Scout (Blades VR Book 1)

by Terry Schott

  Aleron stopped himself from laughing. Elves referred to the world outside of their villages and forests as, ‘the Wild’. He knew from playing the RPG and PC game that elves preferred to remain separate from the other races of Preu Treya, but he hadn’t realized how xenophobic they were. “I’m sorry, but I want to live a little. See the world. Experience life and all that it has to offer.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about.” Yheris began walking once more. “That’s what training is for. To consider our lives and make decisions.”

  Aleron smiled. “Will you join me?”

  Yheris shook his head, but smiled. “If you don’t learn to cast snare, I may have to.”

  Aleron laughed and began running. “I’ll get it with some practise.”

  ***

  Master Keaedan stood in front of the group, arms folded and hands hidden within the dark brown folds of his robe. His hair was long and white, his beard also lengthy but well-trimmed so that it was not bushy at the sides. He walked slowly back and forth in front of the students who sat on the grass in front of him.

  “Next I will speak of the spell called Wolven Spirit.”

  The novices stirred, a faint murmuring rippling through them.

  Master Keaedan smiled and waited for everyone to quiet down. “Of course, few of you will be able to cast this one for many years.” His eyes drifted over Aleron, who was beaming, “Or longer.” The young man’s smile faded and he looked at the ground. “Regardless of your ability, we all must learn to deal with its effects early in our training, since it will undoubtedly be cast on you sooner than later to help make any number of tasks easier as you move around the village.”

  The students began to buzz once more. The druid master tapped Aleron on the shoulder and motioned for him to stand.

  “Aleron, would you care to assist me with this demonstration?”

  “Of course, Master.” Aleron stood.

  “Good.” He pulled the sleeves of his robe back and flexed his fingers. “Wolven Spirit is a gift of running speed and agility, granted to the druids millennia ago by our ancestors. Once cast, the recipient is imbued with the ability to walk and run approximately fifty percent faster than normal.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, then he summoned the magic and waved his hands in an intricate combination of gestures in front of him. Seconds later, a blue light formed and slid from his hands to Aleron’s feet, encasing them in bluish white light.

  The master druid opened his eyes and looked out at the students. “Notice the blue aura around Aleron’s feet?”

  Heads nodded.

  “The presence of this aura always indicates that the individual is imbued with the spell. If you face a foe with this glow around their feet and you lack it, then it is pointless to try and run from them.”

  “The aura can also be green, isn’t that right, Master?” a female student asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Or red.” A different voice.

  Keaedan nodded. “Only blue is Wolven Spirit, but the other colours do tell us that a running buff is in play. What are the other colours that have not yet been mentioned?”

  “Smokey grey.” Another student.

  “Black,” Aleron said.

  “Any others?” Keaedan waited, but no one spoke. “I think we have covered them all. I would always advise a quick scan of someone’s feet. Some of the colours are difficult to make out at first glance, and it is better to be safe than sorry.”

  “Blue is fastest, though,” Yheris declared from his spot on the ground.

  “That is not always the case. Black is the Ghoul’s Kiss. The speed gained from that spell increases with the number of souls which have fed it. If you encounter a Death Stryker, Necromancer, or other dark crafter who wears the Ghoul’s Kiss, it is very possible that they will be faster.”

  One of the students snorted. “If I encounter a Death Stryker, I’m not waiting to see if they are buffed. I’m running as fast as I can.”

  “And avoid being hit.” Master Keaedan raised a finger. “Wolven Spirit is dispelled when you are struck by spell or weapon.”

  “Or once an hour has passed,” Aleron said.

  “That’s right.”

  “But we can cast spells without WS fading, right?”

  The druid master frowned. “I realize that it’s common to shorten the spell names, Aleron, but not while we are learning them.”

  “I’m sorry, Master.”

  “When faced with danger and I need a brother or sister to cast Wyvern’s Sting to defend the village, it would be terrible for them to misunderstand and place a Wolven Spirit on someone instead, don’t you think?”

