by J. T. Wright
“You’ve named me a liar thrice,” he growled. “You are lucky I’m not a young Rider. They would scar you for the first two times and kill you for the third.” His eyes softened as he stared down at her. She was younger than he had thought at first, a fact which was highlighted by her pale complexion. She flinched as he reached out and used Minor Heal to seal the wound on her face.
When he turned to resume his journey, Reann almost let him go alone. She stood in place, hand touching her cheek. She was twenty-two and had been an Adventurer for ten years. In those ten years, today was only the second time she had felt close to death.
She had been injured before, wounded badly several times, but she always had friends nearby to help her with spells and potions. Just now, Orion could have taken her head. No one would have known, and her bones would have been another set of the anonymous remains littering the Wilds.
That realization steeled her nerves. There were no local Adventurers like Orion Embra. She could remain here and be mocked as soft metal by travelers for the rest of her life, or she could follow the Al’rashian and learn about the greater world. She could learn to protect herself and her companions, never again having to leave friends behind to be murdered.
She ran to catch up to Orion. “Touchy lot, Al’rashians, I'll have to watch it when we meet up with them. How do old Riders react to insults?”
“You won’t have to worry about that,” Orion sighed. His words had a dual meaning, but he didn’t elaborate by adding that older Riders were harder to offend. Or that if you managed to do so, the result was death. He also did not say anything more to discourage her. He had been traveling alone for a long time. Reann reminded him of Trent and Tersa, and the pleasure of a journey shared. He could put up with her until she came to her senses and turned back.
Reann waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, she decided there were things she could teach him as well. Adventurers passed the time between Quests and Dungeons by talking! How could the Silver-ranked Orion not know that! “So, which are you, old or young?”
“I…” Orion found himself treating the question seriously, “I don’t belong to either group.”
Pleased that Orion sounded less guarded, Reann asked, “Why not?”
“Because I met a girl who could make stone statues weep with frustration, and saints tear out their beards.”
“Let me guess,” Reann said, rolling her eyes, “she insulted you, so you killed her and swore off…” she didn’t know how to end that thought. He obviously hadn’t given up violence.
“No,” Orion said, shaking his head, “I made her my sister and vowed to stand between her and her enemies. Tersa offends so many I suspect I will be killing for the rest of my life on her behalf. I can’t afford to be offended for my own sake.”
“Strange person to take a liking too,” Reann said softly. Orion just snorted. “So where’s this sister now? Shouldn’t you be looking out for her?”
Orion looked as far down the road as his eyes would allow. “She is a long way away, but she has others beside her until I can find her. They will look out for her. She and I have a brother. He's young, but he will soon become one who should not be underestimated.”
“Tell me about him.” Reann adjusted her pack on her shoulders as Orion, behaving like a normal Adventurer for the first time, regaled her with an unbelievable tale of being imprisoned in a Trial and his rescue by a Level 1 Awakened. It was a pack of lies, of course, but she never said so or interrupted. Somewhere on the road, they stopped traveling in the same direction and started walking together.
Chapter Nine
Trent was ensconced in a second tree with silver bark. A green vine with silver blossoms curled around this one as well. Trent’s fingers itched to pick those small flowers, but he left them alone. It had taken hours of crawling through the forest to find the tree, and he thought the were-creatures left the timber alone because of the vine. The silver trees were this Trial’s equivalent of a Safe Zone.
Trent was starting to think his problem with the concept of time originated from the stretches he spent in Trials. There was no way to mark the passing of hours here. The stars twinkled overhead, never rotating by to make room for the sun. The full moon hung in its orbit like an illuminated painting, not budging an inch to mark the moments.
The Land of the Undying Lord had been like that. Storm clouds had never broken there. The Garden of Clarity had been unrelenting in its cheerful sunshine. Curled up on a broad branch, with his back pressed against the trunk and his knees drawn up to his chest, it was easy to forget the outside world. Holding his breath and forgetting the cold that crept into his bones, Trent could imagine a second turning into a year.
