by J. T. Wright
With that Cullen turned away from Tersa and gestured to Trent. “I thought I told you to put out that fire, Runt. We have traveling of our own to do.”
Trent’s mouth shut with a click. Had he misunderstood the Sergeant’s instructions? He had just built the fire. Now he was supposed to put it out, and why did it sound like they would be leaving Tersa behind?
“Sergeant, wait! Sergeant…I…I,” Tersa rushed forward and plucked at Cullen’s sleeve. While Trent had been lost in his own thoughts, the words “former recruit” and “washed out” had registered with Tersa. “Don’t kick me out! Please, Sergeant! I'm a Guard, I'm still a Recruit!”
“Still a Recruit!”
Tersa had been afraid Cullen would ignore her. When he turned around, it was the first time in her life that she was happy to see someone scowl at her.
“Still a Recruit?” Cullen sneered. “I don’t think so. Insubordination, attacking a superior, lack of discipline. Any one of these is enough to get you thrown out on your ass! Isn't that what you want? You can’t trust me, right? What was it you called me? A piss drinking liar? I don’t even know what the fuck that means, but I, as sure as blood and fire, wouldn’t want to serve with a person like that!
“Even if I let all that go, Tersa Cromwen,” Cullen growled. He looked over at Tersa. She shivered, unable to summon the anger and indignation she had exhibited earlier. “Even if I put all that aside, I will not have a Brute in my Guard. When you chose that Specialization, you kicked yourself out! That’s on your own shoulders, and unless you can offer me a solution to the mess you have created, I'm done with you!”
Tersa’s shoulders slumped. Her lips quivered soundlessly. Cullen kept his face fixed in anger, but inside he trembled as much as the girl. She looked lost. As lost as she had on the day he had found her at the Adventurer’s Guildhall and told her to join the Guard.
The Adventurer’s Guild offered free evaluations to all children who had awakened their Status. Cullen made it a habit to stop by from time to time to see if those evaluations turned up any promising talent that could be drawn into service.
The Scribes that were employed by the Guild weren’t the best. Usually, they were unable to find more prestigious positions. But they were free to the poor commoners who lacked other options, and the commoners were grateful for their services. None were poorer or more common than Tersa Cromwen.
Cullen had been there the day of her evaluation. Tersa had been one of the lucky ones. Her evaluation said she would have a Class beyond Commoner on the day she reached Level 1. She even had two Skills already.
Having a Skill or two upon Awakening wasn’t that unusual. Most children learned some sort of trade working beside their parents. If they were meant to follow in their parents’ footsteps, their childhood training would be reflected in their Status. Seeing Tersa’s Skills, Cut Purse and Pick Pocket, the Scribe had appraised her to be a born Rogue.
The Scribe had been perplexed when the tiny redhead with the promising future collapsed in tears after hearing this evaluation. He didn’t consider the implications of Tersa knowing those Skills. Rogues were valuable assets to an Adventuring party. The girl should have been happy, he had thought.
Cullen had understood Tersa’s reaction. He had seen the girl around Al’drossford before. More than that, Cullen was familiar with her father. Liam Cromwen was a bully and a petty thief, and probably worse, not that Cullen could prove it. Nothing would make that man happier than seeing Tersa become a Rogue, but if she did, she would never be an Adventurer. If there was a person in the world who deserved the Class Brute, it wasn’t Tersa, it was Liam.
Cullen decided to recruit her then and there. There were plenty of Rogues in the City Watch. The Watch was an extension of the Guard and, as such, it fell under his domain. Cullen held to the belief that you should send a Thief to catch a Thief. He changed his plans before he made his offer to the sobbing twelve-year-old. He changed them when he caught sight of her evaluation sheet.
A talent for Heavy Armor and Blunt Weapons was clearly listed on the paper, a fact the Scribe had failed to mention. Cursing the man as a fool, Cullen knelt and offered Tersa a place in the Duke’s Guard. Her tears dried up immediately, and she accepted with a cheerful shout.