  Aleron nodded.

  “Good.” He smiled. “Now everyone get to your feet. You are going to take turns racing Aleron.”

  15

  Shale shot the arrow, notched the next against her string, drew, and released again. Without pausing she repeated the draw and release for a third time. As the final arrow left her bow, she gazed at the target in time to see the first arrow hit home. She smiled as the second and third arrows thudded into the target, each striking so close to the first that they looked like a single missile.

  “That’s how it’s done.” A hand squeezed her shoulder.

  Shale threw a quick glance over her shoulder in time to see her instructor smile. “Thank you, Master Jielir.”

  “No, Shale. Thank you. If the rest were as talented as you, I could promote the group and get started with the next batch of newbies.”

  Shale laughed, amused to hear computer gamer slang used in this fantasy world.

  Jielir moved to the next archer. Shale reached for the quiver on her back to pluck out three more arrows. Her fingers gripped the nocks, positioning one between her pinkie and ring finger, the second between her ring and middle finger, and the third on the string. Then she took a deep breath, raised the bow, and began her volley.

  ***

  “All bows down,” Jielir shouted from the end of the firing line, placing his hands on both hips as he waited for the fifteen students to lower their bows and give him their full attention. “You are all progressing very well. I’m pleased.” The trainees nodded, some nudging or patting their neighbours. “Shale,” he said. “Please join me.”

  She jogged over and stopped in front of him. He held out his hand and she placed her bow in his palm. “Now that you’ve learned how to plant and fire, I will teach all of you the basics of kiting your prey.”

  Jielir pulled three arrows from Shale’s quiver and moved toward the targets. When he was halfway there, he stopped and turned back to face the group. “I’m sure that you are all familiar with the term ‘kiting’. It is the process of running away from your target and stopping periodically to turn and shoot it with some arrows. Kiting consists of five stages: run, stop, turn, shoot, and turn.” He smiled. “After you master the five stages, it’s a rinse and repeat process. The monster or enemy chases you, and you pepper it with arrows as you run away. This is done until your target drops or you run out of arrows. Allow me to demonstrate slowly.”

  He took five deliberately slow steps towards the group. Then he stopped, turned back towards the tree, and raised the bow to point at the target. “I raise the bow as we’ve practised. Then I aim, and loose my arrow.” He shot and turned to face them again. “I do not watch my arrow fly. Doing so robs the ranger of valuable time. Instead, I turn and run away from the target as soon as the shaft leaves my bow.” He took five slow steps and repeated the entire process a second and then third time. “Questions?”

  Heads shook.

  “Looks simple, right?”

  Everyone nodded and Jielir handed the bow back to Shale. “The trick is not getting dizzy as you turn back and forth.”

  “And notching the arrow correctly.” Shale’s handsome friend, Lelthaes spoke from his place in the middle of the line.

  “There is that. Firing from a standstill is different than from a sudden stop. Still, it won’t take any of you long t
o become competent at it.”

  “And the target will one day be moving as well,” Shale said.

  “Eventually,” Jielir agreed. “You must become a quick shot. Speed is the key to being a successful ranger.” He grinned. “And by that, I mean surviving in the Wild. Retrieve your arrows and then we will begin to practise.”

  ***

  They spent the remainder of the day kiting. After only a couple of hours, Shale was hitting the target as accurately as if she were aiming from a standstill. Jielir halted the line and had Shale demonstrate her technique for the rest. She ran as fast as she could and was puffing for breath as she stood beside Jielir after the third rotation.

  “Good work.” He pointed to the tree where all of her arrows were clustered together, one group at head level, the second at chest, and the third at waist.

  “Thanks.” She regained her breath and swept a lock of hair from her eyes.

  Jielir spoke magical words and moved his hands. A blue light moved from his hands and enveloped Shale’s boots. Her eyes widened while others in the group smiled.

  “What spell did I just cast?”

  “Wolven Spirit,” Lelthaes volunteered.

