by J. T. Wright
However, that wasn’t an option. There was too much at stake here. Trent only had one form of mercy to offer. His spear tip scraped against the creature’s throat, drawing blood. He stabbed into the same spot again, widening the wound. The Guardian’s sword slipped from its hands. Trent stabbed again, and the Beast’s natural defense finally gave way. Trent’s spear sunk deep. Eyelids covered rolling black eyes. The Guardian’s hands closed around the shaft of Trent’s spear as it sunk to its knees.
Chapter Forty-Eight
“You have cleared a minor permanent Trial. Trial has gained a new floor; clear counts as a first. Awarded 3000 Experience. You may claim your reward.”
Trent would have rather read the message in his Status. Hearing the words delivered in the Spirit’s emotionless tone while standing over the body of a creature that may have had a name dirtied the achievement. There was no beauty in the Guardian, nothing to admire. It had served a master that Trent would call evil, without hesitation. Still, he felt it deserved a cleaner death.
He closed his eyes and tossed the spear aside. He wouldn’t be taking it with him. It wasn’t a bad weapon. He had been looking for a spear just like it. Now he knew he had outgrown Basic weapons like that. His enemies were stronger, and he needed tools to match.
His hand reached for his mithril Harvesting knife. Patting the empty space on his back where it should have been, Trent felt a pang of shock. He spun, looking to see where it could have fallen out, and his elbow brushed the hilt of Ash. That sent another spark of surprise coursing through him. Hadn’t he discarded Blood and Ash?
Soul-bound weapons! Like Guild Tokens, they could not be separated from their owners for long. The short swords had returned to their sheaths at some point without his noticing. That could be useful. Maybe he would use Sorrow and Strife as throwing weapons. His darts had lost their effectiveness, but the knives would grow with him and never be lost.
The thought jogged his memory. The Devouring Fiends, Pit Hounds, and Winged Devilkin had little on them that was Harvestable. Much of what was Harvestable ended up ruined by his Spells. The remainder Trent had hacked out or off with his swords. He had been in too much of a hurry to Harvest with precision. His mithril knife had been on the belt with Sorrow and Strife where he had left it when he switched to Blood and Ash.
He drew Blood now and used it to separate the Guardian’s antlers. He slashed on a hunch and was gratified when he proved to be right. The Guardian’s body vanished, leaving behind the dead bone. Trent collected the spoils and Appraised them. The antlers were those of a Felpah, probably not an Awakened race, since as far as Trent knew, those didn’t have Harvestable organs or bones. A Beast, most likely an intelligent and Advanced one. The creature had never spoken; the Keeper had done all the talking. Trent wondered whether it had been capable of speech. Not that it mattered. The creature was dead, and the antlers would make good crafting material.
The throne and the grey-skinned man who had sat there were gone. In their place was a silver chest. Trent glanced at it as he crossed the room. He doubted that it would contain a bribe big enough to make up for what he had endured to obtain it. He didn’t open it immediately, turning instead to where the Trial Spirit’s wobbly body cradled its Keeper with three arms.
“Is she all right now?” Trent crouched down over the Keeper. He could see hints of a Spider in her. She looked more like the man who had wanted to replace her now, with grey skin and a mere four limbs. Maybe he was seeing what he wanted to, but if the Keeper had sat up and begun to crawl around the floor, climbing the walls like an insect, he would have taken it in stride.
“She will be.” Two eyestalks stayed focused on the Keeper. The Spirit spared one to regard Trent. “She will wake soon. Wiser, and stronger… perhaps just stronger. She is very young.”
“Don’t underestimate the young. They are capable of great things.” The eyestalk bobbed at Trent’s words, as if the Adventurer whose Status said he was thirteen was an equal. Later Trent would find that odd. Looking back, he would find all his interactions with this Trial Spirit as strange.
Keepers and Trial Spirits were supreme in the spaces they ruled. All the others he had met had given him the sense that they looked down on him, that he was insignificant to them. They marveled that he could see them, then dismissed him. Not this Spirit. It asked. It begged. Even the one time it had reminded him sternly that the rewards were set and could not be changed, its chiding had been considerably gentler than he would have expected.
