by J. T. Wright
“Why don’t we get closer,” Trent suggested. He’d gotten good at reading Orion’s moods and was quick to distract the Spirit Summoner. “If we can help we will, if not, well, we’ve gotten pretty good at running.”
“There will be no running if they notice us,” Orion replied impassively.
“Then we fight.” Tersa sounded cheerful at the prospect, which was further proof in Orion’s eyes that she didn’t know what was going on and was probably insane. “Al’rashian like to fight Orcs, right?”
Her words struck at Orion’s core. He should insist that they run now. Saying that Trent was the leader and had the right to order them forward was an excuse. Trent led because Orion allowed it. If they approached the Orc army, it wouldn’t be because of the boy’s naivety but because of Orion’s racial hatred.
Knowing that he still said, “If you insist.”
He began lowering the platform. As they sunk through the air, Trent pulled his cowl up and lowered his mask. Before his features were obscured, Orion caught one last glance of violet eyes.
Those eyes were important to the Al’rashian people, and Orion knew he should be doing everything in his power to preserve the boy’s life. But when their feet touched the ground, Orion found his feet carrying him forward. Oddly there was a spring to his step that hadn’t been there since his exile.
There would be a battle at the end of this canyon. For the first time in centuries, a Spirit Summoner would truly unleash his powers. He held back because that was what the Trial demanded, but that demand could no longer be heeded. He would fight, and possibly die, beside Trent and Tersa.
Even more strangely, he wasn’t thinking about what his people would lose at his and the boy’s death. Instead, he found himself wondering if Trent would live up to his heritage. He hoped the boy would. Even if he died, Orion could die proudly if he witnessed another violet-eyed destroyer weaving a new legend.
**********
“Fall back, into the courtyard!” Frank shouted. Arrows bounced off the thick hide of the Hill Troll. The Corporal doubted the beast even noticed. “All the way to the far wall, we can’t fight that thing here!”
Joel kept firing. He could see that even his Skilled shots did nothing, but he couldn’t accept it. “Its only Level 10! What the hell is it made of?”
Hill Trolls were yet another creature Frank had only heard about; this Trial seemed to delight in advancing his horizons. He wished Joel hadn’t announced the beast’s Level. If he hadn’t known that, maybe he could have pretended he could face it. The Troll slowly settled onto the bridge, dragging a tree-sized club behind it, and Frank knew that was an empty dream.
“Fall back, damn you!” Frank shouted, grabbing the Scout’s shoulder and pulling him along. “Keep your distance. Mages and Archers to the far wall. We’ll distract it on the ground, pick your shots.”
They were meaningless orders. Once the Trolls were inside, the Orcs would follow. There would be no leading the enemy by its nose. All that they could do was watch the wall crash down and hope they could take a few Orcs with them.
Joel finally followed the Corporal’s command. He tossed a reassuring wink at his brother, Matt, and jerked his head to tell the younger Mage to follow him as he ran for the stairs. Matt smiled back and clutched something in his right hand.
Matt held back as Guardsmen and Adventurers rushed away from their positions above the gate. Once everyone else was descending, Matt made his way down more sedately. Behind him, the Hill Troll raised its club and slammed it, not against the gate but on the wall itself. The world rocked, and chunks of stone exploded as the club came down.
Matt stumbled down the last of the steps. Corporal Francis was waiting there and reached out a hand to steady the Mage. Matt smiled gratefully and nodded at the Corporal’s orders to hurry. As Frank rushed to follow his own order, he didn’t notice that Matt was falling behind. By the time the Corporal reached the other Guardsmen and turned to face what was coming, it was too late to drag Matt with him.
While the rest of the group gathered at the other end of the ruined fortress, Matt stood quietly and watched the Troll’s club descend on the wall over and over. Any other time it would have been an impressive sight. Each blow did noticeable damage to the sturdy wall. Matt wouldn’t have thought it possible.
He’d studied the runes that provided magical support to the wall several times since they’d been trapped here. Between attacks, there wasn’t much to do besides sleep and eat. Restless, Matt had examined the runes and found them wonderful. He would have liked to learn more about runecraft. It wasn’t a field he was familiar with but looking at the intricate carvings on the wall, Matt knew he was far more suitable for that path then he was the road of a Fire Elementalist. Further study didn’t seem likely anymore, though.
