by J. T. Wright
But Cullen wasn’t fooled. He also had a solution to the goddess’s prank. She obviously hadn’t put much thought into this little show. While gods could create solid figments, Cullen didn’t think Terah would go that far. The boot in his hand was hefted. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the footwear flying through the air. Smirking, he conveniently fixed his rolled-up sleeve.
Cullen taught his Recruits that anything could be a weapon if you were clever or desperate enough. A boot, flung by someone with Cullen’s Attributes, was a perfect example of what the Sergeant meant. The boot smacked into Tersa’s head and sent her tumbling back to the ground, where she expelled another “Gaahk!”
Cullen was truly impressed. Terah had gone all out. She had actually created something here! Some type of golem, perhaps? It was lucky for him he hadn’t thrown this boot too hard. Exposing the goddess’s tricks was one thing, but destroying her creation would have been a mistake.
Cullen still had a trick of his own, though. Images could be replicated. Illusions could have substance. Statuses could not be faked. They could be masked, disguised, or hidden, but not created. Terah might have gone so far as to name this imposter after Tersa, but Mentoring Eyes would find the flaw.
What he saw when he activated this Skill confirmed his suspicions. Had Terah not gotten a good look at Tersa’s Status? Or did she not realize Cullen had such an advanced Identifying Skill? The goddess hadn’t even tried to fake it.
“I apologize for the pipe, your divinity. It was wrong of me.” Cullen spoke to the air, ignoring what was clearly a false rendition of his Recruit.
Tersa was rubbing the back of her head and trying to determine what had hit her. Where had that boot come from? She forgot her question at the sound of Cullen’s voice. The Sergeant’s tone was more respectful than she’d ever heard from him, but it was definitely Cullen. Was the Sergeant talking to her? “Your divinity” had a nice ring to it. It was better than idiot or damned Recruit. But it was more than a little inappropriate.
The fake Tersa got back to her feet and faced him as Cullen approached her casually. The Sergeant had to hand it to Terah. The goddess had reproduced Tersa’s wide-eyed, dumbfounded expression perfectly. Looking at that blank, clueless face Cullen could almost believe the redhead was the real thing.
“You’re an artist, divine one, there’s no mistaking that. But you got the details wrong.” Cullen loomed over Tersa, shaking his head. He reached out a finger and tapped Tersa between the eyes. “Level 1 Storm Bringer? Sounds Advanced. Never heard of the Class but I know the girl. She…”
“Hey Sergeant, who ya talking to? Were you changing clothes just now? Your pants are all messed up, and ya only got one boot on… Did you throw a boot at me, you crusty old bastard!?” Tersa balled her fists. Throwing boots was not nice!
Cullen was getting the feeling that something was wrong. Tersa stared up at him with narrowed gleaming eyes. A familiar scowl, half indignation, half sullen pout crossed her features. That stubborn set to her mouth was damned real looking.
He still couldn’t accept it though. “Recruit Tersa?” This had to be a trick. Yet, Cullen doubted Terah could picture the defiant redheaded idiot’s signature expression, much less reproduce it. The gods wanted you to believe they were omnipotent, but Cullen was aware of their limits.
“Who else would I be, you fart sucking, puke gargling, piss drinking…” Tersa had been made aware of how badly Enraging Aura had affected her. She accepted the fact that she had things she needed to work on, but she was far from eliminating the tendencies the Skill imbued her with. After all, she had only picked up Calming Presence a short time ago.
Cullen was convinced. Terah had a reputation to maintain, just as much as the Sergeant did. She wouldn’t lower herself to create a simulacrum that spewed filth, such as that which continued to spill out of Tersa’s mouth.
“Recruit Tersa,” Cullen growled. Tersa, in the midst of drawing a deep breath in order to extend her rant, pressed her lips together tightly. She squeaked as Cullen leaned down, fixing her in place with hard dark eyes.
Dark brown. People said Cullen’s eyes were dark brown. People were stupid. Cullen’s eyes were black. When he was angry, and Tersa had seen him plenty angry, those eyes were as dark as a moonless night. Darker. They were the dark of a sealed coffin. Tersa wished she were buried in that coffin now. A grave would be a safer place than where she stood now.
