The Land of the Undying Lord

by J. T. Wright

  Cullen rolled his shoulders. It was good to be back in the stunning black armor. He looked at the short spikes on the knuckles of his gauntlets. He smiled at the curved blades that swept back from his wrists. He hefted his axe, made of a red-tinted metal, and watched the lightning reflect off its blade. It had been too long since he had held this old friend.

  Dirk, the Defender, almost dropped his war hammer. His own armor felt drab and fragile when he compared it to the Sergeant’s. He felt small, even though he was actually only a few inches shorter than Cullen. Just looking at the man sent shivers down his spine.

  “Is he a Knight? No, he has to be an advanced Class. A Dragon Knight?” Dirk spoke loudly, but the question wasn’t really meant to be answered. He dreamed of being an Advanced Knight, it didn’t matter what kind.

  He hadn’t expected an answer, but Alistern gave him one anyway. “Knight! Pah! Knights are a balance between defense and offense. Sergeant Cullen is a Dread Naught! A man without fear, an unstoppable force of violence. He's all offense. Or as the Sergeant likes to say, ‘The best way to be defensive is to be offensive.’”

  Trent, standing beside the Lieutenant, looked up. Alistern couldn’t see the boy's frown, but he could feel it. “I don’t think that’s what the Sergeant says.”

  “Close enough.” Alistern shrugged. To Dirk he said seriously, “You should take note, metalhead. The Sergeant is a prime example of what can be achieved if you invest in yourself properly. Would you believe he started out with one Class slot, and his first Class was Commoner? What if I told you...”

  “Stern!” Cullen barked to cut the Scout off. His voice was clear, not the slightest bit muffled. Inside his helm, his eyes glowed red. Whether that was an effect of his Class or armor was anyone’s guess.

  “If you’re done telling my fucking life story,” he growled, “we have a Trial to clear.”

  Alistern clasped Trent’s shoulder. Unruffled by Cullen’s displeasure, he walked over to join the Sergeant.

  “Corporal, you know what needs to be done. Move out! Stay safe!” Cullen ordered.

  Frank nodded and immediately got his mixed squad formed up and moving. Cullen and Alistern watched them go. Any direction would do as long as it wasn’t the direction Cullen had chosen for himself.

  Cullen suddenly felt frustration at the thought of being separated from his men for this Trial; they were his responsibility. Heading out, he also felt guilty because he was excited at the thought of what was coming. He could only accept that guilt, there was no changing the way things had to be.

  “Any particular reason we’re going that way, old man?” Alistern asked.

  Cullen lifted his axe with one hand and used it to point at something in the distance. “I don’t know what it is, but there’s something out there.”

  Alistern frowned. He was a Forward Scout with several sight enhancing Skills and Abilities. It wasn’t fair that Cullen could see when he couldn’t make anything out. “How far?”

  “Days, weeks maybe,” Cullen said mildly. “Depends on how much you slow me down, and what the Trial throws at us. No guarantee it’s what we’re looking for either.”

  Alistern resisted the urge to brag about his nimble feet and far-striding legs. Cullen would probably think it was funny to run him into the dirt and then leave him behind. “Shall we?”

  Cullen’s eyes flashed red again. He set off at a jog without bothering to reply.

  **********

  Two or three hours later, Corporal Francis was starting to get worried. Not long ago, the group had stumbled upon a mostly intact road, paved with huge stones. They walked it, believing that a road had to lead somewhere, but so far, nothing.

  That was what worried him. There should have been something by now: a threat, a puzzle, a challenge. The Trial was too quiet. That was never a good sign.

  They moved slowly, much too slowly for Frank, but that couldn’t be helped. Although he had the Leadership Skill, he’d only gotten it leveled to seven. This allowed him to form Parties of up to twenty-five people. It also provided bonuses to their travel speed and defensive ratings, but a party was still only as fast as its slowest member.

  Leadership was a valuable Skill. For a soldier or an Adventurer, it was always beneficial to form a party. Experience was shared, so non-combatants could level, communication was easier, lots of other little things as well. Frank tried hard to think about these benefits.