There had only been one hiccup to Tersa’s recruitment. Liam Cromwen had brought his daughter for her evaluation. He had sent her inside alone while he had a drink at a popular tavern across the street from the Guild. Seeing Tersa come out with Cullen, Liam had demanded an explanation. Hearing that explanation, he stated, in no uncertain terms, that he would be “hung and burned before his daughter joined the Guard!”
It hadn’t been a wise choice of words. Fortunately for Liam, Cullen settled for knocking out two of the man’s teeth, instead of having him hanged. When Cullen’s fist sent Tersa’s father spinning to the ground, the girl’s loyalty went to the Guard.
Now that loyalty was frayed, and Tersa, whom Cullen had carefully built up over the last two years, was close to breaking. What Cullen was attempting was risky. Shock and loss could push her over the edge as easily as draw her back in.
Nearby, Trent anxiously shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Cullen hoped that the boy would understand his part in all this. It wasn’t something that could be faked. Cullen couldn’t walk him through it. Would the boy do what was needed?
Seeing Tersa alone and drowning frightened Trent in a way that no Undead or Infernal Beast ever had. He didn’t know how to combat this threat because he didn’t know where it had come from, but when his feet started moving, he found himself at Tersa’s side.
More bewildering than this was when his mouth opened, and words spilled out that he had no intention of saying. “You’re wrong, Sergeant…uh, ahem, not wrong, you… Her name isn’t Tersa Cromwen! She’s Tersa Embra, of Clan Embra, sister to Orion and Trent.” His mouth was a traitor. These were stupid things to say!
Clearing his throat, Trent pushed passed his embarrassment and laid a hand on Tersa’s shoulder “And she has a second Class Slot now. She… we can fix this!”
Tersa held back her tears long enough for Trent to finish speaking. When they fell, they weren’t the sobbing mess of the lost, but the clear hope of a person found. “That’s right, Sergeant! I can fix myself. It’s easy. Trent will help me!”
She coughed and sniffled. Wiping her nose on her sleeve, she continued, “Trent will help! He must. It’s his fault in the first place. Kinda. Ya know, in a way… right?”
Trent licked his lips. The hand on her shoulder shoved her away, and he kicked at her ankle. Glaring at her for clumsily trying to shove the blame on to him, his mouth opened and betrayed him again.
“Right!”
“All your fault, huh, Runt?” Now the one lost was Cullen. This had not gone the way he thought it would. Trent was supposed to side with him and convince Tersa to fall into line.
“Alright. We'll try it your way. What Classes can you choose from?”
Tersa pulled up her Status. She had a lot of unspent Experience Points left from the Trial. Channeling the XP to see what Classes she had available only took seconds. After a brief hesitation, she shook her head and announced the result, “Warrior!”
The lie was obvious.
“Not Warrior and Rogue? Watch how you answer, Recruit! Tell me the truth!” Cullen bared his teeth in a manner that was most definitely not a smile.
“I won't be a Thief! I don’t care if I have the Pick Pocket and Cut Purse Skills, I won't be a Thief!” Some defiance found its way back into Tersa’s tone, but not enough for Cullen to find fault with. He was pleased to see an attitude resembling her old stubbornness resurfacing.
Trent shot her a disbelieving look. “You have a Pick Pocket Skill?”
His mouth asked about the Skill, but in his mind, he thought “secret.” How could Tersa, Tersa, who was always demanding he tell her everything about himself, have kept that from him?
“Not all Rogues are Thieves.” Cullen relax
ed his glare. “I’ll make you a deal. You need a Specialized Class to offset Brute. I'll give you two weeks of training. If in those two weeks you don't have a new Warrior Specialization to choose from then you can become a Rogue. You choose Rogue, you can stay in the Guard, and you can keep the gold piece.”
Seeing Tersa waver, Cullen added, “Think carefully, girl. I’ve never offered a Recruit a deal before, and the last Recruit who offered one to me is still walking funny.”
Tersa swallowed hard. “Deal, Sergeant, we have a deal.”
The Sergeant’s teeth were hidden by his lips now, but his smile was no less unsettling. “I won't regret this.”
