by J. T. Wright
Five Bandits lost their lives to Kirstin’s headlong assault and her companions cleanup. There were seven left. Four bowmen, two warriors, and a Chief that was still dueling with Joel. It was a drastic and unexpected turn-around. These Bandits were not Trial Beasts incapable of running from a battle. They very much wanted to forget these troublesome Adventurers and try again another day.
Fear of the Bandit Chief stilled their quaking nerves. There were worse ways to die than at the end of an Adventurer’s blade. Being tortured for hours before having their throats slit by a leader setting an example to his newest troops, was just one example.
The two left behind by Kirstin’s charge intercepted and squared off against Dirk and Lyra. They would hold out against these two, while the bowmen dealt with the crazed woman. Once those four finished her, the numbers would be back on their side. The day wasn’t over yet.
Joel thought he heard a shift in the battle behind him, but his eyes never left his opponent. Joel was bleeding from cuts on his arms, and a particularly nasty one graced his right leg, slowing his movements. The Bandit Chief’s single-minded pursuit of his Class was demonstrating the benefit of this route. His Attributes were equal to Joel’s, and he was used to close fighting.
If Joel didn’t make a change, his friends would carry word of Matt’s death and his own body, home to their parents. That couldn’t happen! Joel wouldn’t let it!
He knew why he wasn’t winning. He was fighting like a Squire, like his father had taught him. His father was a minor noble who had earned his title through service. He was a Knight. Joel had chosen the Squire and Archer Classes in hopes of following in his father’s footsteps.
That was a dream Joel had put aside. He was a Scout now. He was dedicated to that Class. It fit him. He had to fight like a Scout.
Even though he had been trained as a Squire, that didn’t mean he hadn’t seen the actions of an excellent Rogue. Lieutenant Alistern Craw had adventured with them under the guise of Allen, the Scout. If there was ever a man who understood the intricacies of the Scout Class, it was Alistern.
Joel had tried to emulate Alistern in the Land of the Undying Lord. He hadn’t quite pulled it off. Surrounded by Guardsmen, it was easy to follow old habits drilled into him since he was young. He had prepared a few tricks. He just hadn’t had a chance to try them. Might as well give it a shot now.
His free hand twitched and released a small pouch that he had tucked into his sleeve. Joel angled his body and slashed his sword at the Goblin’s face to hide his actions. The Bandit sneered as it lazily parried. His prey was weakening and getting desperate.
Joel didn’t mind the contempt. All the better if the Bandit exposed teeth. He had practiced opening the drawstring of the pouch with one hand, but adrenaline and the need to dodge a rusty blade made his fingers clumsy. He nearly dropped his secret weapon twice before he was ready, but he managed.
Stomping his foot aggressively, he feigned a low thrust. The Goblin fell for it and moved to block. The Bandit Chief’s face was exposed. Joel swiftly threw his palm-full of dust!
The Bandit’s contempt for the Scout doubled as he calmly turned his head. His blade darted and swept as it covered his momentary lapse. What tricks hadn’t he seen? This human was too naïve if he thought…
It was the Goblin’s thoughts that were too simple. If he had been facing Alistern the fight would already be over. Alistern threw poison when he used this maneuver. A poison that only had to be inhaled to be effective. While his opponents covered their eyes, they breathed their last.
Joel threw sand. It was all he had. His parents were nobles, his father the mayor of a small town, not an Assassin or an Alchemist. He had no training with poison.
What he did have was an opening. The Goblin looked away momentarily. His sword waved to block a thrust. He didn’t expect the jarring blow that carried his blade far out of position. He nearly dropped his sword when Joel followed his inelegant bash with a shoulder charge. The larger, more densely muscled human rammed into the smaller Goblin, the Bandit was carried backwards.
Joel’s empty hand came up to pound at the Goblin's teeth. This was what watching Alistern had taught Joel. If your opponent is a better swordsman than you, don’t fight with swords. Joel resolved to start carrying a dagger and to learn to use it. This fight would be over if he had a knife.
