by J. T. Wright
“Well, you’re not wrong. There are twelve, and their Levels are between 15 and 17.” Cullen squinted as he used his own Skills. “That big one is Level 20! You don't see a Grak get that high very often. But I'll repeat my question, so what?”
Trent pushed his mask up. He was sure the item was messing with his eyesight. Cullen could be nonchalant about those numbers, but he had to know why Trent would want to be cautious. His mouth worked soundlessly as his shoulders rose and fell.
Cullen sucked on his front teeth and then spit. He shook his head as he settled into a sitting position. Taking out his pipe and lighting it, he regarded Trent through a smoky haze.
“You used Identify on them?” the Sergeant asked after a moment.
Trent nodded helplessly. Smoking? Cullen might as well start screaming. Shouldn’t they be trying to avoid drawing attention to themselves.
At Trent’s nod, Cullen muttered under his breath. Something about slipshod training and gaps in knowledge. Louder, he said, “Look again, Runt. Don’t use Identify, just look. Tell me what you feel looking at those bitches.”
Trent took another look. Without a Skill, he didn’t have any sense of the Beasts at all. How was he supposed to feel? That big one did make the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Looking at that one made Trent’s shoulders tense in a way he couldn’t explain. He said as much to the Sergeant.
“That’s about right.” Cullen took a long draw on his pipe. “Identify is an excellent Skill, but you’re forgetting one thing. Skills are more than just what they do; they affect their users. That tightness in your shoulders? That’s Identify telling you to take the big nasty one seriously. If you don't get that feeling from the others, then they, probably, aren’t anything to worry about. That is not absolute! Don't walk into any fight thinking it will be a breeze! You should take even Beasts like Graks seriously.”
Trent was sure the Sergeant had lost his mind. Twelve Beasts, all with significantly higher Levels than his own? He didn’t need to be told to take them seriously! In the Land of the Undying Lord, he, Tersa, and Orion had faced odds like that, but only because they had to. Here, retreat was an option, and it was one Trent was willing to take.
Only Cullen was talking like that wasn’t going to happen. Trent missed Orion. If the Al’rashian was here, he’d let them retreat, and if they couldn’t, he’d help them face what they had to face. Trent knew that Cullen wasn’t going to provide the subtle support that the Spirit Summoner had. He wouldn’t let them die, but the Sergeant was of the belief that bruises built character.
Seeing Trent’s distressed look, Cullen cleared his throat irritably, “You’re thinking about the Trial, Runt, Quit It! You can’t judge all Beasts by your experiences in the Trial. Beasts have ranks, just like Skills and Classes. Ranks which… you know absolutely nothing about.”
Trent’s eyes had widened, and the familiar gleam of curiosity filled them. Cullen was sure he had mentioned Ranks before this! He must have. Trent had just forgotten! Only, the Runt didn’t forget.
“Shit!” Cullen almost threw away the item in his hand. He only remembered that he was holding his prized pipe at the last moment. He fumbled for a moment before his fingers clamped down. He held onto it but put it out at the same time. Fortunately, his Constitution was high enough that the embers couldn’t burn the finger that slipped into the bowl.
“Fine! You don’t know, and it’s not your fault.” Cullen relit his pipe irritably. “Beasts, like Classes and Skills, have, for the purposes of this conversation, three ranks. Common, Basic, and Advanced. There are more, which we might speak of when we get to the Grove, but those are the three that…”
Questions were threatening to spill from Trent’s lips, but Cullen was saved by Tersa’s arrival. She had fallen behind during the run and veered off course when Cullen was no longer in front. Subsequently, she came running up from the left, rather than from behind, where Cullen and Trent had chosen to stop and wait for her.
Cullen snorted at her as she collapsed red-faced, sweating and panting, next to Trent. Her helmet was askew, and she had thrown her spear on the ground, again! He let it pass.
“Finally made it to the party, huh, Probationary Recruit Tersa? Drink some water and get yourself together. You’re a mess.” He watched as Tersa reached for her water skin, and his lips spread in an evil smile when she failed to find it. The pained expression on her face, as she searched for the missing equipment, banished Cullen’s irritation. Tersa was nothing if not entertaining to the Sergeant.
