by J. T. Wright
“I wouldn’t put it past the Sergeant to have me out there drilling like a raw Recruit,” Keller grumbled to himself as he hastily pulled his equipment on. Cullen tended to see all Guardsmen as recruits when they messed up. Probably because they’d all been trained by him.
Keller was strapping his helmet on and grabbing his spear when the party rode into the camp. That seemed unnecessary in Keller’s opinion. He’d expected them to ride by with a friendly wave, not stop by for a visit. Damn inconsiderate of them.
“Good morning, Guardsman!” The leader of this band of travelers was a pretty blonde young woman with soft lips and high cheekbones. She did justice to those traveling clothes as well. She seemed somehow familiar with those bright blue eyes and a rapier on her left hip.
Shit, Keller straightened up and saluted crisply. “Good day, Lady Kirstin!”
Kirstin swung down off her horse and resisted the urge to stretch. “Could you inform Sergeant Cullen that I'm here and would like to speak with him please, Guardsman?”
“Yes, of course, Lady Kirstin, I was just about to do that.” Keller patted his belt for the whisper rod. Where the hell had he put it? Had it fallen off? He hunted around in the grass. The thought of the Duke’s daughter staying until evening and even sharing a wineskin with him later was distracting him. They weren’t serious thoughts. More daydreams really, and ones he put a stop to quickly. If the Sergeant found out what he was thinking, there were easier ways to die than the ones Cullen would come up with for a Guardsmen with impertinent thoughts towards the Duke’s daughter.
“Probably could have done it already, if you’d had on your armor. Brave man, I think. I’ve heard this Sergeant Cullen does unpleasant things to guards he finds out of uniform.” Allen smirked, still in his saddle.
Keller snapped out of his reverie and resisted the urge to bark back. He never liked the look of this sly man with his perpetual self-satisfied grin. Why a grand lady like the Duke’s daughter traveled with a rat-faced Rogue, Keller would never know.
“I’m sure that’s not any of our business, Allen.” Kirstin gave Keller a reassuring smile that the Guard missed seeing. There was the damned whisper rod! How had it gotten under the wagon?
Kirstin looked around the camp as Keller made a hasty report. There were two fire pits lined with stones and surrounded by logs for seating, tents assembled in careful rows, a set of heavy leather curtains hanging from a wooden frame to form a bathing area, even a corral for the horses. The camp had a semi-permanent feel to it. Kirstin half suspected that, if she’d come a few days later, she would have come upon wooden fortifications Cullen would have had the Guard erect. She knew he carried the materials for such in his Storage.
Kirstin frowned as she took it all in. The tidy campsite meant Cullen had plans to stay in this spot for some time. Those plans most likely revolved around Trent. Getting her Summons back might be harder than she thought.
“Ah, Lady Kirstin, ma’am,” Keller said nervously, “Sergeant says he’s two miles or so that direction.” he pointed roughly northwest. “If you’re in a hurry to report, ah that is, to see him, he advises you to come to him. Otherwise, you’re more than welcome to wait here, and he'll be back in a couple of hours.”
“Two miles, that direction,” Kirstin sighed. There weren’t a lot of landmarks in the grasslands, finding one man or even a group with those vague directions wouldn’t be easy. “Well, looking is better than waiting. If we don’t find him in an hour, we'll come back.”
“If we don’t find him?” The expression on Dirk’s face wasn’t exactly a pout, but it clearly expressed that he was less than eager to spend more time in the saddle.
Kirstin rolled her eyes. “By we, I mean myself and Allen. The rest of you are free to make yourselves comfortable here.”
“What do you mean, yourself and Allen? Why do I have to go?” Allen sulked as the rest of the party moved to dismount. Even the ever-loyal Lyra was prepared to abandon her mistress after nearly a week of hard riding.
“You’re a Scout, that’s why.” Kirstin pulled herself back into the saddle. “Either you'll find him, or you’ll keep me from getting lost. Also, you’ll just cause trouble if I leave you here.”
“Never caused trouble in my life,” Allen muttered as the two set off, but that was his only complaint. Kirstin found it a little odd; she’d thought he’d put up more of a fight.