Tersa, certain things were going her way, started asking Cullen about what food was available. Moments ago, Trent would have shared her interest. Now his stomach bubbled with tension. There was a problem with what Cullen had said
Shouldn’t the Sergeant have said, they, Tersa and Trent, wouldn’t regret this?
Chapter 3
Orion Embra stood ankle-deep in mud and muck. He didn’t trust what he was seeing. Long months in the Land of the Undying Lord made the surrounding swamp seem like a dream. He breathed in deeply, tasting the damp air. The smell of rotting vegetation and decaying flesh was all around. The Trial may have been filled with the Undead, but only a swamp like the one he had entered so many weeks ago could hold such filth.
The smell, the taste, was a wakeup call for the Al’rashian Warrior. This swamp was dangerous. Under normal circumstances, he never would have entered it alone. It was filled with Beasts, Lizardmen, and poisonous insects; many were beyond his ability to deal with. All those months ago, he had ducked into the swamp to avoid a group of Adventurers intent on robbing him. He thought he would be able to duck back out an hour or so later after the Adventurers had lost their enthusiasm in the mildew and mud, but they had chased him for a full day.
He couldn’t imagine what they thought he was carrying that made the effort worthwhile, but only the appearance of a band of Lizardmen had discouraged them. The tribal Lizardmen had driven off the Adventurers, and Orion found himself running from a group far more at home in the swampy conditions.
It had been infuriating. Before his exile, before his Classes had been stripped from him, he would have wiped out both groups of pursuers without breaking a sweat. As a basic Warrior and Mage, with a sealed Spirit Summoner Class, sloshing through the mud while fighting a desperate running battle was the best he could muster. When the dark wave sucked him into the Trial, it had been a blessing.
In a Trial, he could get stronger. He would face the challenges, regain a Specialization, unlock the Skills that had been lost to him due to his exile, and then return to the swamp in glory. He would slaughter his way back to the highway he had been forced from. He would find the Adventurers who had tried to rob him and kill them all in a lawful duel!
In the months that followed, envisioning his revenge had kept him sane, mostly. It hadn't gone quite the way he planned. The wave had overtaken him, and he'd been saved from the Lizardmen. The Trial had refused to cooperate after that.
He had been trapped in a cell. A cell that was exactly twelve paces long and twelve paces wide. He was certain of that. He had verified the measurements countless times. Besides pacing, he could only meditate and practice the few Spells and Skills he had available. However, his Spells had leveled up nicely in his isolation, especially his Light Spells.
He couldn’t stand being trapped in the dark as Undead rattled the bars of his cell. In the dark, the hoarse whispers of the Tainted Terror, Krip, had struck at his soul. It had nearly broken him. At times, he thought it had broken him. His people had a reasonable fear of the Undead. Normally, that fear drove them to incredible feats of valor. Orion was denied that outlet, the release that came with confronting your fears. He could only sit and listen and shiver.
When the door to the room containing his cell had opened with a grating squeak as it always did, day after day, Orion had almost screamed. It was the light of a flame that stopped the sound from rushing out of his throat. The Undead didn’t need light to see, and his own Spell had faded hours ago.
His eyelids had been clenched shut, waiting for his Mana to recover so he could recast the Light Spell. With his eyes closed, he could pretend the darkness that engulfed him was an illusion. He had spoken some absurdity before his silver eyes peeked open. A light seared his vision, a light not of his own making. If he had believed what he was seeing was real, he might have cried. By the time he accepted reality, his emotions were his own again.
Orion was not an emotional man. He prided himself on his rationality. That pride had been tested thoroughly over the last month. Tears of happiness and frustration threatened him constantly. Laughter that was both amused and irrational bubbled out of him at the oddest times. The first week had been the hardest. By the end, he was almost himself again.
He had entered the Trial with thoughts of regaining what had been taken from him, but in the process, he had found some things that were far more precious. A violet-eyed brother, an end to his exile, and hope were just a few of the things Orion carried back into the world. Now, standing in the murky swamp, he felt tears crowd the edges of his eyes once again.
