Moonlight Banishes Shadows

by J. T. Wright

  Tersa recognized the man in a vague sort of way. She had seen him about the keep. He was a dressmaker or cobbler, something like that. No one important. He was probably less welcome in this hall than she was! An old memory tried to catch her attention, a memory of Senior Guardsman Merrill stepping out of this man’s way with a polite bow.

  She was over her fright now and had turned that fear into belligerence, “Terah's… Rindel's sagging tits!” She had to remember not to swear by Terah. Rindel should be safe. Sergeant Cullen was always swearing by that god.

  Tersa, of course, was wrong. Rindel, god of banditry in the city of Cullen’s birth, didn’t mind if certain types of people referred to his anatomy in an unflattering way. But Tersa was risking more than she knew with her words.

  “You shouldn’t be here, old man!” Tersa’s hands went to her hips. “Shit, if you’re… Oww!”

  Her right ear stung, and she clapped a hand to it. Had she been bitten? Was the Duke’s training hall infested with bugs? It had felt like a pinch, more than a bite, but the old man was barely through the door. One of his hands supported the strap of his pack, and the other was behind his back. As he and Tersa were the room’s only occupants, it had to be a bug bite!

  “Fucking bugs are… oww!” Tersa’s free hand went to her left ear. When she looked at her hand, she found a drop of blood staining the tip of her finger. Just a drop, but it was a bad sign. Bugs could be Beasts, and these were fast. Now that they had a taste for her, they would come quicker!

  “Run, old man, there are fu… oww!” She didn’t finish the word this time before her right ear was stung again.

  “Calm down now, lass. You'll give yourself a fit.” Master Taylor set his burden down and strolled forward with both hands behind his back. “Let’s see what we’re working with, hmm? Cullen thinks you are promising, but to be honest, you seem like a poor learner.”

  Poor learner? Cullen repeatedly called her an idiot. He screamed that Tersa was a moron, not fit to breathe the gods’ good air. He berated her for being a fool. The words, poor learner, spoken in Taylor’s genteel voice, felt far more insulting.

  “Who are you calling stupid, old man?” Tersa’s weight shifted to the balls of her feet, “Don’t think I won’t… gah!” Her ear was almost ripped from the side of her head. Tears welled up in Tersa’s eyes.

  “Taylor Craw.” the man inclined his head the smallest amount possible as he introduced himself. “Grandmaster Tailor in service to his grace, Lewis Al’dross. As my name and Class are so similar, I trust you will remember them from now on.”

  That last attack was not a bite! Bugs don’t twist ears! This Taylor person hadn’t moved, but Tersa was sure…

  “Did you pinch me, you ba… Taylor!?” Tersa wanted to growl this accusation, but there was too much whine in her voice for it to be intimidating.

  “Who can say, lass, who can say.” Taylor’s hands came out from behind him. He wove his fingers together and stretched. “Cullen has asked me to provide you with a few pointers. The first lesson is that in my presence, you will maintain a civil tongue. You will address me as Master Taylor and complete the tasks I give you promptly, without complaint. Cullen has been easy on you. You will find I am not so kind.”

  “What am I supposed to learn from you, Master Taylor?” Tersa did not like the way this was going. When Taylor’s hand produced a pair of clubs, Tersa covered her ears.

  Not this time, you old… wait, those are not clubs; those are dueling wands. Tersa’s hands fell to her waist. The sheaths she touched there were empty. Taylor held her wands! How was this old man so fast?

  “These weapons don’t have much in common with knives, but like knives, they require grace and speed to be most effective.” In Taylor’s hands, the wands wove intricate patterns that mesmerized Tersa.

  Tersa’s shoulder stung. Then her elbow and wrist. It wasn’t so bad as the ear pinches had been, but the strikes kept coming. Tersa retreated, stumbling backward, and Taylor followed. He slowed his movements enough for her to see what was happening.

  Maybe he meant to be kind, but, for Tersa, being able to see the blows that she couldn’t block was worse! Her hands dropped to stop a thrust and failed. When she doubled over with a grunt, her shoulder was struck again. No matter how hard she tried to move out of the way, how quickly she moved to block, Taylor always hit his mark.

