Is this the right decision? It was the thought on everyone’s mind as the knight-commander and Skyr Tymos waited patiently for several long minutes. Arnaud moved, as if to speak, and at the last moment, the tall, dark-haired boy who had ridden with the sorceress stepped forward.
“So be it,” Arnaud said, his gaze briefly flicking to me. “The rest of you will leave with Sergeant Blackwin. Feel no shame and do not fear dishonor. You have done well to reach this point, and you have done Ilia service with your first test. I have no doubt you will do well here.”
A murmur of thanks rippled out from behind and around us, and the other five candidates withdrew. Six of us stood unevenly spaced in front of the Skyrdon and their dragons. I glanced up at Skyr Tymos’ beast, who regarded us with inhumanly patient, luminous eyes. There was something in them - and in the expression of his human rider - that was bittersweet.
When the others had left, Skyr Arnaud regarded us with cool consideration. “The first part of the Trial is to gather the ingredients for the Trial of Marantha, the transmutation you will undergo. You have three days to prepare yourself and gather the ingredients from the ruins of Cham Garai, the ancient city that surrounds the base of the Eyrie.”
The quest alert I was expecting arrived, and I reviewed it carefully:
The Trial of Marantha
You have accepted the dangerous Trial of Marantha, an ordeal which gives humans immunity to mana poisoning, extended lifespan, the ability to withstand great heights and great speeds, along with many other advantages... assuming you survive.
To attend the Trial, you must go into the ruins of Cham Garai and collect the following ingredients:
Crowned Eagle Eggs from the nests that pocket the old buildings
King’s Sorrow, which grows in stagnant water
Catseye Mushrooms, which grow in warm places underground
Red Rashovik, a Stranged herb found on the ancient battlefield beyond the swamps.
Once you have the ingredients, you will take them to the Temple of Kyrie at the base of the Eyrie, where the Trial of Marantha will commence.
Difficulty: Level 10
Reward: EXP
Special: Timed quest: must be completed within 72 hours of acceptance.
Special: Undergoing the Trial of Marantha may result in permanent stat or ability loss, or a physical penalty. If you die during the Trial, you will respawn in a neutral location, but will not be able to take the Trial again.
“If you accept, know this.” Arnaud reached up as Talenth dipped his muzzle down, caressing the dragon’s jaw without needing to look back. “We will hold you to the highest standards of loyalty, discretion, and honor. Loyalty to us, the Skyrdon, and to Ilia: her government and her people. You will fall into line and subject yourself to the authority of your commanders. There is no room in our ranks for rebellion or cowardice. Am I understood?”
“Yes, sir!” The five of us shouted. I answered more out of reflex than anything. I’d heard the honor and loyalty talk before, from different lips in a different world, and it still sounded like a load of horse shit.
“Then accept your quest, and I hope to learn your names soon, once you have passed the Trial of Marantha,” the commander said. He looked at me, though he continued speaking to us all. “Be sure to take your first level in the Knight Path before you attempt the Trial.”
Oh. I’d almost forgotten about that, but joined the chorus anyway. “Yes, sir!”
He nodded. “For now, you will salute to me as dragonmen, even though you are yet to endure the Trial. Right fist to left breast, then out, then back to your side.”
With a deep breath, I saluted with the others. My HUD flashed, and that was that.
Quest accepted.
Chapter 29
We left the yard and followed Skyr Tymos back to our dorm. The room had enough beds for ten people, but there were only six of us left out of the original thirty-two. The Novice Master lingered while we set our weapons and packs down and shucked our damaged, dirty clothes.
The misery of Camp Prichard was on my mind, and Kira’s solemn warning echoed in my ears as I undressed, absent-mindedly pulling off my gloves. The Mark of Matir prickled as Tymos glanced at me sharply. I scrambled to cover it back up, but there was no way he hadn’t seen it. Shit.
“You, Tuun. Put those back on. I have a job for you,” he said. “There’s a sack of soap out by the kitchen doors, along with a large pail. The chamberlain only set out enough soap for three, so we will fetch more.”