This was only one of many waves the group of soldiers and Adventurers had seen over the last few days. It was amazing they had lasted this long. Matt knew it was only thanks to the Guardsmen. There was no quit in those veterans.
They met each challenge and pulled the rest of the group along with them, never complaining that the others couldn’t keep up. But that was the truth of the matter. The Adventurers and Recruits tried their best, but even as their levels skyrocketed from the shared XP, they were only able to support the Guardsmen in the most basic fashion.
Except for Joel. Joel was blossoming under the guidance of the Corporal and Guardsman Merrill. He thrived under their direction and had become an asset to the group.
Joel always should have been a soldier. His father had been. Squire and Knight, now Minor Nobility, his father had blazed a path that Joel had wanted to follow, but he hadn’t because his little brother wanted to be an Adventurer.
Matt and Joel had always been close. Joel had always looked out for and supported Matt. Even when Matt became a Fire Elementalist, a Class he had no real affinity for, Joel laughed it off and encouraged his foolish little brother. Matt had only come this far because of that support. It wasn’t a debt that needed to be repaid. It couldn’t be repaid, but today Matt would try.
A stone whizzed by his face, but Matt didn’t notice. He could see the Hill Troll through the gap the beast had created. Long ears, huge eyes, and a curiously sad mouth, the beast was almost comical. Hill Trolls weren’t normally dangerous if avoided, and this one didn’t look like it enjoyed its task. Matt wondered how the Orcs trained the beast, but it was a foolish, absent thought. The Troll was a Trial Beast, not a true creature of the world.
More stones crumbled and exploded from the Trolls’ assault. Matt ignored them, standing resolutely in place. In his left hand, he held his staff and clutched in his right fist was a Spell Stone. The staff he was proud of, he earned it in this Trial, even if his performance had been lacking. The Spell Stone…
Under normal circumstances, he would never consider learning this Spell. It was this Spell that made him realize he should start looking for ways to push his Class away from Fire Elementalist. It had never been the right choice for him anyway. Like so many of his decisions, he had made it on a whim, to spite other’s expectations.
Matt pushed his thoughts away from the Spell Stone and brought up his Status. He had to be quick, the wall wouldn’t last much longer.
His Level had reached 25, a fact which should have overwhelmed Matt with happiness. If they had been back in Al’drossford, the Adventurers would have celebrated his growth with cheap drinks and worse food. Furthermore, he had the chance to choose an Advanced Class now. None of the others could, but there it was in his Status.
Matt licked his lips and cleared his throat uncomfortably as he channeled the necessary XP and officially gained an Advanced Class. Even back in Al’drossford, Matt wouldn’t celebrate this decision. Pyromancer was a powerful Class, like all Advanced Classes, but it was also an ending of sorts.
Pyromancers gained access to powerful fire spells but lost all affinity with other elements. They could deal directly with the Element of fire itself at the cost
of further growth. Matt shut his eyes as new strength flowed through him.
This was not what he’d aspired to. It wasn’t a smart choice. But it was a necessary one if Matt wanted the other members of his party to… would even this help them escape the Trial, or was Matt simply buying them another day, gruesome death at a slightly later date?
He put his 5 free Attribute Points in Intelligence. It increased his MP drastically, but it was another poor choice. Adding pure Intelligence was a rookie mistake, one Matt had made in the beginning but learned to correct. Any other day and he would have added to Wisdom, with maybe a Point for Agility, but not today.
Pyromancer brought Matt one new Skill and one Ability, a lackluster gain for an Advanced Class and further proof that he wasn’t meant to control fire. Still, while Matt didn’t have any use for the Ability Fire Manipulation, the Spell Fire Cloak might buy him a second or two. It didn’t matter, Matt’s plan revolved around another Spell anyway.
