Moonlight Banishes Shadows

by J. T. Wright

  He lost track of time, focused as he was on his task. Trent felt like he was caught up in an endless training drill that Sergeant Cullen had devised for him. Slash, Triple Slash, Flash Strike, used again and again, drained his SP faster than Endurance could restore it. When combined with Dash and Steady Footing that Trent needed to keep using to remain on his feet and in range, it was exactly the kind of torture that Cullen delighted in.

  When the Bear stood on its hind legs, bellowing in agony, Trent’s mind was too clouded with exhaustion to realize what was happening. He continued his assault, grateful for the chance to stand still. He wasn’t halfway through the leg yet, not even a quarter. He was sure he would be allowed a break when he reached the halfway mark.

  The Forest Monarch turned its attention to the Swordsman for the first time as it wobbled unsteadily. A lazy backhanded swipe crashed into the pest and introduced him to the stone wall ten feet away. A cracking sound brought a gleam to the Beast’s eyes as the Swordsman crumpled to the ground. Then the Bear collapsed, not even aware that it had swallowed its own death.

  Trent’s left arm was broken in three places. He was sure of that; he had heard the individual cracks as they occurred. His head rang, and his body did not want to respond to his commands. He struggled to a sitting position, ignoring the various pains that plagued him. His right hand patted his torso as three blurry versions of Martin stalked towards him.

  Blinking, Trent managed to focus his eyes as Martin reached down and picked up the sword Trent had dropped during his impromptu flight. The Thief shook his head as he regarded the boy from a dozen feet away.

  “Don’t know how you did it, kid.” Martin’s chest still heaved from running, and he took a moment to get his breath under control. “But it’s no good winning if you end up like that. You are vulnerable again, and this time a little Fire won’t save you. Any last words?”

  “Yes,” Trent said, lifting his right hand. He frowned, seeing the tremble in it and concentrated until he was certain his fingers were under his command. Then he let the arm drop.

  He wanted to explain to Martin how useless it was talking with someone you planned to kill. The man was older than Trent; it was a lesson he should have already learned. Trent did not understand how the Kindred had survived so long jabbering away as he did. In the end, Trent left the words unspoken. It would be hypocritical and pointless to say anything.

  Quest, Kill Martin Vane, completed. Awarded 2000 Experience, you may collect further rewards, 2 pieces of Witching Hour Set, Unknown.

  You have cleared the Trial, the Moonlit Forest. You have completed all objectives for a Perfect Clear. Awarded 5000 Experience. You may claim your reward.

  Martin had collapsed, a bone dart through his left eye. As happy as Trent was to read his notifications, that dart made him scowl. He had been aiming for Martin’s right eye! It looked like his Throw Skill still needed some work. Had Martin been less exhausted or had invested more in Constitution, missing by an inch could have meant Trent’s death rather than the Rogue’s.

  Between the corpses of Martin and the Forest Monarch, Trent caught sight of two chests glittering in the pale light. One gold chest, and one silver, containing the promised rewards earned. Trent snuffed the spark of interest those chests inspired and, cradling his left arm, leaned back against the cold stone wall.

  Only he could open those boxes, and they would wait until he did so. For now, he was safe. None could enter here, and all his enemies were slain. Trent’s eyes slid shut as he gave himself over to the sleep, which was the true reward he had earned.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A yelp next to him caused Trent’s eyes to pop open, and he struggled to sit upright, jostling his broken arm. Beside him, Dreq leaped up and placed his paws against the fracture near his shoulder, trying to lick Trent’s face with his long tongue. Trent started to push the Dog away when a low growl stopped him.

  “Rinse your gloves before you touch anything you care about, Hunter.” The voice was gruff and hoarse, matching the aged wolfish face that pushed itself before Trent. “A single leaf of Terah’s gift is enough to kill a Dire Bear. The residue transferred from your palms is what finished the blood traitor, as much as your toothpick.”

  The man stood from a crouch and kicked Martin’s body away, “Wipe your hands against the grass, that should clean them, but do it thoroughly! The poison left will kill you and the pup if it comes in contact with your skin.”