  The group walked the road in three lines. Five Guardsmen on the right side of the road, the six Adventurers on the left, and a line of Recruits in the middle. Out in front, keeping fifty feet from the rest, Trent acted as Scout. That was another thing Frank didn’t like.

  The boy had the lowest Level of all of them; he should be in a protected place, not out in front. Advanced Class or not, he was still an untrained lad. Frank had tried to argue that point with Cullen and Alistern, but he had been overruled. Even with his two superiors gone, Frank couldn’t bring himself to disobey.

  “The runt will surprise you, Frank.” Cullen had said. The Corporal hoped it was true.

  He couldn’t help worrying about their slow pace. Despite Frank’s movement bonuses from Leadership, they couldn't move any faster. Trent’s Detect Traps and Tracking Skills weren’t developed enough for him to utilize them on the run, and the recruits were tired. It had been a long day for the youngest members of the squad. Training, fighting, digging, and burying all drained Stamina. There had been no time for rest. There might not be for a long time.

  Ahead of the group, Trent pulled up. When the rest drew near, Frank gestured for them to halt and instructed them to keep their eyes open. He looked around the area but saw only bare earth and dead trees, no sign of an ambush or trap. Was it that canyon up ahead on the left? Had the boy seen movement?

  Frank called for a report, and Trent hesitated before lifting his arm and pointing at the ground twenty feet in front of him. “There’s something there, Corporal. I don’t know what it is.”

  Frank squinted and peered at the indicated spot but could see nothing. “What does it appear to be?”

  Trent licked his lips. “At first, just a hazy spot in the road. But the harder I look, its symbols, glowing runes, and lines stretching out and…” The boy turned around, tracking something with his eyes that the others couldn’t see. Soon, he was facing them. His shoulders slumped.

  “I'm sorry, Corporal, I don’t know what it is, but it’s all around us. Too wide to jump or cross.” Trent felt as if he failed. He was supposed to see things like this before he led the others into it.

  Arisa cleared her throat. “Could it be, ah, a magic trap? It sounds like one.”

  “Impossible!” Matt declared. The Fire Elementalist twirled his staff with one hand. “Detect Trap only works on magic if you have Mana Control and Manipulation. He's probably just…”

  “I have both those Skills,” Trent said, reaching up to tug at his mask absently.

  “…seeing things. Trials getting to him, it happens to…” Matt broke off and almost dropped his staff. “What! You have both? You’re a Rogue!”

  Trent nodded. “I only know Spark, but I have Mana Manipulation and Control.”

  “But, ah, if you have them, um, why didn’t you spot the trap before we were in it?” Arisa chewed at her bottom lip, then said excitedly, “Unless it’s not a trap? Maybe it’s a Safe Zone!”

  Hopeful looks were cast at Frank from all directions. He wished he could tell them it was a safe zone, that it was okay to rest here, but that wasn’t going to happen.

  “Safe Zones are hidden, you can’t spot them even with Mana Manipulation and Control,” The Corporal announced. “And you did nothing wrong, Trent. You did well to spot what you did. Survival Trials throw things at you spontaneously. This formed around us, you didn’t miss it.”

  Frank immediately formed the group into a circle with the recruits inside. Trent positioned himself next to Kirstin, but the Corporal let it go. The kid wasn’t a real Recruit, after all,
he was a servant of the Lady.

  There weren’t a lot of options for defense. Dirk was the only one with a shield and full armor, but they were encircled, so they couldn’t count on the enemy coming from only one direction.

  Once everyone was in position, weapons out and ready, the Corporal himself walked to the place where Trent said the lines of runes were. He would trigger the trap. They tried to toss a stone to set it off, but nothing had happened. This was the only other option.

  Frank triggering the trap was a breach of Guard policy. Frank was in command; he should have Keller or Braum or, preferably, Dirk in his heavy armor take the risk. Frank couldn’t bring himself to give the order. He tried to look confident as his foot stepped onto the trap he couldn’t see.

  There was no explosion or wave of fire, just a sudden shimmering light and a whirring noise. Frank stepped backward, standing with the others. The lights danced momentarily and then flashed brightly. A Summoning.