His hand tightened around the Stone in his grasp. In his eyes, it was the ugliest Spell Stone he’d ever seen. Most Spell Stones were a pleasant color, sparkling and curiously lit from within by the magic they contained. This one was dark, an unhealthy mix of red and black, which reminded him of a house fire or an Alchemist’s lab exploding. Despite the misgivings the Stone gave him, he chose to learn the Spell, squeezing the mystic item as its knowledge filled his brain and crumbled away.
He brushed his hand on his robe. He probably only imagined the greasy feeling that covered his palm and fingers. Spell Stones, even ones as dark as this one, were pure information. They didn’t carry any disease or infection. Nonetheless, Matt felt tainted.
The Hill Troll did him a favor by finishing its work. The twisted metal of the portcullis and shattered wood of the gate slammed to the ground beneath the Troll’s crude club, drawing Matt out of his stupor. Two steps and the Troll was through the hole it created. It loomed over the newly christened Pyromancer, its pot-belly almost obscuring Matt’s sight as he craned his neck in a futile attempt to bravely stare the beast down. Dragging its club behind, it blinked slowly as it regarded the Mage. A second identical Troll stepped forward and filled the gap that had once been a gate. Between their legs, Matt could see the army of Orcs rushing toward them. Joel had said they numbered over two hundred and fifty. If Matt could wait a little longer, maybe he could capture a few of them along with the Trolls.
The Orcs bellowed and grunted as they came. Matt hated that about Trial Beasts. Orcs were a Cursed race, but they were still Awakened. They should have hollered war cries in the common tongue or shouted insults as they waved their weapons. But creatures of the Trial were always limited to bestial barks and shrieks unless the Trial thought intelligent speech would serve some greater purpose.
Whatever the Orcs’ babbling meant, it stirred the Trolls to action. The Orc Commander was running at the head of his army, and when he barked the lead Hill Troll looked over its shoulder and then back down at Matt. Slowly, it raised one foot. Apparently, that was all the Troll needed to deal with the Mage.
Matt had been calm, determined, up until this point. Fear set in, as he saw the Troll’s foot come up. Not fear of death, but fear of failure. The second Troll was too far away, the Orc troops not nearly close enough, and Matt had no way to buy any time. He would need all his Mana for what he had planned, and Pyromancers didn’t have a lot of spells that could be used to stall or bind.
With a yelp, Matt started running, beneath the Troll’s foot and between its legs. The raised foot came down with a crash, sending stones and one skinny Mage flying. He hadn’t been hit, but the force of the impact was enough to lift him off his feet. Shattered rocks hammered against his back, causing him to cry out, a cry that was cut off as he plowed into the ground.
Concentration was an essential Skill for a Mage Adventurer. It not only let a caster focus on his targets, but at higher levels, it helped a Mage to ignore pain and danger. Matt’s robe and back had been shredded by stone shrapnel, and without the Concentration Skill he would have been finished.
With it, he was able to pick himself up, with his shaking arms and blurry vision. Matt hoped the blood he was spitting out was from where he had bitten his tongue and not from a worse injury. Not that it matters, he told himself as he got to his feet. There was one perfect cure for all injuries, and the Spell he was about to cast had the cure as a side effect.
Matt attempted a laugh when he realized the force of the Troll’s stomp had propelled him almost the perfect distance from where he needed to be to catch both Trolls in his Spell. Just about, but not quite. And getting up, he knew he had gone as far as he was going. He took one step, wobbled and whimpered, then stood still. Concentration could only block so much pain, and despite his hopes, the blood he had spit out was not from accidentally biting his tongue. The Troll was turning around, probably to stomp at him again. Matt needed to act now.
The Spell he had learned would be incredibly complicated for a different Mage Class, but for a Pyromancer, Sacrificial Pyre was as simple as breathing, easier than breathing, considering the current state of Matt’s body. No elaborate chant or complex visualization, the Pyromancer just had to push out all his Mana, all at once, and ignite it.
Before the Hill Troll could finish turning, a fireball that scorched the sky and melted stone erupted from Matt’s position. The Troll was bathed in fire, and super-heated air filled its lungs, cutting off its agonized screams. Its flesh blackened and hardened, its eyes evaporated, its death was a welcome relief.
