by J. T. Wright
“Five gold, Trent!” Kerry’s tone begged Trent to understand. “Do you know what that represents? I've been saving for months and I have less than fifteen silver put aside. My father fed a family of five on twenty silvers a year, and fifteen is a drop in a lake to me!”
“So, you won’t drink it?” Trent tucked the bottle behind his back. Kerry’s eyes bulged as it disappeared from view.
“I can’t!” Kerry hissed.
“You can!” Behind Trent, the bottle blinked out of existence as he put it in Storage. “I’ll help you.”
“You don’t understand! I—" Kerry let out an oomph when he hit the ground. His leg ached where Trent had kicked it hard enough to sweep him off his feet. His helm cracked against the stone and stars filled his sight. He didn’t have time to count them. Before he could blink the dancing lights away, Trent had already straddled his chest, pinning Kerry’s arms with his knees.
“What do you think you’re doing? Get off my…” Kerry slurred groggily, trying to free his arms to swat Trent away.
Trent’s fingers closed around his jaw, applying pressure and forcing Kerry’s mouth open. “Don’t fight me, Kerry. This is for your own good.”
Too relaxed, Trent’s tone and body language were just too damned relaxed. Kerry tried to heave his body, and with his greater weight managed to wriggle his lower limbs, but Trent rode the wave, keeping Kerry’s shoulders pressed down.
“It doesn’t have to be this way, Trent. Let’s talk about this.” The words were garbled as Trent continued to press on his jaw. Kerry’s eyes grew frantic as Trent produced the bottle again and used his thumb to open it.
“I'm not good at talking.” Trent maneuvered the mouth of the bottle close to Kerry’s lips. “You are right, though, it didn’t have to be this way.”
Any other arguments Kerry might have offered were lost as Trent began to pour. The bottle had a long, thin neck, and to prevent the precious liquid from spilling, Trent shoved it between Kerry’s teeth towards the back of his throat. Kerry was left with the choice of swallowing or choking, and wisely chose the former.
The ceramic of the bottle tasted of dirt and mildew, the potion cloyingly sweet. It was like eating honey poured over mushrooms that had not been washed. Kerry was sure whatever the positive effect of the potion might be, he was going to die from a toxin on the bottle itself.
Kerry swallowed and gagged and swallowed again, tears filling the corners of his eyes. Not a single drop of the potion leaked from his mouth. Trent had conscientiously scrunched his cheeks to prevent spillage. Trent also made sure to shake the bottle, ensuring all the liquid was out, as he removed the container and tossed it aside.
Once he was certain Kerry had ingested all the precious medicine, Trent hopped to his feet and stepped back. Kerry, freed to move again, lay in a miserable state on the floor, scrubbing his tongue against the roof of his mouth and checking his teeth for chips.
“Are you okay, Kerry?” Felicia’s voice was muffled coming as it did from behind both her veil and her left hand. Her right hand held her wand, which shook as she pointed it at Trent.
“I feel violated.” Kerry coughed and struggled to sit up. Trent’s foot settled on his chest, holding him down before he could rise as far as his elbows.
“Violated? That’s probably the potion taking effect. It will pass,” Trent said blandly. “Stay down for a bit. 6 Points of Agility all at once will make you feel woozy if you move around before you've adjusted.”
Kerry’s hands clamped around Trent’s ankle, and he tried to push the offending leg away. All he got for his efforts was a red face and the frustrating sight of Trent looking hurt from Kerry’s lack of appreciation.
Letting his arms drop, Kerry gasped, “Do you know what you’ve cost me?”
“Nothing.” Trent’s lips twisted into a frown. “You need gold? We've already earned forty silver. Maybe now you’ll trust me when I say I promise that I'll see you have what you need before we leave this Trial.”
“The gold, and a weapon. A Warrior needs a weapon.” Trent plucked at his armor and began to undo the buckles. “I'm still wet. Rest a little, Kerry. After I change, we have a Guardian to fight.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Privacy was a luxury in the Trials. It was why Charms like Self-Clean had been developed. Researchers spent years studying Spells to make life simpler for combatants and civilians alike. No matter how they tried, though, there were problems that couldn’t be resolved by magic. Adventurers in mixed company learned to be discreet and politely inattentive when life’s necessities required attention.