The duel was finished. The brawl began. Joel’s charge had carried the two to the ground. The Goblin’s sword was first trapped and then wrenched away, to be tossed aside. Joel wasn’t able to use his own long blade, but the hilt complimented his fist well enough. On the ground, Joel dominated. He was not a large man, but he was bigger than the Goblin.
Blood and broken teeth filled the Bandit’s throat. He struggled, pushing and clawing desperately. He managed to dig deep grooves in the flesh of Joel’s cheek with his dirty fingernails, but it wasn’t enough. His resistance grew weaker, and as it did, Joel brought his sword awkwardly to the Bandit’s throat.
Joel rolled off the corpse of the Goblins’ leader, gasping for air. It wasn’t easy to beat someone with a melee Class to death, but it was done. It might have taken even longer if he had not been able to use his sword. Now he was ready for a nap, and maybe some healing.
Where was Lyra? Lyra! The others were still fighting! Joel didn’t have time for basking in his own victory. He clambered to his feet. Where was his bow? There!
He retrieved his discarded weapon. It hadn’t been damaged when he used it as a makeshift club. It did look like it had been stepped on a time or two while he dueled with the Bandit Chief. It would function fine, despite that.
Sweat stung the open wounds on his face as Joel drew his bowstring and utilized the Create Arrow Skill. He turned to see how many of his friends had survived in the absence of his support. It was a good thing Create Arrow was fueled by Mana. Joel didn’t have the Stamina left for Skills that depended on that form of energy.
The battlefield was much changed from what he remembered. There were only four Bandits left. Dirk and Lyra were facing one opponent each and clearly had the upper hand. Kirstin was standing over two corpses and raining down unending blows upon two more beleaguered Goblins. Joel watched Dirk smash his foe into the dirt and moved to assist Lyra.
He didn’t have a clear shot. His friends were between him and the bandits. He wasn’t needed. Under the combined attacks of Lyra and Dirk, their last target didn’t stand a chance. The Goblin fell with a wail.
They had killed so many while Joel was otherwise occupied! Was Joel holding his friends back somehow? He might as well sit down and rest, things were under control.
No, Kirstin was still fighting. There wasn’t time to rest. Joel started jogging forward and to the right. He had to get a clear… nope. Not needed. Was that Holy Strike? It couldn’t be.
It was. Kirstin wanted to kill just one Goblin. Just one, but the others kept getting in her way! Filled with righteous fury, she summoned, what had been in the past (against the Undead), her strongest attack. Holy Strike!
The Skilled blow, meant to break the ties that held the Undead in the world, caused her sword to glow stunningly. She poured every drop of Mana she had, and most of her Stamina, into the Skill. Looking at her blade was like staring into the sun. Her two opponents flinched and shielded their eyes at the sight. It was the last thing they ever did.
Undead were created from dark, unnatural, and forbidden magic. They had a vulnerability to the effects of Fire, Light, and Holy spells and Skills. While Goblins were a Cursed Race, their curse was a natural one, imposed by the World itself. Holy Strike blinded them but added no additional effect to Kirstin’s blade, but she didn’t need it.
Kirstin’s two-handed swing was fueled by her rage. Her sword cut through raised arms, severing the neck of one Bandit completely, and half decapitated the second. Kirstin lashed out with her foot, knocking the only Goblin she had been looking to kill off her blade.
She wanted to roar in victory! She wanted to trample the s
tinking bug beneath her into nothing! Instead, she hiccupped. The aftereffects of depleting her Mana with one blow had hit her. Kirstin grew dizzy as her head began to pound. Dropping her sword, she leaned over and spewed her breakfast over the corpses at her feet.
Kirstin’s friends ran up behind her as she emptied her stomach. The sight and smell of the victorious heroine vomiting and stumbling about caused them to stand back.
Dirk cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Was she hit by another Spell? We have to find the Shaman before…”
“Oh, shut up…urrrgh…Dirk!” Kirstin held her arms out at her sides to steady herself. She spat to remove the foul taste from her mouth.
“It’s Mana drain, not a Spell. Damn, I'm dizzy! Who has a Mana potion?” From the looks her friends shared, Kirstin knew no potion was coming her way.