  The blows ranged from stinging taps to light prods. Taylor was careful to never hit her anywhere too sensitive. Tersa’s joints and muscles were fair game, though, and all got their fair share of the attention.

  Taylor backed her into a corner and gave her one last rap on the knuckles. “Well, lass, are you convinced I have valuable skills to pass on?”

  Sucking on her bruised knuckles, while rubbing her elbow, Tersa muttered something that could have been, “yes, Master Taylor.” Most likely, it wasn’t, but Taylor didn’t enjoy beating on young girls, so that was what he chose to hear.

  “Good, then we can get started.” Rolling his neck, Taylor returned to where he had dropped his pack. “Come along, lass.”

  Biting her lip, visibly struggling to control her temper, Tersa approached. “Can… can I have my wands back, Master Taylor?”

  “These?” Taylor held up the items in question. “No, these you can have back when you prove to me that you are clever enough to use them.”

  Tersa’s prized pair of dueling wands, weapons she had never gotten a chance to use herself, disappeared. Tersa wanted to shout and demand them back, but with the bruises underneath the silver and black of her uniform, she considered her words carefully. If Taylor made her wands reappear, he might decide she needed another lesson.

  “Take these instead.” Taylor pressed a pouch, a small piece of cloth, and a wooden circle into her hands.

  Tersa stared at the objects dubiously. “What are these for?”

  “Embroidery,” Tailor said succinctly. “Today, you will learn…”

  “No! No f-f-f…just no! I’m a Guardsmen, not a seamstress!” Tersa found herself in an odd predicament. Her instincts told her to throw the things Taylor had given her on the ground and stomp them into dust! Her bruises once again counseled a more reserved approach.

  “A very slow learner.” Taylor’s head shook, but Tersa was relieved to see his hands return to their place behind his back. “There is much I would do if Cullen asked. But no amount of pleading would see me take you on as an apprentice Seamstress.

  “However, you will learn to sew. Sewing will train your hands and teach you patience. Those are two things you are in dire need of! Now, sit!”

  Tersa steeled herself to argue further and was surprised when her legs collapsed beneath her. She stared at the embroidery hoop in her hands. This wasn’t fair! Why did she have to do this? And why alone?! Trent should be here. Trent liked stupid things. He would probably get a kick out of learning to sew!

  “Where is Trent?” She asked the question wishing to have a partner to share in her torment. Saying the words out loud, it occurred to Tersa that she hadn’t seen Trent in forever. That pissed her off. Trent was probably getting special training while she was stuck on wall cleaning detail!

  Tersa had been speaking to herself. When Taylor answered, she was caught off guard.

  “What did you say?”

  “Trent, where is Treeeent?” She stressed the name. The old man probably had hearing problems. “Trent likes this c-c-stuff. You were talking about knives. Trent likes knives. Shouldn’t he have to learn to sew too?”

  Her glare traveled from hoop to man. She thought ‘man’ because Master Taylor had left at some point. The man standing over her now had nothing in common with the hunched old tailor.

  This new man was tall and whipcord thin. Twinkling eyes had been replaced by dark storm clouds. The man was an unsheathed blade, falling for Tersa’s throat.

  “Where is Trent?” Taylor repeated Tersa’s question with an entirely different inflection. His words were a demand and promised violence if
he did not get the answer he wanted. An answer Tersa did not have.

  Trent, Kirstin’s summons, a lad Taylor had only met twice. This imbecilic girl was absolutely correct. Trent should be here. Taylor had agreed that Cullen’s field training would benefit the boy, but he had done so grudgingly. Trent was a boy with promise, a boy Taylor was eager to mold.

  Cullen and his Recruits had returned over a week ago. Taylor had received word that Kirstin and her companions were back as well. They had arrived last night. The report Taylor had gotten had made no mention of the boy the keep knew as Kirstin’s servant. For Trent to be absent, for Taylor and Cullen to fail to notice the boy’s absence….

  Taylor didn’t know how that was possible. He meant to find out.

