’s face with her shield and jabbed at his torso with her spear.
With a final gasp, the murluk fell dead.
In the sudden respite, I remembered to breathe again, and took in a deep lungful of air. In a matter of seconds, Tara and I had killed two murluks. Well, Tara had done all the work, yet I had helped. More importantly, though, I’d survived the exchange.
Then something extraordinary happened.
My head buzzed, and knowledge that I knew was not mine seeped into my consciousness. I corrected my grip on the spear, and instinctively shifted my hands to where they needed to be.
That’s better, I thought, feeling the weapon balance easier in my hand. After that, the accompanying Trials’ message was no surprise.
Your combat experience has advanced your skill with spears to: level 1.
With adrenaline surging, and my blood singing, I felt revitalised and itched to advance. Elsewhere, the line was bowing backwards, others not doing so well.
Tara sensed the danger. “Back!” she barked, retreating herself. Obediently, I followed and stepped into line with her.
Noticing our retreat and probably hoping to catch us off guard, a murluk hopped forward and stabbed at Tara. She was equal to the challenge. Casually—almost lazily—the fighter parried away the blow. Even more impressively, Tara did not strike out again, but instead stepped back into the security of our lines.
There, she waited.
The murluk, smarter than his fellows, realised that his quarry was far too wily. He faded back into the horde and broke off in search of easier prey. Another, less cautious murluk, took his place.
Tara went through the same smooth, precise motions of parry and counterattack. Falling in line with her easy rhythm, I followed her blows with my own, and together we skewered our foe with our twin strikes.
As the third murluk fell, a flurry of Trials messages scrolled through my vision and left me gaping.
You have gained in experience and are now a: level 2 Neophyte.
Your skill with spears has advanced to: level 2.
Your strength has increased to: level 2.
The last message was the most surprising. Following on its heels, one of the almost-forgotten runes from my Induction rose out of my subconscious—where it had been patiently waiting all this time—and delved into my body.
I clenched my jaw as the magic worked into my muscles. Raising my hand, I stared at it in wonder. Once again, I was flummoxed by the Trials’ magic.
My body looked the same, but I could feel the difference. I was stronger. I glanced down at my hobbled foot. Could the Trials heal it too? And if it can do that, what else can it do? My mind exploded with the possibilities.
Movement from the corner of my eye drew my attention and broke the spell. A murluk was advancing. Dismissing the Trials’ notices, I hefted my spear and got back to work.
Chapter 13
391 days until the Arkon Shield falls
Magesight is a Technique granted by the Trials to all players with Magic Potential. It is the foundation of both magic and sorcery, and without it, any would-be mage is blind. Truly, without the gift of magesight, magic itself is not be possible. —Cale Ames, elven spellweaver.
I don’t know how long Tara and I spent killing.
The bodies around the warrior kept piling up, and protected by her prowess, I was untouchable.
But eventually the battle took its toll. My arms began to burn and the spear grew heavy in my hands. Despite my exhaustion, however, I kept going, following Tara’s lead religiously. Step forward, then back. Lunge and withdraw.
Until there were no more foes to kill.
I staggered, suddenly dizzy in the moment of stillness, and would have fallen if not for Tara’s steadying hand on my arm. “Whoa there, fish. Don’t you fall now. Not when you’ve been doing so well.”
I wiped away the dripping sweat from my brow. “What happened?” I gasped, leaning onto my spear for support.
“We’ve beaten this wave. The murluks are falling back to regroup.”
“It’s over? We’ve won?” I asked as I bent forward and panted for air.
Tara laughed. “No, fish. Not by a longshot. There are more waves to come.” She tapped my shoulder, forcing me to look up. “You did well, Jamie,” she said softly. “Far better than I expected. But sit down and rest, before you collapse. We have a few minutes at least before the next assault.”
I sagged to the ground in gratitude, not caring about the mud that spattered my face and arms.
“Michael!” Tara called over her shoulder.
The ginger-haired warrior appeared next to her, looking no worse himself from the day’s efforts. “Tara?” he asked.
“You have some jerky? Our budding warrior here looks like he is about to die of exhaustion. Give him some.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Michael said. Pulling something from inside his armour, Michael handed it to me. “Eat,” he said, “it will make you feel better.”