They hadn’t restocked the essentials before leaving Slyhill. They hadn’t felt there was any need. The wilds between Slyhill and their destination, Water’s Edge, Joel’s hometown, was considered a low-level area. They only had two Health potions left and not a Stamina or Mana potion between them.
Kirstin carefully stepped away from the dead Bandits and the evidence of her condition. She made it five feet before plopping down on the grass, sitting with her head in her hands. “No potions. That’s my fault. I should have thought ahead. We'll have to loot these bastards and hope they have a few. Joel, those ones are yours,” Kirstin feebly waved a hand at the Goblin bowmen.
All four were covered in vomit. It was impressive, really. Kirstin had managed to spread her sickness almost evenly over all of them. Well, it was impressive, unless you were the one having to rifle through the dead Goblins’ pouches and clothing. Joel shook his head frantically and started to protest.
“I don’t want to hear it, Joel!” Kirstin wasn’t having any of it. “This short cut was your idea. It’s my fault we’re underprepared, but you aren’t innocent either! Loot the bodies, and then look for signs leading to their camp. Anything good will probably have been left behind.
“Have Lyra look at those wounds first,” Kirstin added sternly. “You look like you’ve been chewed on by a Dire Bear. You should be ashamed. They were just Goblins.”
Kirstin smiled weakly to indicate that last had been a joke. She didn’t get any laughter, though. She was confronted by astonished faces all around. “What? Did I vomit on myself? What are you all standing around for?”
“Are you feeling okay, Kris?” Dirk took off his helm, sure the item was obstructing his hearing. Kirstin sounded normal. She sounded like she had before. Before she became a cantankerous, irritable, shrew, as likely to take your head off as smile at you.
“No! I feel like s-s-s-dung. Don’t give me that look, Lyra. I'm dying here! And instead of finding me a Mana potion, you’re all just standing around!”
They moved off to take care of their tasks. Joel, after being patched up, held his nose and tried to search his Bandits with one hand. It didn’t go well. Eventually, he had to give in and accept that he needed both hands.
The sound of the Scout’s retching was music to Kirstin’s ears. Maybe he would think twice before he suggested a short cut next time. Serenaded by Joel’s suffering, Kirstin began to feel better. Better than she had in a long time. Her head was pounding, and her stomach felt delicate, but other than that, the world was a brighter place.
If only her hand would stop itching! She frenziedly scratched the back of her right hand. It had been a mild discomfort at first, but off her feet and with her stomach empty, the itch became maddening. Had she been bitten by something? She inspected the source of the problem closely. Other than a redness from her scratching her hand looked normal.
“Hey, Joel.” The Scout’s head popped up attentively. He was grateful for the reprieve. Kirstin held up the back of her hand for him to see.
“Does this look different to you?”
Joel came over for a closer peek. “Your hand? It doesn’t look cut. Not like your leg, we should do something about that. And stop messing with your hand. You'll draw blood if you keep scratching at it like that.”
“Yeah.” The itch was fading, unlike the pain in her thigh. Her injury started complaining the moment after Joel mentioned it. “I’m imagining things. Must be a side effect of Mana loss. You can go back to what you were doing.”
Ignoring Joel’s muttered complaints, Kirstin stared at her hand for a while longer. When the prickling sensation was entirely gone, she dismissed her concerns and concentrated on bandaging her wound.
It had been a strange morning. She didn’t know what had come over her. Looking back, her actions during the fight had been bizarre. Had she been hit by a Spell that disoriented her?
If she had, perhaps it was a good thing. Her head felt clear. Clearer than it had since… a thought tickled the back of her brain. One she couldn’t quite seize. There had been an event that had put her in a foul mood. When had it happened? The memory refused to surface.
Well, whatever that had her acting like a demented harpy with a thorn in its ass, it was over now. Hopefully, for good.
Chapter 19
Trent trailed behind Cullen and Tersa as they made their way down a forest trail. Cullen led the way. He hadn’t sent Trent to scout, and Trent was beginning to think the Sergeant had forgotten he was there. The Guardsman and the Recruit bickered endlessly and never directed a word Trent’s way.