“Yes, sir.” Flustered, I turned to conceal my hand from the others as I pulled my glove back on.
“I love good service,” Baldr sighed happily. He hadn’t seen the Mark.
My fatigue vanished with a fresh wave of anxiety as Tymos fell in beside me. We headed for the kitchens together, tensely silent. I was not at all surprised when he hung back, and closed the door with a thump behind us.
“Hector,” he said. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.” I turned to face him, arms crossed over my chest. “Is this about-?”
“Your glove.” He nodded to my right hand. “Take it off.”
Watching him warily, I pulled it off again. He sucked in a tense breath through his nose, chin lifting.
“By the Nine.” Tymos’ eyes were intense as he took my hand in his. My discomfort was increasing by the minute as he pushed my sleeve up, examining the design and shaking his head. “Halcyon spoke the truth.”
“Who?” I fought the urge to shrink away. “Your dragon?”
“Yes.” He released my arm. His face was drawn into grim, hard lines. “You will be the death of the Skyrdon, boy. But it’s right and proper you are here.”
I took a step away from him. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m not here to do anything to anyone. I didn’t ask to get this tattoo… it just happened.”
“No doubt,” Skyr Tymos said heavily. “Few people ever ask for Matir’s blessing.”
Then it dawned on me. Tymos wasn’t angry. He sounded... reverent. Some of my concern was replaced by hope. “Wait, do you know what he is? Why I have this?”
“I know Halcyon’s stories, and the myths of my ancestors.” Tymos said. “Come, put that glove back on. I wish to move to a place where I know the walls do not have ears.”
I followed him through the kitchen and outside into the herb garden behind the Old Hall wing of the Fort. The old knight strode over to a low stone bench, and gestured to the space beside him as he sat down with a resigned thud. I joined him, surprised at how alert I still felt after a full day of riding and fighting.
“There are wild tribes who live in these mountains,” Tymos said, eyes lifted to look at the blue-and-white dragon flag fluttering from the rampart high above our heads. “The Aedui, they’re called. They answer to no king or warden, and they still keep to the old gods. The Nine were worshipped by humans and dragons – and the Aesari. Matir is one of those old gods, the god of darkness. In my tribe, he was known as the Lord of Wolves. He is the most deeply revered of the Nine.
I blinked a couple of times. “Matir is… what? The dragons worship a god of darkness over anything else?”
“Darkness is the beginning of life, boy,” Tymos said. “Life begins in the dark soil, the dark womb, the darkness of the mind. It begins with urges, hidden thoughts and desires. Artists and scribes work best at night. It is a place of obsession, creativity. Matir is all of these things, as well as the assassin’s blade, the trade deal made in secret, the dark oil that greases the wheels of society. The dragons as we know them today... are not the dragons of old.”
Mystified, I listened as the icy night wind rustled the rows of plants around us.
“The Nine would choose champions from time to time,” Tymos continued. “Their avatars in the flesh. The dragons have a prophecy about the champion of Matir, the ‘Herald of the Hidden Seed’. But I can’t tell you about it.”
“Why not?”
“
Because I cannot.” He shrugged, not looking at me. Tymos’ eyes were dilated in fear, the cold rivulets of sweat running down his face. “I cannot tell you, just as I cannot tell you anything more about The Nine. But you bear their mark. I can tell you what I observe. Do I have your confidence?”
“Of course, sir,” I blurted.
He nodded briefly. “We have had a spate of disappearances since the close of the revolution. Soldiers vanishing. Three knights had fatal accidents during training or patrol. If a dragon-bonded Skyrdon dies, his dragon commits suicide… The magnitude of the loss is terrible. They were good people, Hector. They were good knights and good fliers.”
I hunched in, arms crossed against the cold. “You think they were…?”
“Aye. And I know who did it, too.” The old man looked up at the same banner he had before. “The Mata Argis. The Warden’s eyes and ears, the faith militant of the Church of Kyrie. Three years ago, after the war, a contingent of six came to board here.”
I couldn’t help myself. “No one expects the Mata Argis.”
