A Bond Broken: The Infinite World Book Two

by J. T. Wright

  There was never much traffic at this tiny village on the northern border of the Al’dross territory. Young Adventurers looking to clear their first or second Trial drifted in and out, but the only people who delved the Dungeon regularly were a handful of retired Guardsman that made their home in Slyhill.

  Adventurers called the Trials, Dungeons, because, like dungeons, Trials were easy to get into but hard to leave. In Slyhill, the running joke was the local Dungeon was as easy to enter as it was to fall into a hole. Calling it a Dungeon was as close as the locals came to making a joke about exiting the Trial. Populated by low-leveled Beasts like Rats, Lizards, and Spiders, leaving the Slyhill Trial wasn’t difficult for even the newbies that passed through.

  So few people came to Slyhill that when a group of fourteen riders escorted a man driving a wagon up to the inn, all the farmers inside came out to watch and comment. It was more people at one time than Slyhill saw in a year. When the local blacksmith noted the group wore the uniform of the Guard, interest was quickly lost.

  Guardsmen were a common sight in the Al’dross territory. This patrol was a little more ragged than most, and a lot more listless, but they were still just the Duke’s men riding their rounds. Guardsmen never caused trouble and rarely brought news. They were welcome but not the excitement that the locals craved.

  The innkeeper was the most disappointed. A group of fifteen would usually camp outside rather than rent rooms. He returned to the common room and prepared mugs in the vague hope that whoever was in charge of this group would allow his men a drink or two.

  The innkeeper lost his sour demeanor when Corporal Francis not only requested meals and drinks but beds if they were available. Were they? Of course, they were and at very reasonable rates! A loyal subject of the Duke, like the innkeeper, would always provide fair service to the Duke’s Guard!

  Frank paid the man without haggling. He knew the price was inflated, but he simply didn’t have the energy to care. His men needed rest, and he suspected that if the innkeeper knew what he was getting into, he would have charged more.

  That first night, besides the Senior Guardsman, the group was more interested in the beds than a drink. Recruits and Adventurers ate a hurried meal and rushed to bathe and bed down. Frank mournfully turned down a drink for himself and took a chair upstairs with him. He sat in the hallway and waited.

  The inn had been built with dreams of a steady supply of Adventurers in mind. The second floor had enough beds to accommodate the whole group. That made things easier on Frank. His charges were easier to watch over.

  The night passed much the way Frank thought it would. After a month living on edge, snatching sleep when they could, a soft bed should have been able to hold the Recruits and Adventurers in place. That wasn’t the case. Every hour, restless sleep was interrupted, and someone would leap out of their blankets, shouting and reaching for a weapon. Weapons Frank had confiscated, fortunately.

  The Corporal himself didn’t get any sleep. Even without weapons, Guard Recruits and Adventurers in the Level 20 range could inflict serious harm to their surroundings. Arisa set her bed on fire after a nightmare. Joel and Bailey gave each other black eyes when they got up at the same time. Dirk had to be restrained when he shouted about Fleshlings while searching for his halberd.

  The next morning at breakfast, the group looked worse than they had the night before. The innkeeper wasn’t much better. The man had been sure his inn was going to be burned down around him. What had happened to the Guardsmen of the past who never caused any trouble?

  The innkeeper tried to renegotiate the rates with Frank that morning, but the Corporal would have none of it. One does not quote a price to a ranking member of the Duke’s Guard and then try to weasel out of it. Denying the man his extra coin was the most fun Frank had in weeks.

  Frank allowed the Recruits two days off, instead of a week. The brats were anxious and querulous with nothing to do. On the third day, the Corporal had them training two hours in the morning and two at night. On the fourth day, the Adventurers joined in.

  Joel had considered it from the first. He had watched them train in the morning and thought he might benefit from the drills. Anything would be better than sitting around, worrying about what he would do now that Matt, his brother, was gone.

  Surprisingly, it was Lyra who approached Frank about the drills. The Battle Healer hadn’t slept much at the inn. She was up as often as Frank, healing cuts and bruises or offering a sympathetic shoulder to a confused Recruit. Acting as a mother to the group pushed the tidy, prim little woman out of her own fatigue.