Trent, having spent most of his life in such situations, wasn’t shy and felt no shame as he stripped five feet from his companions. He did spare a brief thought to picking up the Self-Dry Charm, but his only concession in regard to his nudity was to take an Elwire longsword from Storage to lean against the wall, close at hand.
That was a trick Orion had taught him, not Cullen. Fighting naked was unpleasant. Fighting naked and unarmed could be disastrous. Best to keep a weapon handy so you weren’t scrambling for your belt when Fleshings came with fetid breath and grasping hands.
Kerry and Felicia were not as accustomed to the practical fundamentals of Adventuring. Academy students delved as often as they could but in short durations. A few hours at a time was the most they subjected themselves to. This trip was already approaching record lengths for the two, who studied the tunnel’s ceiling with red cheeks, while Trent rubbed himself down with a spare cloth.
Kerry had lifted himself into a sitting position with his head in his hands by the time Trent had finished changing and started wiping the excess moisture from his armor. Kerry peered at Trent from between spread fingers. Trent’s movements were brisk and professional. They inspired confidence.
It was a confidence that Kerry truly desired. The potion made his head swim as it accomplished the task for which it had been brewed. Underneath the sick, world-tilting sensation, Kerry felt stiff muscles loosening as they became more flexible. Trent had been correct. Kerry did need to drink the potion, not sell it. The feeling that his limbs were once again fully under his control, in a way they hadn’t been for months, was worth more than five gold.
Once Trent’s armor had been dried as much as possible, he laid it down and plopped on the ground beside it. Trent put a set of tools, a few strips of leather, and two thick branches out in front of him. Kerry and Felicia stared as Trent’s hands went to work. Dreq was less captivated. His feet slapped the ground as he ran over and curled up with his head in Trent’s lap.
A sense of curiosity was injected into the embarrassed and baffled silence that had fallen over the group. Trent whittled one branch with the heavy knives he wore until it had a sharp point and then set it down. He used a gimlet and an auger on the second branch to bore a hole near one end, and proceeded to enlarge the hole with a smaller knife. Then to Kerry’s disgust, Trent took out a jar of Swift Beetle bile and smeared it on the inside of the hole.
Satisfied with the results, Trent picked up the first branch again and trimmed the point some more before inserting it through the hole. Trent cut the unsharpened side off, leaving a foot of material protruding from both ends, and, using a mallet, hammered the spike until it was tight. He started to sharpen the dull side then, after a glance at Kerry, left it as it was.
Trent swung the makeshift implement a few times and bit his tongue as he considered the results. It was too light. That was the problem with Elwire wood. It held an edge better than iron and could cut with ease, but it lacked the weight to deliver a crushing blow or deep slash. Or, maybe it was a problem with his understanding of the wood and its uses.
Trent was no master craftsman. It could be the wood was supposed to be treated or used as an additive. He should have asked Arden why the would-be smith was so desperate to get the timber. However, Elwire was what he had, so Elwire it would have to be. Trent shrugged as he picked up the jar of Swift Beetle Bile and began dripping it on the
handle of his creation.
“That’s gross.” Kerry put his chin in his hands and rested his elbows on his knees. “You shouldn’t play with Beetle innards, Trent.”
“It’s sticky, and it’s flammable,” Trent explained, not looking up from his task. He began to wrap the strips of leather around the coated handle. He wound it slowly, making sure that the edges of the strip touched without overlapping.
“Beetle bile can be used as a glue if you know what you’re doing,” Felicia added, refraining from stating that Trent obviously did not. She had moved to kneel beside Kerry while Trent worked. The wood Trent handled so casually tugged at her memory. She tried to identify it from sight and would have cast Evaluation if the piece Trent had discarded had rolled closer.
“Still gross,” Kerry muttered, drumming his fingers against his cheek.
Trent stood, dislodging Dreq ,who grumbled grumpily. Moving farther away, Trent gave his creation one last careful look. It wasn’t perfect. Without the knowledge, tools, or materials to adjust the balance, it would have to do. It was only a temporary fix, anyway. There was just one final step.