Tymos snorted. Somehow, he got the joke. “The commander didn’t want them here. But the Skyrdon are deeply in debt to the same merchant lords who backed Scandiva’s revolution. Our years of grandeur are long past… and I think you will come to understand why when you meet the Matriarch and view her eggs. If you do meet her. The Mark is no guarantee you will survive... but I hope you do. For her sake.”
“The Matriarch is the Queen dragon who lays all of the eggs, right?”
He nodded.
I frowned. “And she’s supposed to lay more than three at a time?”
“Yes.” Tymos stood and walked stiffly back toward the kitchen door. I trailed after him, brain buzzing with unanswered questions. When we were inside, he drew two buckets of hot water from a huge cauldron bubbling over the hearth, and passed one of them to me.
“Sir, I have a question,” I began, taking the bucket out of his hands. “I’m ready to take my first Path. To become a Skyr... do you have to take the Path of the Knight? Or can I take another Path?”
“The only Path worth taking is the one you forge yourself,” the old Skyr said heavily. “Don’t learn that lesson the same way I did.”
What was that supposed to mean? I scowled at his obvious depression and regret. “You don’t believe in the Order, or their saints and gods, do you? Why are you here?”
Tymos glared at me with his strange blue eyes, pupils huge in the dark. “I can’t tell you. But as I said, it’s right and proper that you’re here. Now… never speak to me of this again, and assume everyone is watching you. You and your dragon will be safer for it.”
And with that, we went back to the dormitory. The others were already in their sleeping clothes, sitting around the hearth or lying on their beds. We set the buckets down beside the single round wooden tub we were to share.
“No wallowing,” Tymos said to the assembled. “You clean yourself standing, rinse off in the tub, and then leave it for the next. Dirtiest goes last.”
“Thanks, Gramps.” Baldr looked over his shoulder from his place by the fire, where he was sitting almost knee-to-knee with Lucien, the light-haired man with the waspish face and red eyes, the one with the posh lawyer voice.
“Then I guess the Tuun is going last,” Lucien said.
Baldr laughed it off. “Hey now, Luci – don’t you be ragging on Hector. He’s my main man. You want to join us for a hand, Hec?”
“Sure.” I didn’t, really. What I wanted to do was lie down, level up, review my character build, and choose my Path. I knew what I was going to pick, but I wanted to make sure my skills complemented my decision. Even so, there was nothing to be gained from socially isolating myself from the guys who would be my wingmates someday.
Tymos’ words were hanging on me, running through my mind as I sat down across from ‘Luci’ and accepted cards Baldr dealt to me. It was plain old ‘Go Fish’, but with cards that had lurid pictures of topless women on them.
“So, you were both soldiers,” Lucien said as I sat down. “I’ve been meaning to ask-”
“If you want to know what it’s like to kill someone, the answer is ‘no’.” I cut him off as Baldr just stared..
By the way he deflated, I knew he had been about to ask that question, but he was too proud to back down. “I wasn’t going to quite ask that, actually. What I was going to ask is whether or not this game world is very realistic or not. I figured one or either of you might be able to compare the battlefields of Archemi with those of the real world.”
His oh-so-casual tone on the subject turned my stomach. Killing the bandits raiding Lyrensgrove hadn’t hit me the way that the shipwreck had, but I wasn’t inclined to dwell on any of those experiences. I sure as hell wasn’t about to willingly ‘compare’ them to my experiences in the field. I slapped a card down. “It’s a fantasy world with fantasy physics.”
“Violetta was terribly injured. It made me sick to look at.” Lucien said, leaning in over his hand. He was taking extraordinary pains to hide his cards from us. “She got ripped open by her own hookwing, you know.”
“They’re big critters.” Baldr shrugged nonchalantly, his face an unreadable mask.
“It definitely seems to me that it’s more realistic than any game I ever played,” Lucien said. “I mean, there’s not even a defined PVP system, as such. In most games, you can’t flag a player under level 10, but that isn’t true here. You can flag anyone.”