Cullen’s gaze paralyzed the Recruit, but guilt tugged at him for his actions. The idiot had cleared the Trial in record time. She deserved congratulations. It was just bad luck that she had to be sacrificed. The situation, Cullen’s reputation, could still be salvaged.
“Recruit Tersa. Where… Is… Your… Spear?” Cullen carefully enunciated each word. He watched Tersa’s eyes widen. When she started to look around wildly, his hand shot out to grasp her jaw. This was excessive. Normally, he would never go so far as to touch a Recruit’s face. It was insulting.
But Tersa had to be restrained. He kept her eyes focused forward. He couldn’t let her see how hard he was shaking his right leg in order to dislodge the pant leg that refused to be displaced. He hadn’t folded the thrice-damned thing! It was merely pulled up! Why wouldn’t it fall!?
“Spear, Sergeant? I don’t need a spear.” Tersa’s excuses were muffled. The Sergeant was scrunching her cheeks. In her heart, Tersa was sure this was the end. Cullen was so pissed. She had to talk her way out of this!
“I don’t need a spear, ‘cause I got an axe now! A good one, I think. And rods, good rods, they’ll bash stuff nice. And a new Class! Storm Bringers don’t use spears.”
“Enough!” Cullen’s pant leg had fallen into place at last. He let go of Tersa’s jaw. “Stand at attention, Recruit! Back straight, head up, arms at your sides! Can’t you even do this right?”
Tersa’s legs locked. She assumed the position he demanded. Cullen put his hands behind his back and began pacing as if they were on a parade ground and he was holding inspections. He stepped behind Tersa, and once out of sight, he pulled the sock he had tucked into his sleeve, out and hurriedly put it on.
He scooped up his boot. Hopping in place, he pulled it on and tied the laces, expelling nonsense at Tersa while he did so. He had to keep the girl’s attention on her own mistakes.
“Storm Bringers don’t need spears,” Cullen imitated Tersa’s excuse giving voice exactly. “You’ve had the Class for a second and a half, and you are already an expert. Flame and ash! That’s what I admire about you, Lieutenant Tersa. You’re a fucking understanding learner! You pick up on everything so damn quick!”
Tersa swallowed hard. She hoped Cullen would give her axe to Trent. It was her most valuable possession. She wanted her friend to have it since she wouldn’t need it anymore. Once Cullen started giving Recruits rank, it was all over.
Boot on, clothing straightened, Cullen gave himself one final inspection. It was a shame he didn’t have time to change into his uniform, but that would be too much. The slowest of Recruits would realize something was up if a Sergeant started a lecture wearing one thing and ended it in different clothing.
Tugging at the front of his shirt, Cullen stepped back around. His pride was protected; now, he had to save Tersa’s. “We'll put your sins aside for now. Tuck them away for later.”
Tersa flinched as Cullen reached out and grabbed the handle of her axe. He pulled it free with a light tug. Tersa frowned and stuck out her tongue. Stupid axe! Why come unstuck now? Hadn’t she loved it enough?
“Cleaver, named weapon. Solid damage rating, good balance, increased chance of a critical hit, and ignores armor ratings of 10 and below. An excellent axe.” Cullen was impressed by what Appraisal told him about the weapon. He had realized it was a well-crafted axe when he took it. His Skill expounded on the knowledge and surprised him.
He gave the weapon a test swing. “Much too good of an axe for you, Recruit.”
“Named weapon? Soul-bound? Is it soul-bound, Sergeant?” Excited to
have a named weapon of her own, Tersa threw out her fear along with two years of training. She hopped up and down with excitement. Then Cullen’s words sunk in, and her hands went to her hips. “What do you mean it’s too good for me! Its mine! You can’t have it, you…”
“Shut up, Tersa. I don’t want your axe.” Honestly, why did Recruits always think he was going to steal their loot? Besides, it was a good axe, but it was still a beginner’s weapon. It didn’t compare to Peacemaker in the slightest. “And no, it’s not soul-bound. Do you know how hard it is to get soul-bound equipment?”
He passed Cleaver back to her. She snatched it away possessively. There was only a trace of disappointment in her actions. Named was good, but soul-bound would be better. Why shouldn’t she have a soul-bound axe? They couldn’t be that rare. Trent had three pieces of soul-bound equipment. Stupid Trent.