Kerry’s hands dropped and his jaw fell open when Trent cast Spark. All that work for a torch? A torch they didn’t need? A torch that didn’t light? The Spell was cast, and Trent looked to be concentrating intently, but nothing happened.
Then an intoxicating smell drifted through the tunnel. Pleasant and comforting, Kerry couldn’t quite place the scent. It was filled with fresh flowers and spices. It sank into you, through the nose and into the chest, settling there like a drink of hot cider on a cold day.
Kerry peacefully relaxed under the scent’s influence. Felicia had an entirely different reaction. Her hat was nearly dislodged by her abrupt rise to her feet, and her veil puffed out as she let out an anguished cry.
“Elwire,” she moaned. Had she not seen Trent slaughter his way through the Trial, she might have rushed forward to strangle him. “You’re using Elwire for… for… what do you think you’re doing?”
Trent studied the results of his Spell with a critical eye. With Heart of the Inferno and Fire Manipulation, his Spark Charm could be made to burn hotter than Liquid Silver. It had cost him 90 Points of his Mana for a few seconds of purifying fire. He wasn’t sure it was worth it.
The shaft and spiked head had fused, which was good. The leather was intact and bound firmly to the handle which was as he intended. The weapon made a mournful whistle as he swung it through the air as hard as he could. That was also satisfactory, but Appraisal wasn’t kind as it revealed the results of his handiwork.
Crude Improvised Elwire Spiked Club
Common item/Poor Quality
Damage Rating +5
Was it necessary to say crude and improvised? His swords weren’t great, but they were Basic items of average quality. This spiked club was common and poor. That Damage Rating of 5 wasn’t impressive either. With Kerry’s Strength, he would be able to deal 25 Damage with a heavy swing, and maybe a little more with a precise blow.
Trent could use the club to kill a Swift Beetle in a single hit; he was stronger and faster than Kerry. With their thick shells, Kerry might have difficulty breaking the bug’s natural defenses. That wouldn’t do! There had to be a way to test it outside of actual combat.
Trent’s eyes shifted from the club to where Kerry’s shield leaned against the wall. Felicia was still shouting outraged insults at Trent, questioning his intelligence and parentage in turn. Kerry was fully focused on her, and Trent’s nonchalant stride didn’t tear Kerry’s attention away. It took the shrieking of metal as it was pierced and rent to do that.
“My shield!” Kerry clambered to his feet, his arms outstretched. It was too late. Trent had delivered three rapid blows to Kerry’s shield, and the innocent sheet of metal had fallen to become scrap.
Trent nodded gleefully and pressed the club into the fingers that Kerry opened and closed mindlessly. “It’s better than it looks. The description doesn’t say so, but I think it has a piercing effect. The spike went through metal, and I hardly felt any resistance!”
“My shield, Trent, my shield.” Kerry’s arms dropped lifelessly, and the head of his new club thudded against the stone.
“Oh.” Trent rubbed the back of his neck ruefully. He tugged a black ring off his left hand and gave it to Kerry. “This is better. You can use it until we find you a new one. After I clean up my tools and get my armor on, we need to get going.”
Trent ducked his head and turned away. Hoping to take Kerry’s mind off what he had done, Trent put the destroyed tower shield into Storage before putting on his armor. He hadn’t thought Kerry would take the loss of such lousy equipment so hard.
“He keeps his promises,” Felicia muttered bitterly. She reached out and touched the haft of Kerry’s new weapon reverently. “You've got your gold, Kerry.”
Her words shocked Kerry out of his stupor. “What do you mean?”
“It’s Elwire! Elwire!” Felicia repeated and stressed the word. “An Alchemist or woodworker will haggle with you after what Trent did to it, but a Blacksmith will pile gold on you for that… thing.”
“I don’t understand,” Kerry said numbly, holding up the club to look at it.
“Elwire can be used to refine the hardest metals to their purest form. Shavings from that club can replace twenty types of ore when used to create silver steel.” Felicia stamped a foot angrily and glowered in Trent’s direction. “Shavings added to any metal will improve a Smith’s results tenfold, and Trent… I can’t talk about this anymore.”