Fortunately for her, Tersa’s water skin had just slid around to the back of her belt. She hadn’t secured it properly, but she also hadn’t dropped it. She untied it and held it up triumphantly before taking a long drink. Cullen harrumphed and continued his explanation.
“Common, Basic, and Advanced. Common Beasts are little better than animals. Just a little meaner and craftier, nothing more. Level 10 is about as tough as they get.
“Basic Beasts usually develop attack Skills or magic, and you need to watch out for them. They still aren’t anything to get excited about. Reaching Level 20 is their limit. That does not mean the same thing as it does in the Awakened races.
“It’s with Advanced Beasts that you need to start taking Levels into account. No limit for them, and after Level 10, they start getting smart, dangerous. Think, what did you see in the Trial? Zombies? Skeletal Warriors? Undead are good Advanced creatures for newly Awakened to cut their teeth on. They have very defined weaknesses that can be exploited. For now, if you think a Beast is Advanced, and it isn’t a lower Level than you are, run! Run fast, and don’t look back!”
Seeing his words sink into Trent’s head, Cullen puffed on his pipe with satisfaction. “That’s all for now, we'll talk more…”
He should have known better. Seeing an opening, a rare moment when the Sergeant might answer a question, Trent slipped one in. “Are Hill Trolls Advanced Beasts?”
Cullen choked and coughed at Trent’s question. “Hill Trolls are… if you see a Hill Troll even a Level 1 Hill Troll, you leave it be! Why are you asking about… You saw one, in the Trial? You fought it!? Rindel pissing in the wind! You’re lucky to be…”
Cullen spluttered at first, but Trent saw the Sergeant’s expression darken. The pipe in his hand was suddenly thrust at Trent like a knife. “That got left out of your story, Runt! We will definitely be speaking of that later. For now, you have Graks to deal with.”
Trent wished the pipe was a knife. He wished it was a knife, and he wished that that knife had pierced him right through the heart! While giving his report on the Trial, he had avoided mentioning how he had climbed a fifty-foot Troll. Why had he brought it up now? Cullen was going to make him pay later, and his ill-timed query had caused the gap to close when the Sergeant might have answered some questions!
Tersa’s ears perked up at the mention of Graks. She hadn’t noticed them before but seeing them now, she reached for her spear. One hand straightened her helmet as she came to her feet. Cullen approved. She let him down from time to time, but the earnest light in her eyes as she confronted the enemy was all the Sergeant ever really asked for. Trent could learn a thing or two from the girl.
Cullen’s hand darted out and caught hold of the back of Tersa’s chainmail. He dragged her to a halt before she could rush in blindly. He didn’t, Trent thought indignantly, reprimand Tersa for her recklessness. Once again, Trent knew the Sergeant was largely responsible for his Recruit’s bad habits.
“Graks are as basic as Beasts come. That’s why Corporal Francis is so fond of tossing them at Recruits.” Cullen held Tersa in place until she realized he was talking. For once, the redhead's attention was completely focused on what he had to say.
“Never over Level 20, bad eyesight, poor hearing, worse sense of smell, and as dumb as a Beast can get. We could stand here yelling at them all day, but until you get within twenty feet, they’ll never see us. They do use simple weapons; they might even wear hides for armor occasiona
lly. But no magic, and few Skills. A smart Recruit can fight them even if they’re outnumbered and under-leveled.”
“For this fight, Runt, you have support with your bow. No sword work unless absolutely necessary. Recruit Tersa, you have the front, and if you use Enraging Aura… Don't use Enraging Aura, am I clear!?”
Tersa nodded sullenly, then brightened. “Can I use my mace then, Sergeant? There are,” a quick count, which she hadn’t done before trying to rush the Beasts, “twelve of them!”
“Hm, where is your mace?” Cullen asked. To Trent’s ears it was a question and a trap.
Trent, recognizing what Tersa missed, stepped back.
“Trent has it in Storage.” Tersa was ecstatic, thinking she would finally get her beloved smashing tool back.