The flame spread out, almost reaching the second Troll, and even at a distance, the heat was so intense it burned the skin off the still living beast. Even the charging Orcs felt the scalding temperature and the front ranks recoiled, attempting to halt, only to be pushed forward by the Orcs in the rear.
Matt’s eyes glowed red as his own skin was being charred and consumed. He wouldn’t survive this Spell; Even his own formidable Fire Resistance was no match for Sacrificial Pyre. The only benefit the Spell offered its caster was that his mind was clear enough to see the effectiveness of his efforts, and no pain robbed him of his bittersweet victory.
In fact, he was graced with a moment of clarity. Matt didn’t waste this second of respite reflecting on his past. It was in this timeless instant that he realized Fire Manipulation wasn’t a useless Skill. No, Fire Manipulation was a gift!
As Matt became one with the flames, he used Fire Manipulation to intensify the inferno. He pushed and controlled the Spell and the fire spread. It consumed the front ranks of the Orcs, including their leader. It wasn’t enough to destroy the final Troll, but Matt hoped the beast was injured enough to be easy prey for the others.
He'd done what he could. If it wasn’t enough, that was how it would have to be. There was no gradual fading of consciousness for Pyromancer. One moment he was controlling the fire, and the next, he was a part of it. He was gone.
Matt’s final Spell had eliminated one troll and severely injured another. He had also managed to kill the Orc commander whose Level and Class none would ever know. Another fifty Orcs were just icing on the cake.
Chapter 36
Joel was the first to notice Matt’s absence. Standing on the wall, bow in hand, he kept waiting for his brother to stumble up the stairs. Matt would be wheezing and trying to laugh off his lack of physical conditioning as he joined his brother. He’d comment about how a Mage never needed to run. Why should he run, others should run from him, he would joke.
As everyone took their places, and Matt still didn’t arrive, Joel’s gaze went to the fallen gate. The distance wasn’t great, especially under the effect of Far Sight, but it still took Joel precious seconds to identify the scrawny figure of his brother. The hulking Hill Troll drew the eye, and unless you were actively trying, you would never notice the defiant Mage.
Joel could see an unnatural rigidity to his brothers back. He didn’t know what the fool was planning, but Joel wasn’t going to let him face it alone. The Trol
l was lifting its foot, and Matt, instead of sensibly running away, ran forward. Joel’s own foot hovered in the air, his breath caught in his breast, as his brother tumbled through the air and hit the ground as the Troll’s heavy foot slammed down.
Tears welled up and rolled down Joel’s face. Far Sight was still activated, and the Scout could clearly see the shredded condition of his brother’s back. Joel wanted to run to his stupid younger sibling; Matt needed him. He wouldn’t be able to walk back with those wounds, but no matter how he urged his body to obey, his legs wouldn’t move.
Standing frozen, the intensity of Sacrificial Pyre blinded Joel. The Scout’s lifted foot sank to the ground, and a moment later, Joel fell to his knees. He buried his face in his hands. His vision was still white, but he knew without looking that Matt wouldn’t be walking away from a Spell like that.
Corporal Francis saw the flash of light from his place on the stairs. Ruins obstructed his view, and all he could see was a burst of flames and a Hill Troll burning like a bonfire. “What the fuck was that?” He looked to the top of the wall behind him, hoping those on higher ground had an answer. The sight of Joel collapsing, and a quick head count told him roughly what had happened.
“Recruit Bailey!” Joel was in no condition to answer questions, so Frank called to their other Archer. “What did you see?”
Bailey was squinting and rubbing his eyes, but at the Corporal’s question, he did his best to answer. “Not a lot, Corporal, but it looks like one Troll is done for, and the other is hurt bad. I think whatever that was got some of the Orcs too!”
“Not whatever!” Joel swiped his eyes with the sleeve of his jerkin and stood up. “Matt! A Troll and a half and at least fifty Orcs. Matt did that!”
Frank didn’t need to ask the next question. The look on the Scout’s face was answer enough, but he did, both to confirm his suspicions and to draw the words out of Joel. “And Matt?”
“Gone.” Joel’s voice was ragged. Grief and anger traded places on his face. “Gone, but he took the worst with him. He even got the big one that was leading the way. I'll send the rest to join him!”