“Are you bleeding?”
Cullen’s question snapped her out of her pout and back into excuse mode. Hadn’t Cullen seen when she cut her side on her own weapon? If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t hear about it from her!
“This? This is nothing. It’s stopped bleeding now.” Tersa twisted to look at her side. Cleaver was sharp! The wound wasn’t serious, but it was remarkable that the spike had gotten through her Constitution so easily. “Have you been in the Trial? There are Fey everywhere! I fought them off, but one of the little bastards nipped me. I got him back though! Sent him packing with… with one of my new fighting rods! And…”
“You fought the Fey?” Cullen’s voice was wooden. His expression deadpan. He expected better than this from Tersa. No one was stupid enough to provoke the Fey needlessly. He would have to find the time to coach her in the art of the lie. “Never mind. Show me your ‘fighting rods,’ and drink this, you’re bleeding again.”
Tersa had equipped the two rods to her belt before leaving the Trial. She had intended to end her dramatic entrance by drawing one and flipping it nonchalantly while revealing her impressive new Class. It was anticlimactic to simply hand the metal rods to Cullen. She was grateful for the Healing potion he gave her in exchange, though. Her cut did sting a little.
She sipped at the potion while Cullen examined her second acquisition. “Fighting rods? Have you been skipping training again? These are dueling wands. They’re for close combat Mages. Why do you have these?”
“They’re part of my reward for clearing the Trial.” Tersa neatly poked a hole in her previous lie, which Cullen graciously ignored. “They go with my Class, I think. Are they named too? Soul-bound… Oh, and I’m not a Brute no more Sergeant! I'm a Storm Bringer!”
“Not named, not soul-bound, still too good for you.” Cullen noticed the hurt look on Tersa’s face. He handed the weapons back to his Recruit, who took them listlessly. He gave in and spoke the words she wanted to hear.
“I noticed your Class. Advanced, too, that’s impressive. You did well in there, better than I expected.” No need to tell the girl she cleared the Trial faster than he had, and she had, while carrying more baggage, but there were lines that Cullen wouldn’t cross.
“Congratulations on becoming a Storm Bringer, and on becoming a Recruit again. The Guard still has a place for you.” When a hand reached out to ruffle Tersa’s hair, Cullen wondered who else had appeared in the temple. It couldn’t be his hand! With trainees like Kirstin, Michael, and Alistern, children of his former adventuring companions, Cullen offered support to lean on when they needed it.
That wasn’t his policy with Guard Recruits. To Recruits, Cullen was the standard. He provided training, structure, and discipline! If a Recruit needed approval, or a shoulder to cry on, that was what officers were for. And if he was going to go soft, he wasn’t going to with Tersa. The little idiot was going to throw a fit and hurl obscenities any second now.
But she didn’t. What was happening? The irrational, untrainable girl was smiling. She was beaming! Hadn’t he taught her better than this? She should be knocking his hand away and kicking his shins. She should spit, growl, and call him a crusty old bastard. She should not preen or bask in his praise!
When had his rugged Recruit gotten dainty and cute? The Garden had made her soft! He would fix that. Later. The girl could have her moment. Mostly because Cullen didn’t know how to break away without devastating her. Tersa looked like she wanted a hug, for shit’s sake!
Cullen was saved from his quandary by a soft cough. There was someone else here. Snatching Cleaver out of Tersa’s hands, Cullen whirled to eliminate the soul that had caught him unawares. The axe held out to one side, Cullen positioned himself in front of Tersa. He didn’t recognize the masked figure in scale mail that had snuck up on him. Whoever it was, they’d better have a damned good reason for being here!
Trent skipped backwards. He had exited the Trial in time to see Cullen congratulate Tersa and had waited a few moments to be noticed. It never occurred to him that it was possible to sneak up on the Sergeant. He realized that that was what had happened when his moment of waiting turned into minutes.
He hadn’t expected his cough to provoke such a violent response! He held up his hands. “Sergeant, it’s me! It’s me!" He exclaimed.
Cullen didn’t relax. “You who? Where did… Trent?” He lowered Cleaver.