Obediently, I ate.
Tara and Michael were right. After a few mouthfuls of the jerky, I felt somewhat restored and began to look around with renewed interest. The river shore was strewn with dead murluks. With a pleased grin, I noticed that the pile in front of us was quite sizeable.
Up and down the line, soldiers were kicking the corpses back into the river. I watched the bodies float away in the bloodied waters.
My gaze swung to the right and the grin slipped off my face. The rest of the line had not fared as well as we had.
More gaps—many more gaps—had appeared. I swallowed. I had been fortunate. Unlike most, I had a guardian angel. Without Tara, I never would have survived as I long as I did. There was no doubt in my mind of that.
“How have you endured this long if every fight is this hard?” I asked.
Tara turned away from her inspection of the murluk lines to stare at me.
I pointed to the dozens of fallen soldiers. “If you’ve been taking that many causalities every wave, how have any of you managed to survive for more than a week?” Running the cold, hard numbers through my head, by even the most conservative calculations, the human forces here should have died out long ago.
Tara pursed her lips. “You think too much, fish.” But as I continued to stare at her, not letting the matter go, she sighed. “To be honest, we would all be dead already if not for new recruits like you replenishing our numbers every day.”
“So we’re what… cannon fodder?” I asked, studying the dead with new eyes, aghast at the implications. Were they all ‘fresh meat’ like me?
“No!” said Tara fiercely. “Not that, never that. On their first day here, all new players are paired with one of our old hands, just like you were with me. It’s our job to keep the new fishes alive and teach them all we can in the day.”
She sighed, then added reluctantly, “But there aren’t enough experienced fighters and too many new players. Tomorrow, you will be left to sink or swim on your own merit. If you survive your second day, the next, and the next after that, eventually you’ll graduate to an old hand yourself, and will pass on your experience to others. Do you understand?”
“Is that why you pushed me into battle so quickly?”
Tara grimaced. “Partly,” she said. “There are no exceptions to the pairing rules.” She glanced down at my crippled foot. “Regardless of the circumstances. There are just too many new players to baby anyone. No one will mentor you tomorrow. You need to make the most of your first day.”
I chewed on her words. As strange as it seemed, Tara had driven me into battle out of pity. I glanced down at my hobbled foot. What she had left unsaid was that my limp would make surviving here without help difficult—if not impossible. “You said partly. What’s the rest of the re
ason?”
“The other half of the answer is the newcomer blessing,” Tara said. “It accelerates your learning far beyond the norm. And battle, we have learned the hard way, is the fastest way to improve a player. When you combine the two—combat and blessing—the growth a soldier can see in their first day is phenomenal.” She shrugged. “So we push new arrivals into battle—those that are willing, anyway. It’s counterintuitive I know, but it works.”
I nodded slowly. It was a brutal system. But looking around at the mud-and-gore-spattered battlefield, I could understand the need. “Then I only have your protection for the rest of the day?”
“Correct,” said Tara grimly. “Today, you must bend all your efforts into getting as strong as you can. How many levels did you gain in that wave?”
Tara’s words reminded me of the many unread notices waiting on my attention. After the first few messages at the start of the battle, I had been automatically dismissing further alerts. With the chaos of the battle, I hadn’t had time to spare for them or the occasional spurt of new knowledge and changes affected to my body by the Trials.
Reaching into the Trials core lying dormant in my mind, I recalled the messages and scrutinised each.
You have gained in experience and are now a: level 4 Neophyte.
Your skill with spears has advanced to: level 5.
Your strength and constitution have increased to: level 3.
Your vigour has increased to: level 2.
My stats, while nowhere near impressive, were much better. Now at least, I felt less outmatched by the murluks. “Three levels,” I replied. “I’m level four now.”
“Not bad,” Tara said. “Just remember, newcomer only applies to Neophyte Disciplines and Attributes—those below level ten. Once you attain the Trainee rank, your progress will slow down dramatically. Do your best to reach level ten today in as many Disciplines and Attributes as you can.”
“Got it.” I rose to my feet with newfound determination. Knowing what tomorrow would bring, I realised that I would have to start relying less on Tara’s protection and fend more for myself.
Overworld (Dragon Mage Saga Book 1): A fantasy post-apocalyptic story Page 10