“Then, no!” Her hopes were dashed on the rocks, but to Trent’s amazement, no lecture followed. The Sergeant almost looked like he wanted to pat Tersa’s shoulder sympathetically.
Tersa scowled. However, she took the setback in stride and, without another word, hefted her spear and charged down the hill. This time the Sergeant didn’t stop her.
Muttering under his breath, something about where bad habits came from, Trent brought his short bow up. They were between eighty and a hundred feet from the Graks. The Sergeant wasn’t kidding about the creatures’ poor senses. How did they survive in the wild?
Tersa would be on the Beasts soon. One hundred feet was the longest range his short bow could manage, and at that distance, Trent wasn’t confident the bow would do much. It was more a tool than a weapon. He would try it. If he wasn’t supposed to use his sword, he didn’t want to get any closer.
Thinking Tersa would have to fend for herself if things got bad, and knowing it was a lie, even as he thought it, Trent drew back his bowstring. He fed five MP into the weapon, and as the string came back, an arrow formed. It was little better than a sharp stick. It would fly straight. Whether it would do damage? That was something he would find out soon enough.
He could create better arrows by feeding the bow more MP, but his Mana Pool wasn’t large. More expenditure might mean better damage, but it also meant fewer arrows. If this first shot didn’t work, he’d adapt. Somehow.
Tersa took no time to cross the distance separating her from her prey. Before the Graks registered her presence, she had already skewered one and sent two more tumbling with blows from her spear. Trent picked a Grak out, one standing frozen in shock at the edge of the group and loosed his arrow.
Tersa’s thrust had killed a Grak immediately, proving that the Sergeant hadn’t been wrong when he said these Beast were as basic as they came. Watching his arrow hit, and bounce off of the Grak he had chosen, made Trent wonder if his Archery Skills were even more basic. He drew again, channeling ten MP this time, and let fly with a stick that was slightly sharper.
Tersa was in her element. These Graks were nothing! She had fought Orcs, and Infernal Beasts! What were Graks? Bashing practice, nothing more! Screaming, “Blood and piss!” Tersa forgot about technique and style, forgot her weapon had a bladed tip, and proceeded to lay about her with enthusiasm. In her hands, the spear became an oversized club.
Graks were very human in appearance. Their arms were a little too long, their skin an unhealthy grey pallor, but if you bathed them and dressed them up…they would still look like monsters! It would be hard to hide those sharp teeth and nails but, you might be fooled for a minute, as long as the disguised Beast didn’t start screeching.
A scrawny Grak, its only distinguishing feature being hair longer and greasier than most, had a human look of astonishment on its face watching fellow Beasts being pummeled. Its tiny brain couldn’t figure out what was happening. Where had this human warrior come from?
And who was poking it? The Grak raised a hand to its chest and rubbed at a sore spot above its heart. A stick fell to the ground and vanished. That was new. The Grak had never seen a stick do that before. Had there really been a stick in the first place?
The second stick dispelled the Graks uncertainty. This one poked the hand it held to its chest, and penetrated, enough to draw blood, but it was still more irritating than painful. The Grak’s head turned in the direction the stick had come from. A blurry figure stood on a hilltop at the outer limits of its vision.
The Grak was under attack! Howling bloody vengeance, the Grak dropped to all fours and lopped toward the stick thrower. The strange, club-wielding female was formidable. Better to deal with the stick throwing weakling and let its brothers deal with her.
Trent was preparing his third shot when the Grak started charging. It was fast. He would only have time for one more shot. His Archery Skill was underdeveloped. It wasn’t wise to count on it, and Trent didn’t like doing so. He had to find a way around the Sergeant’s orders!
Taking a deep breath, Trent channeled fifty MP into his bow. It was the most the weapon could handle and, as he drew back the string, a well-crafted arrow with a steel broad-head formed. The Grak was rapidly approaching; he had to make this count.
Aiming as carefully as he could, Trent let go of the string, propelling his arrow towards his target. As the arrow left the bow, two more joined it. This was not a result of Trent’s rapid-fire abilities, which he did not have. This was a trait of the bow itself. When the maximum Mana was used, the Skill, Triple Shot activated!