  Chapter Five

  “Is this part of your Quest?” Martin struggled to keep calm. No use in upsetting the boy now. “Did you know there was a Field Dungeon here!?” He spoke a little louder than he meant to. He was no Adventurer. He had never been in a Roaming Dungeon before and was quite happy to keep things that way. Field Dungeons were worse than Permanent ones. There would be no well-mapped paths or planned strategies here.

  The question broke Trent out of his musing. The notification in his Status was important, but he was aware that Martin probably had not received one. No one Trent met ever did. It was strange for him to be studying his Status after entering a Trial.

  “No, we’re just lucky, I guess.” Trent cleared his throat and shrugged. Martin stared at him as if he’d gone mad.

  Lucky? The air was different here; maybe it was distorting the words that reached the thief’s ears. Trent couldn’t have used the word lucky. And that excited inflection in the boy’s voice had to be a trick caused by the sound hitting the kid’s mask. Adventurers called Trials “Dungeons” because they were easy to get into but hard to leave. An unknown Dungeon was a death sentence. A Level 9 Swordsman should be petrified right now.

  “Lucky? Yeah, right, we’re the luckiest fucking saps in the world.” Martin gripped the hilt of the knife that he held pressed against his leg. He wanted to keep Trent calm, but the kid insisted on pissing him off. “Do you realize…?”

  Martin’s head jerked back. His nose wiggled and he drew in a deep breath through widened nostrils. The blood drained from his face as the sound of branches breaking reached him.

  “Moon cursed… why did it have to be moon cursed?” Martin’s breathing was ragged as he hissed the question under his breath. He had to get out of here. He had to run! He would need a diversion to get away from what was coming.

  “Moon cursed?” A distraction offered itself up. The kid was going to be useful after all, and judging from his curious tone, Trent had no idea how “lucky” he was.

  The light from the full moon illuminated the cold air of the forest just enough that Trent did not need Dark Vision. If he hadn’t been wearing his mask, he would have rubbed his eyes. Surely, they were deceiving him! Martin had looked human this whole time. A little thin maybe, and his face was pinched, but he looked ordinary enough, up until now.

  Now, Martin’s chin sunk inwards and his nose lengthened, his features growing distinctly rat-like. His ears had moved from the side to the top of his head and now protruded above his hair. The stubble on his face became more pronounced, and were those the whiskers of an animal that extended from his cheeks?

  Martin was not Human; he was Kindred. Beastkin was the more common term. Trent had only met Humans and Al’rashians before this, but the title of another Awakened race popped into his head at the sight of Martin’s transformation. Another word escaped him. That word was the proper mode of address for Ratkin. Trent knew the term Beastkin was mildly insulting to the races it referred to. Each variety of the Kindred had a unique name. They were not related in any sense, but the other races grouped them together anyway.

  The word Trent was reaching for slipped away because Martin’s knife was coming towards him. Trent brought up his arm, and the Thief’s blade glanced off his long gloves instead of tearing out his throat; glanced off and did not penetrate. Trent was knocked backward from the force, and his forearm went numb, but he was unharmed.

  Beady eyes glared at Trent, and he reached for his sword. Before he could draw it, Martin dropped to all fours and rushed off into the underbrush. Trent’s back was pressed against the silver tree, and he almost drew his sword anyway, unsure if Martin planned to return. Then he heard what had caused Martin’s retreat.

  Snapping branches and a low growl told Trent that Martin had run from whatever was making those noises, not from him. The Beast was getting closer and it was big! Trent was tired of overly large Beasts pushing him around! He wanted to stand his ground, he would if he had to, but it would be best to see what he was facing first.

  No immediate cover presented itself, and Trent feared that the Beast was too close for him to get away without attracting attention. What did that leave him? Trent looked up. A branch five or six feet above him looked like it could bear his weight, and if it didn’t, he hadn’t lost anything by trying.

  Recent gains in Acrobatics and Agility sent Trent upwards. His fingertips gripped the branch, but just the tips. Climb kicked in, and Trent was able to hold on. Pulling himself upward while pushing with his feet against the tree’s trunk, Trent adjusted his grip, managing to heave himself onto the branch without letting a grunt of effort out.