Trent… Trent was still in the Trial… Cullen was expecting to see him. This person in front of him matched Trent’s description. That featureless mask was practically a signature. Why did he think he had never seen this person before?
It was clearly Trent. The boy was different somehow, less. Had something happened in the Trial? Cullen knew he should be suspicious. Not of Trent, but of the haze that surrounded the boy. The Sergeant couldn’t bring forth the energy required. It didn’t seem important.
With a grunt, Cullen returned Cleaver to Tersa. “About time, Trent. You were slower than Recruit Tersa. You must be slipping. You’ll have to work harder on the way back to Al’drossford. Let’s go, Recruit Tersa.”
Without another word or question, Cullen set off for the temple entrance. Tersa ran behind him, complaining.
“Come on, Sergeant! I haven’t eaten for days! And I'm tired, can’t we rest? I just cleared a Trial, you know, you rotten, dung filled…”
“Not another word, Recruit! You can sleep when I kill you, I swear by the gods, you’re going to regret dropping your spear. And we’re in a temple so you can believe…”
Trent didn’t join them. Tersa had run by him without a word. She didn’t hit him or yell at him. She hadn’t bragged about clearing the Trial first or showed off her loot. Cullen hadn’t recognized him? Had Trent’s appearance changed again. That happened in Trials. Still, shouldn’t the Sergeant have asked him to report?
Most bothersome of all was that Cullen had called Trent by his name, not Runt. Twice! In a row! That almost never happened.
Some of the confidence Trent had regained faded. He had lost his Bond. Maybe he had lost his value to his friends along with it. At Al’drossford there had been a lot of talk about how special he was. Special because of his Bond. What did he have to offer now?
Tugging his mask to make sure it was in place, Trent trudged after the departing Guardsmen. He had to run in order to catch up.
Chapter 18
Twenty miles northwest of Slyhill, Kirstin Al'dross was regretting her life choices. She regretted leaving the horses with Corporal Francis. She regretted putting on the heavy breastplate that weighed down her every step. She missed the elegant play of her rapier and wondered why she had thought the brutal two-handed sword she was forced to swing was a practical weapon.
It was all Joel’s fault. This entire mess. She should never have listened to him. She agreed that his family needed to know about Matt's death. She agreed that they should go together. Matt had been a friend long before they had become Adventurers. All of them, Kirstin, Dirk, and Lyra, owed this trip to the Fire Elementalist. They had a duty, to Matt and Joel, as well as the brothers’ parents.
But they could have taken well-traveled
roads. Well patrolled roads. Roads that were littered with villages and inns. Safe roads, where a Beast was eliminated by Guardsmen and Militia the moment it showed its head. It would have added a week or two to the journey, but time wasn’t pressing.
She had listened to Joel, though. She heard him say how a shortcut on foot through the wilds would save them days of travel. Soonest done, best done, he had said. His parents deserved to know quickly. His grim, serious tone had convinced her.
It had convinced her to ford the swollen stream they had had to cross. Her boots still hadn’t dried completely. It convinced her to fight through the thirty Howlers earlier that morning, rather than try to go around them. She was a fool. She knew it, when not two hours after they finished the Howlers, the Goblins appeared!
Goblins! There shouldn’t be Goblins here! The Cursed Awakened race, with their green skin and conniving ways, weren’t welcome in the Al’verren Kingdom. They weren’t welcome anywhere! Whatever had caused them to become Cursed in the first place had lowered the Goblin race’s standing. They were little better than Beasts. Some interaction existed between merchants and Goblin Craftsmen, and the occasional Goblin Adventurer was tolerated, but the majority of the world’s population encountered the green-skinned shrimps through ambushes.
An ambush like the one they had sprung on Kirstin’s party. However, the responsibility could also be laid at Joel’s feet. He was supposed to be a Scout! What good was a Scout that couldn’t spot an ambush? A capable Scout would have seen the score of stinking Bandits in time for the companions to reverse the situation!
Fortunately, they were only Goblin Bandits. With Levels ranging from 10 to 15, these Goblins would pose a serious risk to lower-leveled Adventurers. Bandits could be a handful when their traps were first sprung, but if you survived the initial contact, the Bandit Class wasn’t much good in a standup fight, not until they gained a second Specialization.