Later Trent would be confused by that. Now he was too tired, too spent, to care.
“The entrance will open in ten minutes.” The Spirit stroked its Keeper’s hair and pulled her closer. “Respawn functions will resume at that time. XP and rewards will be double for twenty-four hours to celebrate the Keeper’s survival. Unique drops and loot will appear randomly. New challengers will take time to reach the area where your group waits.”
“Are you asking if we'll stay and keep fighting?” Trent rubbed the back of his neck and wheezed out a chuckle. “I'm exhausted, and my… friends… can’t handle the fifth floor.”
“You faced a unique situation. The fifth floor will be changed. It’s current setting will be adjusted. Recommend a party of 6, Level 25 Adventurers for the Guardian. Your party may be able to challenge the standard Beasts if you lead them.”
“They won’t get better with me doing all the work. Best we stick to the fourth floor until they pick up a few Levels.” An eyestalk tracked him as Trent moved to the silver chest. It winked in amusement at Trent’s unconscious decision to convince Kerry and Felicia that a round of training was in order.
Trent flipped the lid of the chest open. Inside, a few pages of paper lay on top of two Crystals. His fingers brushed the Crystals, awarding him 4 Attribute Points and 5 Skill Points, when he picked the papers up. He murmured appreciatively and firmly set the idea of spending the new Skill Points from his mind as he thumbed the papers.
Five sheets, covered in a neat scrawl and decorated with notes. Trent recognized what was in front of him immediately. It was maps of each floor of the Trial with detailed information on the Beasts and Trap types written down the side. The maps drawn on the paper were practically identical to the ones concocted by his Map Ability. The third floor was different, that one had been drastically altered since it was deemed unacceptable, and the fourth floor had a few side tunnels added. All else was the same.
“The Guild pays well for information on new or changed Trials.” The Spirit spotted the discontent in Trent’s face and identified its source immediately. “You will be compensated for turning those pages over.”
“Hmmm,” Trent chewed the inside of his cheek, partially mollified. He Stored the pages after deciding it was pointless to argue. “I should get back to where I left the others then.”
He offered a short bow to the Spirit, who spared two limbs to wave at him. An eyestalk watched until Trent left the chamber, then all three focused on the slumbering Keeper.
“You played a dangerous game, little one. He knew what you were doing and still came. Could you not see that? Did you not know what that meant? There is more power slumbering in his gloves than is contained by our walls. Had he died…”
The Spirit shuddered, its squishy flesh jiggling. “The young are very brave.”
A humming filled the Guardian chamber as the Trial Spirit rocked its Keeper and sung her a song, a lullaby, from the Kingdom it had once guided. A kingdom long since destroyed, for which its current form was the last memorial. To this day, it didn’t know if any of the children of the race it had once sheltered survived.
The Spirit could feel Trent’s footsteps racing back through the tunnels. Trudging at first, then pattering, and finally all but silent as he ran with the grace of a Swordsman, bolstered by the stealth of a Rogue and Hunter.
The Spirit had accepted custody of this Trial and the childlike Keeper because it had wanted to see whether the Al’rashians could recover in this small corner of the world. It
had wanted to see that, wanted to be a part of it. It had waited a long time, training the descendants of the original settlers. It had never expected someone like Trent to arrive.
**********
“I’m telling you, something’s different.” Kerry kicked the unyielding door for the hundredth time. He stared at the sword engraving on the wood, daring the carving to do something about his offense. He thought about using Taunt on the inanimate entry to see if it would respond to a little verbal abuse.
“Do you hear me arguing with you?” Felicia sighed. She scratched Dreq’s ears. Dreq growled but leaned into her fingers. His eyes never left the door Trent had gone through. Though he had accepted it when Felicia picked him up and moved him from his spot at its base, he knew where he should be focused.
“I agree, the Dungeon feels different. What do you want to do about it?” Felicia set a piece of cheese in front of Dreq to stop him from growling. His tongue flicked out, and he pulled it into his mouth without lifting his head.