Cullen set a brisk pace. Trent couldn’t decide if the Sergeant was trying to exhaust Tersa or outrun her. If she tried to ask where they were going or why they couldn’t eat or rest, the Sergeant’s feet moved a little faster. He would shout at her to keep her mind on her task, and she would respond that he hadn’t given her any tasks.
“Moving is your task, Recruit! If you want more to do, I can think of ways to occupy you!”
“I'm so hungry, Sergeant. We can’t all survive on hatefulness and piss like you do!”
“What did you just say? Speak up, Recruit Tersa. I dare you! I will shove my foot so far up your ass, you will be able to polish my boots with the back of your tongue!”
Back and forth they went. Tersa never shut up, and Cullen never stopped to carry out his threats. Trent suspected the Sergeant enjoyed that Tersa talked back. It was a game to the two. Trent didn’t understand the rules himself, but then, he wasn’t invited to play.
They had crossed a large open clearing. Trent looked up to get a last view of the sky before reentering the confines of the trees when movement caught his eye. A bright flash fell out of a tall tree and flew to the far side of the clearing behind the trio. Trent turned to watch it.
It wasn’t a bird or insect. It was too fast for him to get a clear look at it, but Trent didn’t think it was alive. The object wasn’t flying, it was falling. It arched through the air and landed in the grass like a stone being thrown. Only there was no one around to throw rocks, not that Trent could see.
The object was small. It couldn’t weigh much. Certainly, not enough to kick up dirt and grass when it descended. It should have landed without a sound. The crashing boom it made was entirely out of place. The ground rocked beneath Trent’s feet.
While Trent stopped to watch the curious falling object, Tersa and Cullen kept going. The sound of an explosion behind them brought them hurrying back. Tersa squawked as Cullen almost ran her down instead of politely following behind her. Ignoring her cries of “I want to see too! No need to push, you stupid, old…” Cullen rushed into the clearing.
What did you do…you...Trent? Trent! Trent, what did you do?” Trent didn’t reply to Cullen’s halting queries. The man had forgotten Trent was there. Cullen had even forgotten Trent’s name again. Trent merely lifted a hand and pointed to where he had seen the object fall. Cullen would be able to figure out the true culprit who had broken the peace of the forest without Trent saying a word.
“Yeah, Trent, what did you do? We're trying to be quiet, ya know.” Tersa pushed passed Cullen and stood next to Trent. “A good Guardsman obser
ves sound disciple on patrol and… oh, hey, what’s that, Sergeant? Do snakes usually get that big?”
Tersa had finally noticed what had drawn Cullen and Trent’s attention. A snake, a white snake with red stripes, was coiled up on the far side of the clearing. The snake’s tongue flicked as it hissed at the three companions staring at it. A dense grey fog accompanied its hisses. Each time its mouth opened the fog was expelled. That grey fog hung in the air and slowly settled to the ground around the snake. Frost began to cover the ground where the fog touched it.
Fog and ice were enough to tell Trent that this snake was not a common animal. It could only be a Beast. The fact that the coiled snake's triangular head was held ten feet off the ground was another clue that he was looking at a Beast. That the head was seven or eight feet wide, and held eyes a foot in diameter, sealed the impression Trent had formed.
“Greater Ice Serpent!” Cullen rolled his shoulders and neck. “Looks close to becoming a Wyrm. Tersa, get a good look. You won’t see one of these again for a long time. Take a good look, then run. Follow the trail until it comes to a road and wait for me there. I won’t be long.”
“Can’t we watch Sergeant. Never seen someone fight a Great…greater… great big snake before.”
“Run! Now! None of your nonsense, girl. This isn’t the time.” Cullen stepped in front of Trent, brushing against the boy as he did. He never looked down.
Identify didn’t tell Trent anything about the Serpent. Activating the Skill just put a pit of ice in his stomach. That ice spread when Cullen spoke. The Sergeant hadn’t yelled or cursed. He spoke simply and expected to be obeyed, a tone he often used with Trent, but never used with Tersa.