  Jielir nodded. “The ranger snares the target, and speeds herself. There is no deadlier solo combination in the world than this.” He grinned. “And once you learn how to cast and use Alacrity, both your hands and arms will become faster. Then, Lady Death herself will pause to watch you dance with your prey.”

  Shale nodded, imagining how incredible it would be to have Alacrity coursing through her limbs, enabling her to shoot ten arrows in the time it took a normal person to loose two.

  “Let’s back up and watch Shale practise without arrows.”

  The group withdrew up the hill and Jielir gave the signal for her to begin. She pushed off with her back foot and then pulled back, sliding to a stop. “Whoa!”

  “Tell everyone what you felt there,” Jielir said.

  “I felt like I was gonna fall on my face. I feel stronger.”

  “That’s partly how WS works. It increases your strength which allows you to move faster and farther. Running with Wolven Spirit cast on you definitely takes some getting used to, which is why we’re here.” He nodded at Shale. “Try to run halfway to that tree and then stop.”

  “Halfway?”

  “That’s right.”

  She shrugged and began to run. Again her eyes widened as the ground flew past. When she was halfway to the tree, she stopped running. Unfortunately, her body kept moving forward, making her skid. When she finally ceased moving, she laughed along with everyone else.

  “She tried to stop halfway there, but she stands only a few feet from the tree. Your body will be quicker, but it takes some time and practise for your mind to catch up. That’s why beginners practise out here in the woods.” Jielir smirked. “Running into walls and each other is not very elven. Now everyone line up in front of me for some WS. It’s time to run like wolves.”

  16

  Xander woke early and waited for his guide to appear.

  When the sun was directly overhead, he stood. “Well, I guess there’s not gonna be a guide.” He scratched his head. “Let’s get to it, then.” He closed his eyes and turned, breathing in and out through his nose. The faint hint of decay made him stop and open his eyes. He sniffed again, once more catching the tangy sweet smell of death and rot. “Best place for a corpse rat is near that sort of stink.” He bent down to retrieve his bag and began walking.

  ***

  Xander knelt in the brush, squinting at the lump of matted black fur lying in the grass clearing a few dozen feet away.

  Lucky for me I’m facing upwind, he thought. If there are any corpse rats on the body, they won’t smell me.

  He heard a chittering sound and a corpse rat appeared, scrambling with short-clawed limbs across the animal carcass. Xander’s superb vision allowed him to make it out clearly. It was a nasty-looking creature. Two feet long, thin, with shiny black hair that clung to its body, and a long, pinkish-grey tail. Gobs of blood and flesh stuck to its black fur. Long white teeth jutted from its mouth. Xander knew from game lore that the bite of a corpse rat pretty much guaranteed infection and—if you received enough of them—slow, painful death.

  He watched and waited, trying to get an accurate count of how many rats were feeding. “Three,” he whispered. “Pretty sure there are three.”

  He stood and strode toward them, drawing both blades, pointing them at the ground. He stopped a few feet from the corpse and kicked a clump of wet leaves, trying to get the rat’s attention so that they would attack.

  It worked. One rat’s head swivelled, its nose twitching as glassy black eyes locked onto Xander. It sprang forward, snarling. The other corpse rat’s heads appeared, sticking up from the corpse like a curious group of prairie dogs. It only took a moment for them to join the first. Xander swore as he planted his feet and prepared to defend himself. There were five corpse rats.

  His count had been wrong.

  The first rat reached him before the others and leapt into the air, streaking toward his face faster than he’d expected. Instinct took over and both swords flash up, crossing like the blades of shining black scissors. The steel made a wet sound as they parted the creatures flesh, cutting it in half so that dark blood spattered and the remains dropped to the ground. Xander used the back of his forearm to wipe the wet warmth from his cheek and quickly brought his swords down to prepare as the remaining four rats attacked.

  Xander expected them all to leap for his throat and face. His plan was to cut them all down in one or two slices. One rat did go for his face and he cut it down. One stayed out of range, watching as another darted for his leg, and the other his midsection.