Allen swiftly found the trail. How he knew it was the Sergeant’s, Kirstin didn’t know, but presumably, a Skill was employed. She didn’t ask. She was more than a little surprised and impressed as Allen lead the way skillfully through the wild grasslands. He never hesitated, never dismounted to check for signs, just rode confidently in one direction.
Their party had always been Dungeon Crawlers. Kirstin knew Allen was a Scout, but she had always assumed that he had trained Skills that would be of most use in the Trials. Seeing him pick his way through the wilds with ease, she started to wonder if they should plan an expedition. It would be a nice change of pace from the gloomy cavern walls of the Al'drossford Trial. The others had complained about all the riding she made them do coming here, but in her experience, Adventurers found something to complain about no matter what was going on.
After fifteen minutes of brisk riding, they broke over the top of a hill and came upon the sight of two men and the body of a Howler. Clearly dead, the Howler was an unwelcome sight that had Kirstin's back straightening up in her saddle. All hair and teeth, children learned early to spot and report any Howler they saw. One Howler always meant more. They traveled in vast packs, and while they weren’t dangerous individually, their numbers made them a threat to isolated communities, or a small camp of Adventurers and soldiers.
“Uncle Cullen,” Kirstin eyed the dead beast warily, as she dismounted beside the Sergeant, “is the pack nearby?”
“Yep,” Cullen said simply. “We're in luck, medium-sized pack, not more than three miles from camp. I’ve already got Frank tracking them. They’re moving in the wrong direction at present, but he'll get them shifted.”
“Shifted?” Kirstin had a feeling she wasn’t going to like where this was headed.
“They’re moving towards the border, but Frank will turn them towards the camp.” Cullen gestured at the short man wearing a cowl and mask that Kirstin had seen when she rode up. “It’s up to you, Runt. Not much worth eating on these beasts, but it’s all you’ve killed with the bow.”
The man Cullen referred to as “Runt” shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to the other but made no move towards the dead Howler. Kirstin didn’t blame him. She’d rather starve to death than eat one of these wretched, foul-smelling beasts. Just thinking about it made her stomach turn.
“You have someone driving the pack to the camp?” Kirstin brought the conversation back to what she thought was important. “Why? That seems…”
“Why?” Cullen snorted. “Because my men and I are Guardsmen, that’s why. The pack is a threat to the Duke’s territory, and Guardsmen deal with threats when they find them. Don’t worry, brat, it’s only one hundred and fifty or so Howlers. You don’t even need to help if you don’t want to.”
“Only one hundred and…” Kirstin stared at the Sergeant open-mouthed. The worst part is she knew Cullen was serious. The Sergeant had already turned his attention back to his Recruit.
“We have preparations to make, Runt, looks like you’re going to get to eat today after all. Can’t have you fainting from hunger in the middle of the fight,” Cullen looked at Allen, who sat slouched in the saddle. “What’s your name? Alistern?”
“Allen,” Allen corrected the Sergeant dryly. His eyes tried and failed to drill a hole through Cullen.
“That’s it. Allen,” Cullen said just as dryly, “take the boy back to camp with you, I'll walk with the brat.”
Allen directed his horse next to the small masked man holding the bow and leaned down to offer him a hand. “Come on, Trent, let’s leave the Sergeant and the brat to their s
ecrets.”
Trent took the offered hand and was pulled up behind Allen. The two were galloping off before the Scout’s words registered with Kirstin.
“He better not think he’s going to get away with calling me brat from now on,” she muttered. Then, “Wait! Trent? That was Trent?”
Kirstin hadn’t paid much attention to the hooded, masked figure. She thought it odd that Cullen would allow a trainee to wear something other than the uniform of the guard, but it wasn’t her concern. The man hadn’t been tall, but he’d looked sturdy enough. Knives, axes, sword, and bow, Kirstin had thought it was a bit much. She reconsidered after noticing the weapons seemed to suit the stranger well enough. It couldn’t possibly have been Trent.