I glanced up from my hand at him. Lucien was as green as spring grass, but there was the seed of something nasty in him. I’d seen the same glint in the eye in some of my fellow conscripts during Basic Training. Cowards with dreams of conquest. They went crazy on the front lines, gutting enemy soldiers for kicks, trying to instigate the abuse of prisoners. When their sergeant yelled at them, they turned into bleating lambs, but give them a bayonet…
“They have another name for griefing here,” I said, laying down the next card. “Murder.”
Baldr chuffed. “I asked about PVP when I was being loaded in, actually. They told me a little bit about how it works.”
“Oh yeah?” Lucien perked up.
“Yeah. If you grief someone who’s got a lower gear score and level combo than you, you get a mark, like the Mark of Cain,” Baldr said, leaning back in his seat. “Soldiers will chase you out of town. You won’t be allowed anywhere. NPCs shun you. And you keep that mark until the player reaches the same level as you.”
Lucien pulled his head back, the same kind of striking snake motion that Cutthroat did when she was irritated. “That’s obnoxious.”
“About as obnoxious as murder,” I snapped. “Which is what it is, in a game where people feel pain and die.”
He scoffed. “Like you have a leg to stand on.”
I stood back up, and threw my cards on the table. “I’ve changed my mind, Baldr. Have fun with Luci here.”
Exasperated, Baldr turned on Lucien as I left. “Not another word that ain’t ‘I’m sorry, boss’ out of your damn mouth, you hear?”
“My entire family was-”
“I don’t give a fuck. I was out slogging through the motherfucking jungle to defend your lily-white draft-dodging ass, so you either apologize, or you get the fuck out of my sight.”
I paused, back to them, and waited.
“Well, when you put it like that.” Lucien still sounded snotty, but chastened. “I am sorry, Hector. I lost my family to the War very shortly before starting these trials, and it’s made me a bit morbid.”
“So did I,” I replied, half-turning back. “Just after I came back to San Francisco, after my second tour fighting on the Crescent Line.”
“Ground fighting, at that,” Baldr affirmed.
Lucien held a hand out. “It never occurred to me that it would be anything other than…”
“Cool?” I arched an eyebrow.
“Something you’d be proud of, actually.”
If you’re proud of killing someone, anyo
ne, there’s something fucking wrong with you. That was what I wanted to say, but just as I had made peace with the psychos in my regiment, I had to make peace with this asshole. For all I knew, he’d survive the Trials, Baldr would die, and we’d be stuck together as teammates. At least I’d have a dragon to keep me company.
I jerked my shoulders, trying to relax them, and turned back. “Did you lose your family to HEX?”
“No. They were killed in the invasion of Hawaii. I’m part of the beta development team who migrated with Ryuko to Aurora Shard.” Lucien set his cards down, game forgotten in the thick tension that had overtaken our corner of the room. “I log in for ten hours at a time to test the game, go back to report, then come back. I’m helping them test certain things.”
So that was why I didn’t remember seeing Lucien when we were all bedded down in the stable. For some reason, that pissed me off even more, knowing that this guy could just merrily hop back into his body. He actually was playing a game, but this was the only life Baldr and I had left.
“Shit, really?” Baldr chuckled darkly, and leaned back. “Like what?”
“This is still sort of secret, so don’t go telling anyone.” Lucien dropped his voice, leaning in as I rejoined them. “But some people don’t make the ‘jump’ very well. They start going crazy, lose their minds, and unravel. The system can’t keep them together. About a dozen of us are in here doing reality testing. We log in for ten hours, out for ten hours, and the whitecoats compare our waking brain data with our in-game brain activity. They want to make sure that the system can really sustain a human consciousness.”
Baldr and I exchanged glances.
“No one told us that,” Baldr said, flatly. “I thought-”
“That they had that all sorted out? They weren’t even halfway through testing OUROS when the CEO forced this ‘refugee program’ through.” Lucien linked his hands between his knees, his expression not unlike that of a smug cat. “I hear that the first test subjects were prisoners of war.”
Dragon Seed: A LitRPG Dragonrider Adventure (The Archemi Online Chronicles Book 1) Page 25