He never held his breath for long when this urge came over him. Stealth warned him. Holding your breath or tensing your muscles would cause your body to shake. Trent’s Stealth and Camouflage Skills had both risen a level, but subtle things, like blinking too often, were enough to break their effect, if he was unlucky enough to do so while a Werewolf’s gaze was focused in his direction. Trent was careful to keep his movements to a minimum, except when he was certain he was alone.
Trent held a six-inch tooth and a belt knife in his hands. He decided it was time to rearm himself. He stared at the tooth until an image of a spear tip overlaid itself on the weapon’s crafting material. Trent wasn’t entirely sure how to make this image a reality, but he had four tries.
He slowly brought his belt knife in contact with the tooth and began to apply pressure. The blade slipped, skidded along the length of the Beast part, and never made a mark. Trent bit his lip, adjusted the angle at which he was trying to carve, and tried again.
Snap! The blade of his knife surrendered to the tooth and bounced off his mask before falling to the forest floor. Trent stared at another bladeless hilt and almost threw the offending item down to join its other half. Sentiment caused him to restrain himself. The belt knife and pouch were some of the first things he had received that truly belonged to him. Both were worthless now, but…
The hilt dropped from his fingers instead of going into Storage. It wasn’t sentiment that caused his hand to catch the hilt before it fell more than an inch. Littering the ground with foreign items might draw attention. Trent retrieved the fallen blade and put both halves of the tool into Storage before wondering where the loss of his knife left him.
He rolled the six-inch tooth between his palms. He could try grinding the bone with his sharpening stone. That might work, or he could end up destroying a second tool in the attempt. Maybe if he braced the short sword, the one he couldn’t hold, somehow… thoughts of pulling the tooth along an inch of exposed blade were set aside. Any use of a weapon he did not have the Attributes to wield wouldn’t be allowed.
Knowing what he would find, Trent opened Storage. Useless sword and bow, broken knives, dried food, and a sewing kit, none of which would help him fashion a tooth into a weapon. His eyes lingered on the remains of Sorrow and Strife. There was half an inch of steel extending from the hilts. They could not serve in a fight, but could they be used to carve with?
The heavy bone hilt and sturdy guard of Sorrow filled his right hand. Trent pursed his lips as he brought the edge of the broken blade to the bone and applied pressure. The broken knife seemed to cut into the tooth, but no material dropped away as Trent carved. After the first pass, Trent could see a flattened area on the tooth and was puzzled by the lack of shavings.
He drew Sorrow over the tooth again and again. The tooth was whittled into a sharper point. Trent forgot that he was trying to make a spear tip. He rotated the tooth and continued cutting until all that was left was a sliver of white. He looked around. No bone dust or chips of Dire Wolf teeth could be seen. However, was Sorrow's blade a little longer? Trent Appraised the knife.
Heavy Blade: Sorrow
Paired Rare Item
Soul-bound/will grow with user
Second form broken (restoration 1% complete)
The descri
ption of the knife’s Damage Rating and Abilities had been replaced with a note that made Trent’s eyes widen. Restoration, the blades could be fixed! If Trent was right, then the soul-bound knives could absorb weapon-crafting material to repair themselves! That wasn’t all that made Trent excited.
The description said, ‘second form broken’. Sorrow and Strife had been hand axes when Trent first earned them. They changed as he leveled up. The message should say that the knife was broken, but if it specified that the second form was ruined, what about the first?
Trent pushed Mana into the hilt like he would when binding a magic tool. Nothing happened. No, that was not quite right. The Mana gathered in the hilt and stayed there. Trent inserted more and held his breath.
There was a twisting, folding sensation, and the bone hilt became a solid wood haft wrapped in leather. Attached to that haft, heavy axe blades gleamed at Trent. Trent smiled like he was welcoming an old friend. His hand tightened around Sorrow’s handle as he Appraised the weapon.
Hand Axe: Sorrow
Paired Rare Item/Good Quality
Soul-bound/will grow with user
Damage rating +10
The fact that the axe was weaker than its knife form, weaker than when he had first found it, didn’t bother Trent in the slightest. He had a weapon again! Sorrow and Strife could be repaired, and the means to accomplish their restoration could be found in the Moonlit Forest. All he had to do was hunt for it.