  Joel’s eyes almost popped out of his head when Lyra approached Frank, iron-capped staff in hand, and asked for a lesson. Her new Specialization required her to be in the thick of things. She still hadn’t entirely adjusted to the more physical aspect of her Class, but she honestly was eager to learn.

  Frank had responded to her request with a shrug. He found a staff for himself and walked Lyra through the basics. His eyes shone when they started an easy sparring match. This was what he had been waiting for. All it took was one person showing interest. Soon all the Adventurers joined the Recruits in their drills. They were back under the Corporal’s command. The days of restless rest were gone. Frank put them to work.

  That was how Joel found himself in the Slyhill Trial, standing at the back of a group of seven, acting as an Archer. This Trial didn’t need a Scout. In all its years, Slyhill had yet to see its Trial throw a trap at challengers. Dirk led the way with his shield.

  At the back, Joel held his bow and stood beside Arisa as a group of Giant Rats swarmed towards them. With Dirk in the lead, Joel and Arisa at the back, and Lerner, Geoffen, and Horace taking center, the group was drastically overpowered for this Trial. Trials sent higher-leveled Beasts in greater numbers, but it was still a minor Dungeon. There was only so much it could change.

  If Alistern had taken part in the fights, he probably would have killed the rats before the others had a chance. Joel was glad the Lieutenant was just here to observe and act as party leader. It was strange delving with the man he had once known as Allen, but Joel had to admit, Alistern knew his business.

  The Lieutenant gave everyone their orders and kept out of the way. This was the first time he had led them, but he already seemed to know their strengths and weaknesses. Which he might; Frank certainly did, and Alistern had spent the morning talking to the Corporal while everyone else was busy with weapons practice.

  Joel was only supposed to provide support, but in the company of Arisa, his competitive side was reasserting itself. Matt had been a Mage. Matt didn’t have much in common with the studious Guard Recruit, but there was something about holding a bow while standing next to a caster.

  “Hey, Arisa,” Joel nocked an arrow, “a copper coin per body says I get more kills than you.”

  Arisa looked at the Scout incredulously. She was supposed to be the party’s Healer. She had picked up some Healing Spells in order to assist Lyra, and Corporal Francis had encouraged her to think about a change in her Class along these lines. She didn’t think she was supposed to help with the fighting.

  Still, there were an awful lot of Rats. The Senior Guardsmen and Dirk were letting the Recruits do most of the fighting. The older men just corralled the Rats and kept them from running over the top of the group. They probably wouldn’t mind if she cast a few Attack Spells.

  “Ah, Better not. Um, we, ah, have orders.” Arisa was a Guardsman, and she’d been told to Heal. She tapped her staff against the ground. Let the others have fun.

  Joel took a shot, and his arrow neatly took a Giant Rat through the eye. Arisa looked aghast at Joel and then peered at Alistern. The Lieutenant was okay with the Archer’s attack!

  “Ah, ok, then um, that one is mine!” She started her chanting.

  It was a short Spell, but before she could cast it, Joel sent the Beast tumbling end over end.

  “Hey! That one was mine!”

  “Too slow, Ahh-risa.
Maybe you can have the next one. You owe me two…three coppers.”

  There were thirty Rats in the current wave. There should have been plenty for everyone. Joel and Arisa monopolized most of the kills, shouting out what the other owed as they did. By the second wave, the whole group was in on the game.

  “Keller! You can’t knock my arrows out of the air! That’s against the rules!”

  “I don’t remember nothing about no sissy rule like that. Shoot better, and I won’t be able to.”

  “Dirk, you have to use your weapon! No stomping on two at a time!”

  “Who is making up all these dumb rules? If it wasn’t stated at the beginning, there’s no changing things midway!”

  “I think you all are forgetting that there’s a larger bet with the other team at stake. Whoever defeats the Third floor Guardian first wins, losers buy drinks!”

  “Yes sir, Lieutenant! You heard the man, Horace, let’s show these kids how it’s done.”

  “Look at that Um-risa, I’m ahead again. Damn it, you can’t nudge my bow while I’m shooting!”