“The door is wood. Why don’t you try burning it?” Kerry lifted an eyebrow and looked over his shoulder. “And doesn’t it bother you that the Dog is three times the size he was a few hours ago?”
It was true. Dreq had been barely taller than Felicia’s ankle when Trent left them behind. His shoulder reached her knee now. You could see him growing if you watched closely. Felicia had moved him closer so she could feed him. She knew the growth was from the XP the Dog gained from Trent, but a body needed food to sustain that kind of development.
“He’s a baby; he is supposed to grow. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed he’s a member of the party?” Felicia offered Dreq a hunk of dried meat and smiled to see the Dog’s tail wag as he snatched it up.
“He’s an animal. Is it healthy for him to get so big this fast?” Kerry turned away from the door and put his hands on his hips.
“You’re an animal. Stupid.” Dreq covered his words with chomping and slobbering. Kerry missed the message meant for him. Felicia, closer to the Dog, pursed her lips. Her ears had caught a growl that suspiciously sounded like the word stupid. It wasn’t the first time. Dreq’s barking always sounded derogatory when his muzzle was pointed at Kerry.
“He’s special, I think.” Felicia smoothed Dreq’s raised hackles. “Different. I wonder where Trent found him.”
Kerry stamped over and dropped down next to Dreq. He started to ruffle the Dog’s fur and quickly retracted his hand when puppy teeth snapped at it.
“He doesn’t like me.” Kerry shot Dreq a wounded look. “Think he's a Beast? He has Skills, and he’s certainly mean enough for it. Tamers can use swords. And they are more likely to have Detect Traps. They set Traps to capture Beasts. Do you think Trent is really a Tamer and just pretending to be a Swordsman?”
“You know as much about Trent as I do.” Kerry had raised an interesting point, though, and Felicia thought it over before shaking her head. “If he is lying about his Class, then it’s a weird lie. It could be a half-truth. He could be a Swordsman and a Tamer.”
“Two Classes, and both Specialized? He's too young. He can’t be that much older than me,” Kerry disagreed. “He would have had to fight every day for months to develop two Classes.”
Felicia didn’t say anything to that. Adventurers had a blind spot when it came to others. They were quick to judge based on their own standards. Kerry had loads of talent. He was honest and trusting. He took everything his teachers told him and applied it diligently. When confronted by an existence like Trent, Kerry had nothing to compare it to, so he ignored certain facts to fit Trent into his worldview.
Adventurers rested between adventures. They made money to cover their needs, then spent it until the bills required them to delve again. They might train in their off time, polishing Skills and tactics. They did not risk their lives day after day without end. What would be the point? You earned money to spend it. That was how an Adventurer’s mind worked.
Telling him where he was wrong might enlighten Kerry, but Felicia doubted it. He had seen what Trent was capable of. He had to recognize what it meant on his own. Trent was the type of Adventurer who reached Silver rank while his contemporaries were happy with Iron and dreamt of Steel.
“Maybe you should go back.” Felicia folded her hands in her lap and stared at them. “You can buy out of the charter and spend the XP you've been saving. I'll wait for Trent.”
It was as close as she could bring herself to warning Kerry. She was planning to follow Trent as long as he allowed it. She knew Kerry was having similar thoughts. The more she turned the idea over in her mind, the more she realized that Kerry had no clue what he was getting into.
Her advice fell on deaf ears. The door was easing open, and Kerry was on his feet with his flail out. There was a brief glimpse of a figure in black and white leather wearing a silver mask before a ball of fur hit Trent’s chest.
Trent closed his arms around Dreq to prevent the pup from falling. He wavered under the unexpected assault, managing not to step back but failing to prevent Dreq’s tongue from pushing under his mask to lick his chin. Before Trent could pull his face away from Dreq’s, Kerry grabbed his shoulder and shook him.
“You made it back!” Happy at first, Kerry’s tone quickly turned angry. “Ass! You left us behind. Felicia was a ball of nerves worrying about you. You owe her an apology.”
“I was a ball of nerves? You were the one crying every fifteen minutes, like a fat oversized baby.” Felicia pushed past Kerry and began checking Trent. “You aren’t injured, are you?”