  Trent scrubbed his right glove against the grass and studied the man who could only be the Trial’s Keeper. Long scraggly white hair hung past the Keeper’s shoulders, and his bare torso was scarred front and back. He sniffed disdainfully at Martin’s body and bent to retrieve Trent’s sword. Wiping the hilt against the hide rags that covered his lower half, the Keeper tossed Trent’s blade beside the boy, almost hitting Dreq.

  The pup growled, and the man responded with a predatory grin before telling Trent, “Both hands, Hunter! Scrub both hands well! Terah’s Mercy should not be underestimated! The goddess created a Basic Herb capable of killing Greater Beasts and Advanced Class holders. That potency has claimed the lives of many hunters who used it carelessly.”

  The Keeper chuckled as Trent ignored him and took his water skin from his belt. Trent poured water over his left glove and used a piece of hide from Storage to wipe the moisture away from a hand that was unlikely to move on its own.

  “Soil and grass are better cleansers, in this case, Hunter.” The Keeper knelt down to sniff at Trent’s palms. “But that will do.” Grabbing Trent’s shirt, the Keeper hoisted the boy to his feet. One bushy eyebrow raised when Trent did not protest the rough treatment with an agonized wail.

  “You that tough? Or has the pain robbed you of your senses?”

  Trent refrained from answering the Keeper’s question. His arm hurt, of course it did, but he had walked through a wall of fire. Broken bones were a mild bruise compared to having Fairy magic tearing at your soul. Trent’s Endurance and prior introductions to the intricacies of physical harm allowed him to ignore most of the complaints of his unresponsive limb for the moment.

  “Is there a cure for broken bones in there?” Trent asked, nodding at the reward chests.

  “No.” The Keeper slipped behind Trent and pushed him towards the Dire Bear’s corpse. “You should know the Trial Spirit’s quirks well enough to tell where your medicine lies. If there is medicine to be had.”

  The Keeper waited to hear Trent’s aggrieved comments. The old Kindred hadn’t interacted with any besides the Spirit of the Trial for so long, and he was eager to play this game of instruction. When the boy bound his arm to his side with Dreq's satchel and drew his knife to Harvest the Beast, without a word, the Keeper was as impressed as he was disappointed.

  He cleared his throat as Trent looked for the best place to begin cutting into a creature wider than he was tall. “The Quest rewards, Hunter,” the Keeper offered. “Check the silver chest first.”

  Sheathing Sorrow, Trent knelt next to the silver box, the motion finally jarring his arm enough to draw a grunt from his lips. The Keeper’s smile faded as he watched the silent, injured boy open his reward with a single hand. The boy had more than earned the Keeper’s respect, and had it been within his power, the silver chest would have held the restorative that Trent desired.

  Instead of a potion, however, Trent pulled out a white and black leather jerkin to match the trousers and boots he already wore. Underneath, a half shirt of grey chainmail that would attach to the jerkin and protect Trent’s shoulders and upper torso completed the Witching Hour set. Both were set aside, and Trent wrapped his fingers around the last item.

  Mithril Harvesting Knife

  Rare Item/Great Quality

  Provides +5 bonus to Harvesting Skill

  It was a tool and, regarding the purpose for which it had been made, it far exceeded anything Trent had on hand. It made cutting easier. It didn’t help with the one-handed climbing Trent had to do to skin the Bear.
The Keeper met the expressionless look Trent tossed him from behind the featureless mask with a smirk. He omitted telling the boy that the knife was all the aid he was allowed to receive to see the Hunt meet its proper conclusion.

  The Keeper sank cross-legged to the ground. When Dreq came close, dragging Trent’s forgotten blade by the hilt, the Keeper took the wooden sword from the pup’s jaws and settled the squirming Dog on his lap. Dreq was able to see the Keeper, connected as he was to Trent through Leadership, but he showed no signs of amazement or gratitude, snapping at the man’s fingers and whining to join Trent.

  Trent, however, was grateful for the Wolfkin's actions. Standing waist-deep in entrails, separating all the useful bits of the Dire Bear was unpleasant enough without Dreq leaping in to swim in Bear guts. Normally, Trent would have skinned the Beast first, but the Bear’s mass and his broken arm made that impossible. The whole task would have been inconceivable if not for the Mithril Knife, allowing a hint of gratitude to slip into Trent’s feelings toward the Keeper.