  “Ah, I don’t know what you, um, are talking about.”

  With a renewed sense of purpose, there was nothing to slow the party down. First Floor, Rats of various sizes. Second Floor, lizards, all very large, with a spider Floor Guardian. Third Floor, a mixture of all three with an Ontreazion Lizard Floor Guardian.

  As each Trial Beast fell to the laughter and cheers of the challengers, a shadow was cast aside, The shadow of the Land of the Undying Lord. It couldn’t be completely banished, but the simple game reminded the Adventurers why they had chosen to do what they did. It was fun. Mostly.

  Sometimes it could be scary. Downright terrifying was another way to describe it, but it was also fun. Then there were the stories. Adventurers always had the best stories! When Joel told this one to people who had never been to Slyhill, the Lizard Floor Guardian would be thirty, no, fifty feet tall. It would probably be a dragon!

  As for the Recruits, they cleared Trials out of duty. In the back of their minds, they considered taking the training they got in the Guard and using it to become Adventurers when their service was up. But that was a long way away.

  For them, it was nice to know that Trials could be more than speculating if your seniors would fall with the next attack. More than worrying that a Beast would eat your face off because you were in over your head. All this was nice, even when Joel tallied up the kills later, and they had to shell out a considerable portion of their day’s earnings to the Scout.

  Watching Joel pay up to Arisa made the day sweet again. An Archer should never compete with a Mage when it comes to slaughtering bunches of low-leveled Beasts in a confined space.

  When the Ontreazion Lizard collapsed with one last roar, no one felt any sense of accomplishment. After all, it was just a low-level Trial. Even if it did adjust slightly for their own Levels, there wasn’t much challenge a minor Trial could offer. Still, a sense of purpose that the group had been lacking was reborn.

  Joel stored his bow. How long had it been since he’d had a fight this effortless? Even the Goblins in the Al’drossford Trial put up more of a struggle than this Floor Guardian had. Matt could have ended this ‘battle’ with a single Fireball. Joel winced. He couldn’t help thinking about his brother. The Fireball or whatever that Spell had been, the one that had ended Matt’s life had…

  The shimmering of the Lizard’s body being reclaimed was a welcome distraction from Joel’s own thoughts. Loot, if there was anything that could bring a light to an Adventurers eye, it was loot. Loot was the reason you cleared every Trial you discovered, no matter if you were too strong for it.

  Greedy hands separated the items. There was one piece for everyone. It wasn’t the most impressive haul Joel and Dirk had ever seen. Still, it was the first time they’d cleared the Slyhill Trial. The Trial wasn’t stingy, all things considered.

  Arisa found herself holding a Spell Stone. It contained the tier-one Spell, Water Chains. Light and Water Elements were commonly combined. Arisa found herself leaning towards becoming a Light Elementalist but that didn’t mean she couldn’t use Water Chains. If someday she became an Illusionist, it could be a powerful part of her repertoire.

  ”Ah, I could sell this,” Arisa offered. The Spell Stone was the most valuable piece of loot they received. Dirk had only gotten a mace that was slightly better than the one he was carrying. Not a great reward considering Dirk used a war hammer or halberd and was only carrying the mace today to test himself.

  “No can do, Ahh-risa,” Joel winked at the Mage as he bent to claim his own reward, “the first… fourth… eighth rule of Adventuring is you never sell an item you can use. Not unless it’s worth buckets of money. You never know when it might save your life. I think that holds true for Guardsmen as well.”

  Arisa’s face wavered between annoyance, gratitude, and doubt before settling on acceptance. She learned her Spell as Joel tried to guess what his reward was. A small pouch, too small to be of much use, containing two dried meatballs was all that was left after the party split the meager treasure.

  He passed it to Arisa. “Think you can appraise this for me, Um-risa?”

  “Um, sure, ah.” With a blush and a glare at Joel, for his teasing, Arisa used Appraisal on the pouch. She held the bag tightly as she activated the Skill. When her fingers loosened, and she gestured like she was going to toss the bag away, Joel thought she might be returning his teasing. Only knowing that she didn’t have a Spell that could turn her face that shade of green, convinced him her revulsion was real.