  Rotating his palms, Trent pushed again and brought his knee on to the branch. From there, it was simple to creep up the tree, higher and higher, until branches and needles shielded him from view. He had known it was a good idea to train Acrobatics! He would work on it more often, but, for now, it was time to train Stealth and Camouflage.

  These were two of his weakest Skills. Both were still at Level 1. They had no effect on whatever the Undead used to sense the living, so Trent had never had the opportunity to practice them. Now he was wishing that he had made time to gain a few levels on the concealing Skills. He kept still and peered down through the needles to see what this Trial had to offer.

  The Beast that came into view walked on two legs, and its arms were so long that they almost dragged in the dirt. The creature’s teeth were large enough that it couldn’t fully close its jaws, which was impressive given its long muzzle and oversized head. That head bore a resemblance to a wolf’s, and the grey hair that covered its body added to this impression.

  After Martin’s transformation, you could see both the Rat and the man in the Thief. This wolf was the same but taken to the extreme. Its body held the musculature of a man, and it walked upright, but its fur, teeth, and claws were all wolf. The way the Beast panted and growled as it trod forward, its seven-foot frame breaking branches and leaving deep impressions in the trail, reinforced its animal nature.

  But its eyes were milky white. The sight of those eyes made Trent’s skin crawl. This was a Trial Beast modeled after one of the Awakened races. It was said to be a blessing that the Trials gave this visual clue, so delvers could differentiate between Beasts and other Adventurers. Trent supposed that was true.

  But then, seeing the man-wolf below, no one would confuse it for an Adventurer. With its slobbering jaws and mindless snarls, an observer could see clearly that the creature was a threat. From hints in the message from his Status that Trent had been reading before Martin interrupted him, the boy thought the creature was called a Werewolf. Trent was about to activate Identify to see if the Skill would confirm this hint when a sound from above him made Trent realize he hadn’t taken stock of his surroundings as thoroughly as he should have.

  As the Werewolf paused beneath the branches of the silver tree, its nose testing the air, Trent slowly lifted his gaze up. Yellow eyes met Trent’s as the boy studied the creature balanced on a branch three feet over his head.

  This creature wasn’t as big as the Werewolf, but that was small comfort. A cross between a Cat and a lizard chittered softly at Trent, as he pushed his back against the tree trunk. Its flat body was scaled, but white fur
broke out in tufts around its head. Powerful paws flexed, and claws bit into the wood, as the creature shifted its yellow eye from Trent to the Werewolf and back.

  The passive effect of Identify told Trent that the Cat thing was dangerous but manageable. The Werewolf was the bigger threat, but it still had not noticed the two beings in the tree. Together, the two Beasts were enough to shred the boy to bits, especially since Trent’s current perch wasn’t the best fighting position he could ask for.

  Oddly, Trent found himself unafraid of the Cat-Lizard. Its presence was unexpected, but he sensed no hostility in its body language. Instead, the Beast’s gaze fluctuated between the boy and the Wolf below, as if it were trying to convey its thoughts. It crept out to the end of the branch it was balancing on, and with one last look at Trent, flung itself off.

  The creature yowled as it soared through the air at the Werewolf’s head. Claws like long needles were extended to rend the flesh of its enemy. The Werewolf looked up for the first time, and when it saw the flattened form rushing for it, the Wolf’s jaws opened menacingly.

  The Cat-Lizard wrapped itself around the Werewolf’s head, hissing and biting as it tore at fur and muscle. The Wolf howled. At first Trent thought the sound was caused by pain, but when he saw the Cat creature’s body lock up and his own muscles tensed, he realized a Skill had been used.

  The Werewolf lifted a heavy hand and grabbed its assailant. It tore the Cat-Lizard away, and pieces of the Wolf’s own skin were ripped off, as it tossed the stunned Beast against the tree trunk. The Cat-Lizard hit the ground and regained its mobility. It crouched and swatted at the air as it prepared to leap again.

  The Wolf let loose with another howl, but this time a red light was emitted along with the sound. The Cat pounced, and when it made contact with the red light, it screamed in an almost human voice. Its momentum continued, but the closer the Beast got to the Werewolf, the more of its skin peeled away, revealing blood and bone beneath.