Three arrows with steel heads raced to meet the unsuspecting Grak. Two passed on either side of the Beast. Trent’s aim was not the best. The third, however, found a home in the creature’s forehead. The force of the arrow wasn’t enough to sending it flying backward, but its run halted. It straightened up, its eyes vacant. It fell over. It did not move again.
“Low on Mana, Sergeant. I have to use my sword.”
Cullen wasn’t standing next to Trent anymore. Trent didn’t know where the man had gone, but he knew the Sergeant was listening. It was a risk. He was more than skirting the edge of Cullen’s order. This was blatant disobedience. But maybe, just maybe, it was the kind of disobedience that Cullen respected.
He put his bow in Storage and drew his sword. He did not throw the short bow on the ground. That might earn him some points with Cullen. Blade in hand, Trent rushed to his rightful place. The place he should have been this whole time, Tersa’s side.
It was a place he needed to get to quickly. Tersa was used to fighting with Trent and Orion to back her up. She wasn’t dealing with her first foray into solo fights well. Her initial charge had scattered the Graks, but they had quickly rallied. Now Tersa was backpedaling and on the defensive. One slip up, and she would be surrounded. This was not a good place to be, even if your foes were the most basic of simple Beasts.
The little ones, comparatively little – Tersa had noticed that up close, they were as tall as she was – hopped and howled and sought to get behind her. The big one was the only Grak with a weapon, and it came straight for her. It would already have reached her if its smaller kin hadn't kept getting in the way.
Tersa grinned as the Grak laid about with a thick tree branch, injuring its allies as it attempted to close with her. If she could take out three or four, then this fight would be in her favor. But she had to do it quickly before…
A movement on her left caused her to half turn. Her feet had slowed, and as she thrust her spear at the closest Grak, a second had taken the opportunity to try and get behind her. Not good! She had to take that one out before…
The wild, bloodthirsty grin that had momentarily fallen from her lips returned in full force. It was about time Trent got here. She didn’t know what the jerkface was thinking, staying behind with his toy bow. That wasn’t how they fought. With Trent at her back, a confidence Tersa had only been faking filled her. She activated Iron Skin, a Skill she should have already been using. Confidence restored and a defensive Skill further toughening her skin, Tersa activated another Skill she had picked up in the Land of the Undying Lord, Charge!
Trent’s longsword plunged into the back of the Grak that had
been sneaking up on Tersa. The Beast stood up straight with a pained shriek. Trent pulled his blade lose, and with a step to the side and a twist of his wrist, the Grak’s head was nearly severed. Had he been worried because these Beasts had a higher Level?
Tersa had charged the largest Grak and was currently trading blows with it. Literal blows, she hadn’t tried a thrust once. Three of the remaining Graks darted in to harry her from the sides. The other five surviving Beasts turned their attention to Trent.
He had been right to worry about their numbers and Levels! The Beasts didn’t coordinate with one another, but that was the only thing in Trent and Tersa’s favor. The three kills they had made so far had happened because the creatures were off-guard. Now, aware and focused, the Graks were becoming a problem.
Trent summoned his shield from its ring. One Grak rushed him, and he bashed it aside. Another Grak was close on the heels of the first, Trent sidestepped and lashed out, cutting the Beast’s shoulder. One after another Graks lunged at him, and Trent’s footwork was barely able to keep up. His sword swung constantly, but he couldn’t manage a solid hit. The creatures were too fast, and they got faster as the scent of their own blood intoxicated them.
Tersa was being driven back. She and the larger Grak had similar thoughts when it came to battle. Neither of them bothered defending, preferring to attack freely in hopes of overwhelming their foe. Spear haft and branch hammered away, and eventually, something would have to give. If it wasn’t for Iron Skin, Tersa would have been that something.
The Grak was taller and heavier than Tersa, and it also had pack members to harass her. She kept missing the opportunity to attack as she dodged and kicked at the ugly little bastards that refused to let her have a fair chance.
She unleashed a Crushing Blow. It was then she remembered that it was a spear in her hands. Crushing Blow, which should have broken bones, was hardly more effective than a slap. The big Grak looked insulted as the haft of her spear banged against its head. The Beast howled at her, and Tersa screamed back.