  He felt a burning sensation on one calf and an electric jolt in his stomach. They were on him. He couldn’t use his swords without possibly cutting himself. He kicked and felt the weight of the rat on his leg disappear as it went flying through the air, landing on the ground with a thud and scrambling to its feet, turning to bound back for him.

  “Ow!” There was another jolt, this time on his ribs. Feeling a sudden hot ache in his side, he tucked his arm against his side and dropped to the ground. There was a cracking sound as the rat pinned beneath his arm died. He arched his neck, trying to find the rat that was coming for him. He struggled to his feet and spun around.

  The two corpse rats were gone.

  He bent at the waist, sucking wind to catch his breath. He turned a few times to make certain the corpse rats were gone. He saw no sign of them. Xander dropped his swords onto the ground and touched the hurting spots on his body.

  He looked at his side, lifting the tunic and assessing the damage before shaking his head. The skin around the bite already looked dark red and angry. He was not bleeding much, but the wound throbbed in time with his pulse. He looked down at his calf where the torn flesh was blackish blue, with yellow-green pus beginning to ooze. Xander lifted his right arm and winced from the bite that he knew was there but was unable to see. The spot throbbed and felt warm. No, it was hot.

  “Three out of five killed. Not great.” He retrieved his swords and wiped the blood off on the grass. “Some Death Stryker. I didn’t even use magic.” He considered the thought as he cut the heads from the dead rats. “Didn’t use magic ‘cause I don’t know any yet.” If this quest was the beginning of his training, he knew that it would be a while before he learned the dark magic that made Death Strykers so fearsome.

  His vision blurred. Xander dropped to the ground and lay back on the grass. He laughed. “This sucks. Cure Minor Disease is a level one spell. I could really use that right now.”

  He struggled to sit up, then groaned as he got to his feet. “If I stop, I die. Couple of bites can’t kill me.”

  He retrieved his sack and dropped the corpse rat skulls into it. Hot warmth was spreading from the wounds. He knew that poison was slowly dribbling into his healthy tissue and bringing fresh pain as it moved.
He looked at the animal corpse once more and then limped away.

  The pain grew with each step. He told himself that he could make it, but it didn’t take long for him to realize that was wrong.

  He walked as long as he could. Thirty-two more steps.

  Then he toppled forward and everything went black.

  17

  Sebastian watched the sticky web as it spread outwards, closing the gap between caster and target. He let out a whoop as the web wrapped around the wooden human-sized dummy, the silver threads forming a mass around the crude arms pointing away from the imaginary foe’s torso.

  “Huh.”

  Sebastian turned toward the apprentice. The smile became a frown. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Something’s wrong.” He huffed and moved to the worktable, setting the feather-wrapped wooden wand onto a cloth bag. “You don’t look happy.”

  “It’s strange.”

  Sebastian laughed. “That I’ve managed to cast each spell you teach on the first attempt?”

  “No.” Ezref bit his lower lip. “That part of this farce is more than wrong. It’s downright impossible.”

  More laughter. “It can’t be. You’ve seen it for yourself.”

  “I know, but that doesn’t change the fact.” Ezref sighed loudly and sat at the round table in the corner of the room. He reached for the decanter of wine and poured himself a glass. “Come join me.”

  Sebastian took a seat and poured a measure of wine for himself. He drank and waited for the young man to speak.

  “I’ve told you how difficult it is to cast a spell so that it works.”

  The older man snorted. “You repeat that fact almost as often as you breathe.”

  “Because it is a tenet of our craft.” Ezref sipped his wine, and frowned. “Decades of practise are required to gain any skill and competence at crafting magic.” Sebastian shook his head but Ezref held up a hand to silence him. “The words must be spoken perfectly. The hands and body must trace the motions without error. And the component must be of perfect quality.” His frown deepened. “In the short time that we have been together, I have taught you three spells. Darkness, Web, and Light.”