Felicia wandered off to mutter to herself, stamping her feet and kicking at the wall. Kerry processed the new information, and a manic grin slid across his face. His right hand tightened around the weapon worth gold. His left clutched the ring containing the shield that he had seen Trent use. They were superior to anything he had ever owned.
That fact might have been the source of his excitement but watching Trent equip his shoulder guards and cowl, Kerry had an epiphany. He had thought he needed gold to find a new beginning, to fix past mistakes. He had been wrong.
His fresh start lay behind that featureless mask. Trent had not given him the club to sell. He had made the club because a Warrior needed a weapon. With Trent, Kerry could explore the Dungeon freely, and unlike Jace, Trent wanted Kerry to be more than a meat shield lugging around the loot. Kerry was beginning to understand why Trent had the Leadership Skill.
Kerry would not sell the club! Like Trent said, he would use it until he found a better weapon. Kerry would earn the coin he needed himself. It was possible now. He was a Warrior.
**********
The Academy’s instructors were all retired Adventurers and Soldiers. Men and women who had been there and done all the things Kerry dreamed of doing. They were competent, grizzled Warriors, educated Mages, sly rogues, and Kerry admired them all.
Had he been asked, he would have said the instructors were tough. They had high expectations for their students, and slacking or shirking were not allowed. They demanded the best that each student was capable of and let you know in no uncertain terms when you let them down.
Kerry had to adjust his opinion during the next wave of Beetles. The instructors mixed encouragement in with their criticism. They were kind, gentle souls next to Trent. Trent seemed to think encouragement was a waste of time. It was odd to hear biting sarcasm and ear-burning insults delivered in a deadpan tone. Trent’s voice was utterly devoid of malice when he told Kerry he waddled into battle like a fat man with a full bladder. He was cheerful when he said Kerry swung his club with almost as much strength as a housewife would use to beat rugs.
When words weren’t enough to correct Kerry’s stance, Trent resorted to kicking his feet. When his elbows stuck out too far for Trent’s liking, Kerry’s armor didn’t protect him from swats that jarred nerves and stung the back of his head.
Kerry might have complained about this treatment, except Trent’s method did have redeeming fea
tures to make up for its harshness. For one, it worked. Kerry learned to keep his shield up and follow through with his blows. Beetles became targets instead of threats. He started to look forward to the ambushes and attacks.
It helped that the second redeeming feature to Trent’s approach was that, while Trent felt free to slap and kick at Kerry, he never allowed anyone else to. A Beetle taking advantage of Kerry’s poor positioning would be cut down before it could get up to speed, long before its mandibles could bite into him. Kerry was more involved in the delve than he had ever been, and he never felt safer.
Kerry hammered his club downwards with an undulating war cry. The spike pierced through the shell of a Beetle where its thorax met its head, and the Beast convulsed as it collapsed. Kerry let out another scream as he sank to his knees. He let go of his club’s handle, the head of which was still stuck in the dead bug, and punched at the air victoriously.
One hit! He had finally managed a one-hit kill on a creature the same Level that he was! Bards would not write songs about the moment, but Kerry felt like singing.
“Tired, Kerry?” Trent asked, drawing his Harvesting knife and tugging Kerry’s weapon free. “Would you like a nap? Perhaps first, I could fetch you a bottle to suck on while the men do the work?”
“Yes, please, but heat the milk if you would.” Kerry pulled off his gauntlets and removed his helm. “I sleep better after a bottle of warm milk.”
Trent had lifted a wing and was about to start cutting. He froze at Kerry’s quip. That had sounded like backtalk. One of Cullen’s first lectures had been on the dangers of backtalk. It apparently killed more Recruits than Beasts did. The Sergeant had never explained how those Recruits died, but Trent had avoided it, nonetheless.
Having never risked backtalk personally, Trent wasn’t sure how to impress upon Kerry the danger he was walking into. Trent could only pass on the lessons Cullen had taught him and the tricks he had picked up on his own. Kerry had just dragged him into unfamiliar territory.