  Thirty figures appeared surrounding the group. Tall and thin, pale and gruesome, the figures had a human-like appearance. Naked but genderless, the figures stood silently, swaying ever so slightly.

  They were hard to look at, familiar-looking, yet alien. With saggy skin that had never seen the sun, bald heads, and misshapen faces, the figures were more of a bad reflection of humanity than anything else.

  “Fleshlings!” Frank identified the creatures. “It could be worse.”

  The Fleshlings still hadn’t moved. It could be worse, true, but it was far from good. They didn’t have the weapons to immediately deal with this threat.

  “Will they burn?” Matt asked, raising his staff.

  “Yes,” Frank replied, “but it’s not wise unless you can take them out instantly.”

  “One way to find out.” Matt started chanting.

  Frank slapped the Mages arms down, interrupting his Spell, “That means you can't! It’s unwise because they’re durable. They burn hot, and if you don’t take them out fast, they keep coming, bringing the fire to you.”

  As Matt rubbed his arm and gave the Corporal a disgruntled look, Frank called out, “Listen up! Fleshlings are slow, no intelligence to speak of, but they’re strong and can soak up a lot of damage. Do not let them grab hold of you! Do not let them get behind you! Attempt to disable their limbs. Mages, hit them with fire once they’re down! Healer, Fleshlings are Undead but do not use healing spells on them! Cleansing and Purification only.”

  Frank spoke hastily as the Fleshlings started to move. Slowly, arms raised, they came silently. “Spread out a bit! Don’t get in each other’s way! Try to push them back!”

  Responding to the Corporal’s commands, the group found themselves in a disturbingly quiet battle. Swords flashed and struck, cutting ineffectively. The Adventurers and Guardsmen kicked and shoved as they slashed and thrust, trying to keep the thirty monsters back. They desperately wanted to avoid grasping hands.

  Kirstin found the Fleshlings attacks relatively easy to avoid. Her rapier struck out, again and again, dealing light blows. It was easy to dodge, but two of the creatures were crowding her. Normally she would dance back, circle around, and weave through her enemies, but she was constrained in this circular formation. Her blade did little damage to the Undead.

  Trent saw his master’s difficulty and moved to respond. With Kirstin holding position in the formation, he stepped out, Sorrow and Strife in hand. At first, he just wanted to distract the creatures to give Kirstin some space, but as the first blow from Strife dug deeply into a Fleshing’s wrist, he realized he had the proper tool for this fight.

  As the creature turned its attention to him, he struck low at the Fleshling’s knee. It wasn’t enough to sever, but the cut was deep. He activated Dash, and his speed increased. He dodged and ducked, striking at the other limb, then back to hew at the beast’s leg like a woodsman falling a tree. The creature wobbled at the damage but kept swiping and grasping at the Summons.

  Trent wasn’t as fast as some, but he was faster than these creatures. Inside his hood, behind his mask, he grinned as he weaved in and around the Undead. He was out of position, but as he struck, he drew the attention of one creature after another, leading them back and drawing them away from the group. His actions gave the others a little room to breathe.

  Trent felt stronger than he ever had before. He couldn’t explain it. It felt like this was what he was meant for. Even if he didn’t know what this was. Not battling Undead, not wielding his axes, it was an undefinable thing. But it felt right.

  Kirsten slashed and stabbed at a Fleshling, occasionally striking out with her buckler to push her opponent back. It was easier now that Trent had drawn some of the beasts away. She saw him strike the same place, again and again, eventually severing a leg. As that Fleshing toppled over, she adopted his strategy.

  Now each of her blows reached for a joint. Her weapon wasn’t as effective as Trent’s, but her Strength and Agility were much higher. Soon one wrist and then another went flying. The Fleshling still came on, silent except for the gnashing of teeth.

  Trent darted forward and struck at the leg of Kirstin’s opponent. No one was more surprised than he was when his blow cut clean through, sending the beast toppling backwards toward him. He stepped back, almost into the waiting hands of another Fleshing.

  Don’t let them get behind you, Idiot! He thought to himself angrily as he dodged another. Keep moving!