**********
Wererat - Level 13 Trial Beast
Trent lay flat against the earth, concealed beneath a leafy bush as he examined the creature. It was the lowest-leveled Wererat he had been able to find, and the only solitary one. Wererats traveled in groups of three or four, normally, though Trent had seen as many as eight together.
The Beast was only 4 levels higher than him, 3 if he invested his saved XP in Swordsman. Trent had fought stronger opponents before. However, the pit in his stomach said that the Wererat was more than it seemed. Trent suspected it was an Advanced Beast, a creature Sergeant Cullen would tell him to avoid.
But Trent was determined not to shy away from this scrawny Rat creature. It had detected his use of Identify and searched its surroundings with beady white eyes. The Wererat’s nose filtered the air and it squeaked a challenge, pawing at the ground with thin claws.
Trent had gained another level in both Stealth and Camouflage as well as a point to Agility. As long as he remained calm and still, his location would be secure. He hoped. The Wererat was still forty feet away. If it drifted in his direction, his fledgling Skills might not be enough.
Trent clutched a vial of Liquid Silver in his palm. This was where his confidence lay. It was the bane of Were-Beast, just as fire and light had been to the Undead. With the right preparation, the proper terrain, and a trap or two, he could beat the Advanced Beasts one Wererat at a time until he could face two. Once he could fight two, then three or four…
…might be pushing it. He would take it one step at a time, patiently testing himself, slowly growing in strength. The Moonlit Forest had no time constraints. If he were careful, Trent could eventually gain all the materials necessary to restore Sorrow and Strife. Then he could see where he was.
The Wererat leaped towards a bush and shredded it with its claws. Its narrow muzzle pushed into the plant’s depths, snapping at something within. A small black and white shape broke free from concealment and rushed between the Beast’s legs with a yelp.
Trent did not move. Whatever the Wererat was hunting was tiny, not reaching the Beast’s ankles, and Trent was sure the small creature was done for. Nothing he could do would change that. It was a disgusting thought, but maybe if Trent observed how the Wererat killed this animal, he would be able to find a weakness to exploit.
The Truce Amongst Hunters called on him to act. It was not demanded. A Hunter had to depend on himself first. Trent regretted the black animal’s predicament, but he was in no position to aid it. Reckless action could only result in his own death.
The crying, scurrying animal dodged another swipe from the Wererat's claws and tried to duck beneath the shelter of nearby tree roots. The Trial Beast cut it off, kicking up fallen leaves as it pounced. Trent silently cheered and then groaned as the animal slipped and stumbled. The Wererat lunged again, and razor-sharp teeth clamped down, scoring the animal’s hind end but not managing to engulf it.
With a piercing whine, the black and white streak found its feet again and rocketed away as fast as tiny legs could carry it. The animal was strangely clumsy as if it had only learned to walk recently, and running was entirely new. It found the trick quickly, inspired by fear. Its legs churned the dirt as it sought to escape.
Trent caught sight of brown markings on its legs and at the tip of the animal’s floppy black ears. Its eyes were brown as well. That was easily seen, as the animal’s eyes were wide in panic, and it was steadily getting closer as it fled in Trent’s direction. Passing directly next to Trent, it threw itself behind him with a whimper. Trent was tempted to grab it by the scruff of the neck and hurl it away, but it was too late for that. The Wererat had already arrived.
Trent’s arms pushed him upright and his legs bunched to drive him forward. His shield formed on his arm, and he slammed it into the Wererat’s muzzle. Boy and Beast tumbled to the ground. An ear-piercing shriek stunned Trent as he fumbled the cork from the vial in his hand and attempted to pour it into the Trial Beast’s face. His body locked up, and he found himself being hurled aside by the short limbs of the Wererat, even as the Liquid Silver dribbled out of its container.
Rolling through the underbrush, Trent came to a sudden stop beneath a tree, having made contact with its trunk. The physical shock robbed him of breath, but it also shook loose the Wererat’s paralyzing Skill. Trent pulled himself to his feet and snatched Strife from his belt.