The last time Kirstin had seen Trent, he hadn’t just been short. Freshly Summoned, Trent could only have been described as small! Slight of build with no hint of the warrior about him, no one would have called him sturdy. It had been less than two weeks since Kirstin last saw her Summons. Even Cullen couldn’t turn a boy into a warrior in that amount of time.
“Uncle Cullen, was that really Trent?” Kirstin felt a fool for even asking. Why would Allen have known who Trent was when she hadn’t.
“Didn’t even recognize your own Summons, Brat,” Cullen shook his head and then seemed to reconsider. “Well no reason you should. Runt has doubled his Attributes, cleared a Trial, gotten soul-bound equipment. No. I suppose he’s changed a bit since you last saw him. And no, you can’t have him back until I'm done with him. I might consider loaning him to you for part of the day when we get back to the Keep, but that’s the best you can expect."
Kirstin bristled. “Uncle Cullen, you’re being unreasonable. He’s my Summons.”
“You mind your tone and get down off your horse when you’re addressing me, brat,” Cullen’s tone was soft. Kirstin paled as she scrambled out of her saddle. “Uncle" Cullen held a special place amongst the Duke’s family. He was the only person allowed to take a strap to any of the Duke’s children. And he did so anytime he thought they needed it. No matter their age.
“Uncle,” Kirstin tried in a more pleasant tone.
Cullen could be a hard man, but there was a reason why she and all her siblings called him uncle even if he wasn’t a blood relation or even a noble. He trained and watched over all of them, and he always listened. You may not like to hear what he had to say when you were done, but he’d hear you out.
“I need Trent, and I need to get back to the Trial. I admit I’ve mishandled him, but I'll do better from now on.” She said this in a clear voice and tried not to focus on the fact that she was asking for and needed the Sergeant’s permission.
“No,” Cullen said just as clearly. “End of discussion. I'll explain it to you as we walk back. I hope you brought comfortable shoes, rough terrain under this grass.”
Kirstin sighed as she gathered her horse’s reins and fell into step beside the Sergeant. This was not going how she wanted it to at all.
Chapter 18
Back at the camp, Braum, the next most senior Guardsman after Sergeant Cullen and Corporal Francis, had everyone hard at work digging. Everyone somehow included four sullen Adventurers who were regretting staying behind.
The recruits and Adventurers weren’t making much progress with their shovel, but Braum and the other senior Guardsmen more than made up for it. A trench six feet deep and four feet wide was rapidly encircling the camp as if by magic.
Trent peered around Allen to observe the camp as they rode up. The corral and bathing area had been dismantled, and all the tents packed away. The ditch was being dug with the wagon at its center, and all the horses had been hitched to the wagon’s side. It was an entirely different campsite than the one he’d left this morning.
“You two got back just in time to help dig,” Braum shouted, stamping over to confront Allen. The Guardsman knew Trent wouldn’t be a problem, the boy knew how to follow orders, but these Adventurers needed a bit of arm twisting. “Tie up the horse and grab some shovels. I don’t want to hear…”
“That won’t be possible, General!” Allen headed Braum off, taking his arm and drawing him aside. Braum was more than a little surprised when he was unable to resist. Trent took the horse to tie it with the others, slipped his mare an apple, and grabbed a shovel.
“I’m a Scout, General,” Allen cut off Braum's complaints. His left hand reached up to scratch his throat, managing to pull his leather jerkin open at the same time. “A rogue, you understand? The boy is clearly a rogue type as well. We will be more useful in preparing the field. Get it?”
Braum opened his mouth to tell this oddly strong Scout that he most certainly did not get it when his eye caught a flash of silver at Allen’s collar. A metal Insignia was pinned to Allen’s shirt, a crouched wolf in silver and black, with a border of gold. That insignia was the symbol of an officer in the Duke’s Scouting Regiment.
Braum's eyes widened, and he almost saluted. “Ah, that’s a good idea sir…sss… Scout.” Obviously, the officer didn’t want to be known as such.
“Good! I believe you have a man leading the pack of Howlers here. Make sure you tell him to come in wide so as not to step in anything he shouldn’t.” Lieutenant Alistern tapped the side of his nose. “But don’t tell anyone else what’s going on, secrets are meant to be kept after all.”