  His surprise at the effectiveness of his blow was understandable. He tried to tell himself it was like the time with the Grak. The right weapon, at the right time, in just the right spot. However, that didn’t feel quite right.

  Kirstin, if she hadn’t been busy, could have explained it to him. Michael had given her several books on Summoned Creatures, and she’d managed to read two of them during her trip to reacquire her own Summons. Summons grew and responded according to their master’s needs. They were stronger and faster in their contract Holder’s presence.

  Kirstin kept one eye on the boy as he fought. She’d been a fool! Had she thought he was useless? He complimented her perfectly in this fight. He kept the Fleshlings off her, drawing their attention away, giving her room to strike. He wasn’t slaughtering them with a single hit, but his efficiency was apparent.

  Around them, the others went about their business professionally. Even the Recruits. They were inspired by Trent’s actions and mimicked his tactics. They darted out with their knives. Their cutting distracted the Undead monsters, allowing their seniors to deal more devastating blows.

  At first, Corporal Francis found this unacceptable. His impulse was to protect the Recruits, but upon further reflection, he realized this would be a mistake. The Recruits were still Guardsmen, and they were eager. The Fleshlings were relentless but slow, and the nimble young warriors hadn’t taken a hit, yet.

  One Fleshling after another fell, disabled. With legs and arms cut off, the creatures still bit and thrashed, noiselessly, on the ground. Once they were down, Arisa, Lyra, and Matt moved forward to cleanse the beasts with fire and spells. Lyra’s Purification Spell was particularly effective.

  When they were on fire, the Fleshlings squirmed for minutes; they burned hot enough that you couldn’t get near them. Matt realized why the Corporal had stopped him before. He imagined those human-shaped torches grabbing at him as they burned, and he shuddered.

  Purification, on the other hand, dealt with the beasts in only two casts like the creatures were a disease or a curse. Its healing magic broke whatever ungodly hold kept them in this world. Not that Lyra was pleased by this fact. Purification was neither a distance nor an area Spell. The maid grimaced as she lay hands on one disgusting monster after another to cast her Spell.

  Dodging teeth, stubs, and handless limbs, Lyra had to force herself to touch the fallen Fleshlings. She was a Healer, not a Warrior. She was supposed to be at the back, providing support to her Lady. But in the Trial, you did what you had to do, and hoped there was plenty of water to wash with after it was all over
.

  It was half an hour before the last charred body stopped thrashing, and the group could finally lower their weapons. It hadn’t been a pleasant experience, but the Guardsmen and Adventurers barely felt strained from it. If they had weapons with the proper enchantments, this would have been a walk in the park.

  The recruits felt differently. They were elated to win but exhausted from their running about. With the battle over, they slumped to the ground, Stamina depleted. All of them, except Tersa.

  The freckle-faced Recruit was grinning broadly as she wiped sweat off her forehead with a sleeve. The Sergeant may not like her investment in Constitution, but it certainly had its benefits. She would have been exhausted performing these acts while wielding a sword and wearing armor, but in just trousers and shirt, with just a knife, she was barely winded. Seeing Trent also standing, she ran over to celebrate with her friend.

  Trent had examined Sorrow and Strife after the battle. They were good weapons, much better than his sword or knives. Sorrow felt a little odd in his left hand, but it still did its job. The axes hadn’t been damaged. They didn’t even need to be cleaned or sharpened after the fight with the bloodless Fleshlings.

  He was checking his status when Tersa ran up to him. He'd leveled Dash twice during the fight, an incredible amount of growth. It now increased his speed by fourteen percent and only cost one Stamina every five seconds. He also gained a Point in Agility from leveling the Skill.

  Tersa slapped him on the back. “That was great, wasn’t it!? I think this is going to be an easy Trial! The Corporal is worried over nothing, I probably could have fought all of those monsters by myself!”

  Trent winced at her words, as he pushed his mask up and his cowl down. He was pretty sure saying something like that was what Keller called spitting in the face of the gods. It was very unlucky. Had she been overheard? Judging from the scowl on Corporal Francis’s face, she had.

  “I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Trent rubbed the back of his head. “They didn’t go down easy.”