  Holding his breath as he stepped on intestines, Trent cut out and Stored the Core, heart, liver, and kidneys of the Dire Bear. Huge slabs of meat joined the organs, as Trent Appraised each bit and tossed the rest aside. Very little made it into the discard pile, and it was hours later, when he had finished disassembling the Bear’s skeleton, that Trent started cutting the hide into manageable squares.

  When the last square entered Storage, the leftover bits disappeared. Or at least most of them did. The parts hanging from Trent’s clothing and the blood that soaked every inch of him remained. When he finally sheathed his new knife. Self-Clean leveled twice as Trent cast the Charm to banish the filth.

  Seeing a single vial of Bone Restoration almost made the process worth it. It was only after he drank the potion and the breaks in his arm set and healed that Trent managed a whistle of appreciation for the two teeth that had appeared with the restorative. They were as long as his legs and twice as long as the Bear’s teeth that he had Harvested. Appraisal only revealed that they were weapons-crafting material. Trent gathered them up and grunted at their weight, wondering how high his Crafting Skill needed to be before he could do justice to these teeth.

  Swinging his left arm to ease a shoulder throbbing from how stiff he’d been holding it, Trent turned to offer a short bow to the Keeper. The Keeper acknowledged the gesture by lowering his head gravely, and then released Dreq, who spoiled the moment by biting the man’s chin then running to hide behind Trent.

  “You've added a fierce member to your pack, Hunter,” the Keeper said, rubbing his face where tiny teeth had left an impression.

  “He'll be on his own soon.” Picking up the Witching Hour jerkin and Appraising it, Trent answered the Keeper over his shoulder.

  Witching Hour Set

  Advanced Items/Excellent Quality

  Armor Rating +50 when wore together

  Provides increased resistance to magic at night

  Well-Fitted

  Self-Repairing

  “What awaits you outside, Hunter?” The Keeper asked softly, as Trent settled his new armor into place and worked out how the chainmail shoulder-guard attached to the leather. “Traditionally, the completion of the Moonlit Hunt is marked with celebration. Is there a feast prepared for you?”

  “No one is waiting for me. From here,” Trent tightened a strap and pushed Dreq away as he swung his sword belt into place, “I need to supply myself and find a new sword. Other than–"

  “You entered the Trial with the Truce Breaker,” the Keeper cut in. He rose to his feet and kicked at Martin’s body. “Is it this swine’s influence that leads you to discard a loyal companion?”

  “I'm not discarding Dreq!” Trent denied. He looked at the puppy sitting at his feet. “I don’t know where I'm going from here, and he is very small.”

  “So, watch out for him, until he is bigger! That is the meaning, the duty, of pack!” Swift steps carried the Keeper to stand before Trent. “If you have learned anything from this Trial, it should be that there is strength in numbers. You would have died if not for the Truce Breaker’s presence. Can one such as the cub be less useful than a blood traitor?”

  “If you sever ties with the… with Dreq,” The Keeper continued, “he will have to face the Trial anew. The Dog has completed no conditions on his own, even his name was a gift from–”

  The Keeper paused. There was no need for him to go on. Trent gripped Sorrow in one hand and held Dreq in the crook of his left arm, as if daring the Keeper to take the Dog from him.

  “He'll die in here on his own; he comes with me,” Trent said resolutely. A heat filled him along with his decision, a heat that dimmed when a second warmth found his elbow. He looked down to see Dreq staring at him with ears perked up. The Dog had understood what was being said, knew that Trent had intended to leave him behind. The stream of urine that dripped from Trent’s arm showed Dreq was displeased.

  “I can still leave you!” Trent hissed disgustedly, dropping the Dog and casting Self-Clean. Dreq scratched his ear, unimpressed with the threat.

  Trent looked to the Keeper, willing the man to issue him another Quest. Dreq had attacked him, violating the Truce! Maybe it was not enough to justify death, but a kick wouldn’t kill the Dog, and teaching manners had to be the duty of pack as well! When no notification came, Trent spun on his heel and stamped to the unopened golden chest, hoping the contents would make up for the unruly pup.