There wasn’t time for that! He dashed the offensive liquid from his face with the edge of his hand. He had things to do. He had orders, orders from a King who had been dead for a thousand years. Only Darak Fairdor, last king of Al’rashia wasn’t dead. He was in a Trial. The proof of that was tucked into Orion’s belt pouch.
Orion had received generous rewards for being a part of the team that cleared the Trial. He was still fuzzy on how that had happened. One moment he had been cutting his way through a hoard of Orcs, trying to reach Trent before his brother was cut down himself, the next Orion had been standing in front of a typical Trial chest holding proof the Trial had been cleared.
If the lid to the chest had been closed, he might have fallen on his sword. The Orc’s sword had cleaved through Trent’s blades with a single stroke. The next strike had been destined to take the boy’s life. There was nothing Orion could have done to prevent it. He had been too busy showing off to protect the boy to whom he owed so much.
But the chest had been open. The note had caught his eye, and the words it contained baffled him. Trent was alive! Orion was commanded to bring as many of the Clans as he could to a remote kingdom, where he would find the lad. If the Clans wouldn’t follow, Orion should go alone.
There was little else in the note, just a confusing apology which mentioned, but did not fully explain, his imprisonment. The note was signed, Darak Fairdor, the Undying Lord. The title was unfamiliar, but the name had shocked Orion out of his self-doubt and recrimination.
Few stories were shared about the last days of Al’rashia. The Clans maintained their own histories, but they never spoke of the fall, not even with other Al’rashians. None knew what had happened to the King of Al’rashia at the end, but everyone knew his name. The King and the Dusk Wraiths had sacrificed everything, the least the Clans could do was remember them. If the note in his pouch was to be believed, Darak Fairdor had given up much more than anyone knew.
Orion held the last command the King would ever issue, and he would obey it. He could not swear that the Cans would follow him. His possession of the lost Class, Spirit Summoner, hadn’t prevented his exile. He couldn’t even guarantee the Clan Embra would listen to him. But he would try, and if he had to go alone, he would. If he had known Trent was alive, he would have journeyed to wherever he was without being ordered. Trent and the irritating redhead who followed at the boy’s heels, when she wasn’t rushing headlong into danger, needed Orion!
Finding those two wouldn’t be easy, though. Holding his staff in his left hand and gripping the hilt of the sword he had borrowed from Trent in his right, Orion turned in a slow circle. His boots made a sucking, squelching noise as he pulled them from the mud. The first thing he had to do was find his way out of this swamp, but he was l
ost.
He was completely and utterly lost. So much time had passed, so much had happened! Had he been traveling north or south when he ran into the swamp? Orion laughed to himself as he surveyed the vine-covered trees and pockets of murky water. He was supposed to rally the Clans, yet he couldn’t point the direction to a road if his life depended on it.
Which, in a very real way, it did. Orion cleared his throat disgustedly and pushed that thought away. He wasn’t helpless. He had a long way to go to regain what was lost, but this swamp wasn’t the death pit it had been before. With sword and staff in hand, this swamp would be the sharpening stone that restored his abilities.
He considered his other rewards from the Trial. The note was precious, but the other two things were more valuable in his current situation. He had acquired two Ability Stones, Map, and Storage. Orion felt a little guilty that he had used those Stones himself; it revealed how far removed he was from the Clans.
The Al’rashians were a people without a home. A thousand years of wandering had changed their view of rewards gained in Trials. No matter who earned them, those rewards went to the person who needed them most. It was a crime for a common warrior like Orion to waste rare Abilities on himself. Storage should have gone to a supply master. Map was for leaders and scouts.
Guilt was another emotion Orion pushed away. He was still an exile. He owed Clan Embra nothing and could expect nothing from them, not until his sentence was revoked and his place returned to him. A traveling Adventurer had every right to use his rewards himself.
He would need Map and Storage to leave this swamp. His supplies were scarce, and his location unknown. He might have to explore this place inch by inch to find his way out, gathering food and water on the way. With Map, he could at least be sure he didn’t cover the same ground twice.