Braum nodded, the warning was clear. “Of course! I'll inform the Corporal and leave you to it.” He strode away, calling for Keller and the whispering rod.
Alistern watched the man scurry away and smirked to himself. “Trent, you’re with me. Bring the shovel.”
Trent had just found the tool in the back of the wagon. His head popped up at the new command. Allen gestured impatiently for the boy to hurry up. Trent shrugged and jumped down.
The two hastily jogged out of the camp. They had to circumvent the trench, which was already halfway completed. Thirty feet on all sides, it was an impressive effort. The infantry in the Duke’s Regulars would probably have it finished by now, but the Guardsmen were very efficient. Strong men, possibly with the Mining Skill to aid them, could move a lot of dirt when they needed to. Alistern was impressed. He would have thought the Guardsmen, who were used to defending prebuilt fortifications, would falter at this task. Sergeant Cullen’s training had always covered all the basics.
Alistern didn’t set a difficult pace, but he was still taken aback at how easily Trent kept up. The boy was practically wearing an armory's full inventory, but he showed no sign of falling back. Was this the same boy that couldn’t keep up walking not that long ago?
A hundred feet out, Alistern came to a stop. Trent wasn’t even breathing hard. Alistern nodded approvingly, and handed the boy a Skill Stone, “You’re a Rogue, right? Learn this.”
“Survivalist,” Trent corrected, taking the Stone and studying it.
Alistern blinked. He had made a study of Rogue Classes when deciding on his own path. He'd chosen Forward Scout as a second Specialization, and he’d done so after reading about Survivalists.
Survivalist was a lost Class. There were stories about them, but no one had seen one in hundreds of years. There were rumors that they were a type of Ranger, maybe a second Specialization of that Advanced Class, but no one knew for sure. Personally, Alistern thought they were related to Scouts.
Information about Survivalists was all hearsay. Stories about them appearing during a long-forgotten war and rumors about them being the counter to Elven Rangers comprised most of what people knew.
From what Alistern had read, it was known or assumed that you needed one class related weapons Skill, which would be easy, except no one could agree about what weapons Survivalists used. You also needed both the Map and Storage abilities, as a Survivalist often depended on preparation and information. Those abilities required either luck or money to acquire, but that wasn’t the difficult part of getting the Survivalist Class.
There was only one thing that all books agreed on, you needed to become a Survivalist.
Then there was the Secondary Attribute, Endurance. There was no guaranteed way to earn any Secondary Attribute, but it was commonly accepted that securing Endurance meant pain. Pain and affinity; pain without affinity got you nothing.
“Survivalist is an Advanced Class,” Alistern stated. How could the boy already have an Advanced Class?
Trent nodded. He held up the stone. His face was unreadable behind the mask. The suspicion was plain in his voice. “This is the Create Trap Skill. Why give it to me?”
Alistern’s eyebrow rose. “I already have the Skill. The Stone is worth nothing to me.”
Trent’s body language indicated that this explanation wasn’t going to cut it. Trent didn’t know a lot about financial matters, but he knew Adventurers liked money, and Skill Stones were expensive. Tersa told him how she once saved for months and ran Guild Quests in her spare time, just to buy a tier one Spell Stone. She’d been ecstatic when she finally had enough. She’d been devastated when she couldn’t learn it. Tersa wanted magic badly.
For an Adventurer to give away an expensive item to a stranger made no sense. Trent’s face lit up under his mask when he appraised the Stone, and he saw that the Skill he needed to level up was contained in it. His face fell when he thought of how unlikely it was for the Skill he needed to fall into his lap. Why did Allen have this stone?
Alistern didn’t know what to say. The truth was he had dozens of Create Trap Skill Stones in his own Storage. His job was normally a great deal like Cullen’s, only he trained Scouts. He was kicking himself for not having a greater variety of stones on hand. The Duke wanted Trent trained up, and this was an ideal situation to do so. Why was this kid suspicious?
“Adventurers like money,” Trent answered when Alistern asked. “You shouldn’t have a Skill Stone that you can’t use. You should have sold or traded it.”