  Before he could open it, the Keeper called out to him, “A word of caution, Hunter! Few make it this far. Those that do sometimes find their reward burdensome.”

  Trent held his itching fingers back long enough to ask, “How do you mean?”

  “Titles are the most common reward of the Moonlit Forest. It is why the Beasts come here, but the Kin must defeat the Guardian in order to be recognized.” The Keeper stared up at the moon. “She approves of you. That may make things worse.”

  “Why is that?” Trent touched the chest’s clasp; the slightest flip, and he would see his reward.

  “I will say no more, it is not my place.”

  The Keeper tried to convey all that the Trial’s Spirit kept him from speaking with the severity of his tone. It wasn’t enough. Moonlight beamed into the chest and was broken as Trent leaned over to peer inside. A single object lay in the container. Before Trent could reach for it, a notification flooded his sight.

  Let all the world know and acknowledge that the challenger, Trent Embra, now bares the Title ‘Shadow Hunter!’

  The object in the chest was a crystal containing 5 Free Attribute Points. It melted away as Trent touched it, leaving his hand as empty as he felt reading his new title.

  “What does Shadow Hunter mean?” Trent asked the Keeper. He searched his Status trying to find a new Skill or Ability. There was nothing, and as far as he could tell, the title did not affect anything.

  “That’s not a title given out often,” The Keeper mused, a satisfied smile playing about his lips. “You've earned it, though. And I expect you’ll discover what obligations and benefits it brings without my telling you.”

  The golden chest disappeared, leaving a portal behind. It shimmered and further illuminated the stone walls of the circle. Trent’s question remained unanswered.

  “Come on, Dreq, we should leave,” Trent huffed. Dreq darted away from the portal and pounced on the sword Trent had left in the grass. His tail beat the air as he demonstrated how useful he could be, and his eyes were only a little reproachful as Trent collected his blade.

  “I get it; you’re smart.” Trent Stored the blade, and walked back towards the portal. “I'm sorry I said you were small. Even though you are, and you steal my XP, eat my loot, piss on my–"

  “Hunter Trent!” The Keeper’s voice was sharp as he howled at Trent. “A moment!”

  Trent was tempted to ignore the man just like the Keeper had ignored his questions, but curiosity held him in place. He looked to see the Keeper standing where Martin’s body
had been. The corpse was missing, and in its place, a patch of darkness coalesced into a sphere. Beside the sphere was a copper disc with a hole through the center.

  “Take this… thing... with you,” The Keeper tried to speak evenly, a catch of anger and disgust spoiled his attempt.

  Trent shared a look with Dreq and moved to crouch before the sphere. Dreq sniffed at the ball, sneezed, and then began chomping at the grass, trying to remove a foul taste from his mouth. Trent wanted to join the Dog. Just looking at the sphere made his skin crawl and filled him with the urge to spit.

  His fingers reached out, and the Keeper perked up, thinking Trent was reaching for the dark ball. It was the copper disc that Trent picked up to examine more closely. Except for the copper it was made of and the hole at its center, it resembled Trent’s Guild Token. Trent turned it over and thought of tossing it aside. Deciding it might have some use, Trent tucked the Token away in the pouch he had designated for interesting but worthless items. Pleased to have started a new collection of belt pouch knickknacks, Trent returned to studying the sphere.

  “What do you think it is?” Trent muttered out of the corner of his mouth to Dreq. The pup backed away, whining. “You’re right, we shouldn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Hunter.” The Keeper stepped in front of Trent to stop him from leaving. His voice turned sly. “Shadow Hunter, can you really walk away from your responsibility?”

  Trent lifted his mask and pushed at his cowl. There was something inside of him that said the sphere needed to be dealt with. He scratched his head, and looked from the Keeper, to the moon, to Dreq, and back to the sphere.

  “Not my responsibility, not here.” Standing up, Trent’s shoulder brushed the Keeper's as he stepped past with Dreq happily dancing around his feet. The Keeper’s hand latched on to his arm, pulling him to a halt.