“I'm fine, a little tired.” Trent dropped Dreq. The Dog landed with a yelp and immediately began jumping against Trent’s leg.
“I bet, from the way the XP was rolling in, you must have been in the thick of it.” Kerry kept pounding at Trent’s shoulder while he spoke. “We should head back now. Get a meal at the Guild and rent a bed. I would offer you mine in the dorms but… we missed the first day of the new term. Not sure I have a bed to offer.”
“About going back…” Trent disentangled himself from the three crowding him and moved into the Safe Zone. The tranquil air of the space was a balm to him. He breathed it in before continuing.
“The Trial… I killed Beasts on the way back here. The XP was doubled. I'm going to stay for a while longer."
They looked at him like he was insane. Trent felt insane.
“The fifth floor is a little difficult. Best to stay on the fourth. I'd like to eat first. And take a short nap.”
Kerry tucked the Return Scroll he had pulled out back into his satchel. He exchanged looks and shrugs with Felicia before saying, “We did miss the start of the term.”
“I don’t have anywhere else I need to be.” Felicia brushed at the front of her robe and adjusted the circlet on her head. “Might as well be here.”
“Settled then!” Kerry clapped his hands together. “Rest up Trent, when your ready we'll—"
Felicia shushed him, and Kerry closed his mouth. Sitting, leaning back against the far wall with Dreq curled up in his lap, Trent was already asleep.
Chapter Forty-Nine
The entrance to the Dungeon had been closed for six hours. The crack in the bell-shaped rock had sealed so thoroughly you would think it had never been. Since the closure, Guild Attendants and Guardsmen had worked diligently to line out the rules and thin the crowd that had gathered, restoring order to the compound, if not the town. The Dungeon had space to accommodate hundreds of Adventurers, but not if they entered as a horde, tripping over and fighting one another.
It would be first come, first served. Groups would enter in twenty-minute intervals. A rough time schedule was worked out, and numbers were passed around. You could wait at the Guild or on the hillside outside the Dungeon. When your number came up, you entered. Miss being called? There was always room at the end of the line.
Only five groups chose to wait at the entrance. The rest headed back, grumbling. When the crack in stone reappeared and the Dungeon opened, the
hill would be noisy with those waiting their turn. It was a waste to stand around now unless you were at the head of the line.
Eliora sat with Kosey and his partner Mark not far from the rock and clutched a tile etched with the number one in her hands. Mark had not only been holding a spot for them, but he had also claimed the front of the line. Eliora was surprised the weak-chinned Marksman was so capable.
After introducing himself as Mark the Marksman, with a chuckle and a gap-toothed grin, Mark hadn’t said a word. Not one word in close to six hours. Nods, grunts, and empty-headed smiles was how he communicated. Eliora would have expected a man like Mark to be shoved aside by more aggressive Adventurers. Holding his ground to take the first title was the only clue Eliora had on which to base her assessment of Mark's skill.
Eliora supposed she shouldn’t judge the Marksman, who looked like a farmhand, too harshly just because he was quiet. She wasn’t exactly a bubbly conversationalist herself. There was no need to be with Kosey around. The man filled every silence with a story, needing no encouragement to spout advice or laughter in respond to his own crude jokes.
Eliora tuned it out, sharpening and oiling her knives and limiting her interactions with Kosey to nods and the occasional, “Is that so?” When she looked over and saw Mark tending to his bow like she was her knives, it hit her that Kosey was probably the reason he was so withdrawn. Maybe away from the boisterous man, Mark opened up.
Concentrating on her knives, Eliora was startled when Kosey and Mark stood without warning. She dropped her tools and took a grip on her weapon, looking around for a threat.
“Good reaction!” Kosey snorted, jerking his head to the left. “But a wrong one. On your feet, Raven, the Dungeon is in business.”
The crack in the rock had opened without a sound. Eliora was two steps behind Mark and Kosey as the men entered it, without waiting for the Sergeant on duty to call them over. Eliora tossed the group’s tile to the man, who caught it with a disapproving look. She had to fight back the urge to apologize for their behavior. Neither Adventurers nor Nobles had the habit of apologizing to Guardsmen.