He was not ready for a face to face confrontation with a Wererat. Like so many things in his life, the decision had been taken out of his hands. He drew in a deep breath and braced himself; the Wererat was coming for him. It slammed into his shield, and only a last-second activation of Steady Footing kept him from crumpling beneath its weight.
One of the Rat's eyes bubbled, and half of the fur on its face had been burned away by Liquid Silver. Clever hands pulled at the rim of Trent’s shield as the Beast snapped at his face. Trent lashed out with Strife and scored a deep hit in the Beast’s shoulder. He kicked at its stubby legs and managed to force it back.
Trent activated Dodge and Dash as he followed the retreating Rat. Strife slashed at its head; his shield bashed at its torso; he had to finish it quickly. Blind in one eye, the Wererat was helpless to resist at first, and Trent continually drove it back. Then its mouth opened, and the chattering screech was unleashed once more. Trent’s body froze.
A clawed hand lashed at his shield, and Trent saw the flicker of light that announced a Skill being used. Fortunately, his own Skill, Block, only needed a thought to be employed, and Trent’s mind was still clear. Unfortunately, Trent’s Skill was a Basic one, and the Rat’s was not.
For the first time, Trent experienced the gut-wrenching sensation of having a Skill broken. His body spun from the impact and his thoughts clouded as both Steady Footing and Block yielded to the Wererat’s superior Skill. He fell to the ground hard and gasped; his arm and brain numb.
But then, the black form of the animal responsible for Trent’s situation rushed out of the brush to clamp on to the Wererat’s leg. Its teeth did not penetrate the Beast’s skin, but it bought Trent a moment to recover. As the Wererat kicked the animal aside, Trent rolled to his feet, and dropping Strife, grabbing a second vial from his belt. Thumbing it open, he tossed it into the Trial Beast’s face.
The Wererat screamed and clawed at its own face, as its good eye bubbled and boiled away. Trent retrieved Strife and hacked at the Rat’s limbs, circling to avoid the creature’s flailing blows. He spent another five minutes toying with the Beast before he could deliver a s
ound blow to its compromised skull, ending its struggles.
The Wererat crumpled, dead, and Trent hurriedly plunged Strife’s blade into the soil, hoping the brief contact with Liquid Silver had not corroded it. He scrubbed at Strife with leaves and rinsed it with his waterskin to be sure. It had cost him two of his eight vials to survive this fight. If his weapon were damaged, he wouldn’t even count it as a win.
Hacking the Wererat’s chest open with an axe could not be called Harvesting, but Trent secured the Beast Core and three Shadow Rat's teeth before the body disappeared. He left the tainted meat, and he was anxious to be gone from this place, worried that the sounds he and the Rat had generated might draw others.
The limping form of the animal crawling out of the brush stopped him. It was the first clear look he had gotten of the creature that had brought the Wererat toward him, and he was stumped by what he saw. The animal was favoring its right rear leg as it came forward, its long tail fanning the air happily. It sniffed at the meat dropped by the Trial Beast until Trent growled at it to leave it be. Doing so, the animal hopped toward him and sat, looking up at Trent, clearly delighted.
It was smaller than he had thought, at first. It wasn’t distance that had made the creature look tiny. Trent could pick this animal up and hold it with one hand. Most of its body was covered in black fur, but its legs and chest were white, and brown markings dotted it here and there. Red stained its rear leg where the Wererat had scratched it, and the wound would still be bleeding if not for the dirt that sealed it.
Dog - Level 1, common animal
“What are you doing here?” Trent asked, after Identifying the creature. “And how are you alive? A scratch should be more than enough to finish you off.”
The Dog tilted its head as if seriously considering his question, which was ridiculous. A Level 1 animal, this Dog was not even a Beast, wouldn’t be intelligent. It couldn’t speak or understand. The yips and high-pitched growls it made weren’t an answer, just noise. Trent squatted down in front of the Dog and put his hand over its muzzle.