  “This… these are… they are Ontreazion Lizard ah…Testicles!” She whispered the last word, and Joel applauded her acting. He almost bought her distress. But no, he wasn’t going to believe his reward was a pair of lizard balls.

  “They give one random Attribute Point upon… ah, consumption.” Arisa tried to hand the bag back to Joel. The Scout jerked his hand away.

  “You’re serious!” he said incredulously. How had his luck gotten this bad? This was one reward he’d gladly be rid of. “Those will probably bring a good price. A newbie would probably give all they own for an extra Attribute Point.”

  What was Dirk doing? The Defender had taken the pouch from Arisa. Joel had always been faster than Dirk, but he missed his chance to run this time. Dirk was on him and pressing the testicles into the Scout’s hands before Joel could scream.

  With a serious rumbling voice, Dirk explained, “The eighth rule of Adventuring, Joel, is never sell what you can use. Eat up.”

  Chapter 7

  Steady Footing had reached Level 3 by the time Trent spotted the tree line that marked the edge of the grasslands. Evening had arrived the way it always did, and Trent hadn’t tripped once since Cullen had provided him with this Skill. It wasn’t a bad Skill to have, really, but Trent wasn’t impressed.

  Steady Footing hadn’t rewarded him with an Attribute Point and, while it might be reliable, it wasn't fun, not the way Acrobatics was. Sure, not face planting was good, but Acrobatics gave him that in its own way. It was also a good source of Attribute Points and a means of breaking up the monotony of running all day.

  But Trent wasn’t stupid, no matter what Cullen and Tersa said. Having narrowly escaped the Sergeant’s wrath, he wouldn’t risk it again by disobeying a direct command. Besides, something else had arrived to help alleviate his boredom.

  Between Trent and the trees, twelve Graks had made a camp. It wasn’t much of a camp. There was no fire or shelter, just twelve disturbingly human-looking Beasts, sitting around gnawing on bones and tumbling around in mock combat. Trent just didn’t have a word to describe what he was seeing.

  The creatures weren’t going anywhere tonight. Two of them were already asleep. They didn’t even stir when the three wrestlers rolled over the top of them. Trent was also rethinking the use of the word “mock” in regards to the fight.

  The biggest Grak had just taken a bite out of one of his smaller opponents, a bite th
at sent blood squirting and caused the small Grak to keen and wail. It sprawled onto the ground, mewling in defeat as the victor howled in triumph. Trent was disgusted by the sight.

  He dropped to his belly as he watched, activating Stealth and Camouflage. He had practiced these Skills very little, so he was unsure of their effectiveness, but his luck held. The Beasts never noticed him. They continued their fighting, sleeping, and gnawing without a care in the world.

  Trent used Identify on the Graks; the results were troubling. This Skill he had practiced, though it had never given him the best results. His targets were always too high-leveled. At Level 4, Identify would provide him exact information on creatures his own Level. Five Levels or less above his own, he would obtain vaguer information. Above five Levels? Nothing.

  And nothing was what he received from using Identify on the Graks. Trent started shifting backward, slowly. Unless Sergeant Cullen intervened, Trent and Tersa were better off finding a way around these Beasts. Since this was supposed to be training, the Sergeant wasn’t likely…

  “What are you doing, Runt?”

  The sudden appearance of a pair of boots directly in front of him caused Trent to lose control of his Skills. Stealth and Camouflage gone, Trent dropped the bow in his hand and reached for his sword. His face reddened as he belatedly recognized the voice and boots of the Sergeant.

  “Graks, Sergeant, twelve of them,” Trent whispered, coming to his feet. He crouched and gestured towards the nearby forest. He felt a little foolish. Cullen couldn’t have missed the mob of unruly Beasts. Was this a test?

  Cullen turned towards the indicated direction. His eyes widened in exaggerated shock. “Looks like you’re right. So what? They’re just Graks.”

  “There are twelve of them Sergeant! Twelve! All at least Level 13.” Trent forgot to whisper as he stressed the number of creatures so close to their position. Strangely, despite the two standing in plain view and speaking at a normal volume, the Graks didn’t even glance at them.