by J. T. Wright
“What just happened?” Trent asked, not expecting an answer. When one came, his hand shot towards Sorrow’s hilt.
“The canine earned a name,” a silky voice came from above Trent’s head. “Lucky, that. We all come seeking names and titles, but most of us die before we earn one.”
A six-legged Beast dropped out of a nearby tree. Five feet long from blunt, square muzzle to tailless rear, the creature looked to weigh about three hundred pounds, and every ounce of that was muscle. With dark green feathers rather than fur and no sign of ears showing, Trent was reminded of a bird. The creature had vertical yellow eyes, which slowly narrowed as they studied Trent.
“What does a name have to do with…” Trent gestured at the peacefully sleeping puppy who had been so close to death. He used Identify to learn that the creature was a Level 23 Reme, which told him nothing.
“Everything,” the Reme replied, stretching out all of its legs to lay flat. “It’s why we come here. Names mean rebirth. I think I heard some of your kind refer to it as Awakening. I missed the details of that conversation. They were too near my den at the time.”
“You hid from them?”
“No, I ate them. There is no Truce outside of the Hunter's Trials.” Blinking, the Reme rolled onto its back. “Can you give names to any you meet, Hunter?”
“No,” Trent murmured, looking down at Dreq. “I shouldn’t have named him. But I still don’t understand. Why is he healed?”
“Rebirth, a new life. The animal is changed by your words,” The Reme flipped to its feet, its foremost set of paws patted its chest, “or reminded of itself by your words. This canine is strange.” The Beast crept closer to sniff at Dreq. Trent almost broke the Truce then, the muscles in his arm tensed as he tried to keep Sorrow in its sheath.
“When he wakes, he will have access to his Status.” The Reme's nose pressed against Trent’s chest as it snuffled at him. “Are you sure you have no name rattling around in there for me?”
“I'm sure,” Trent said through gritted teeth.
“Pity.” The Reme hopped back. “Then we are done here.”
The Beast began to leave, and Trent surprised himself by speaking up to stop it. “I can’t give you a name, but maybe I can help you earn one.”
The Reme spun around. “Explain!”
“The Quest to kill Martin Vane, to hunt the Truce Breaker, if we complete it together…” Trent offered. He had had no luck finding the Ratkin himself. Joining forces with this odd Beast could only help.
The Reme's eyes blazed as it hissed, “Quest? I am aware of the Truce Breaker; his stink fills the Forest. Are you saying you’ve been tasked with the Hunt to bring him down?”
Trent’s shoulders sank. He had been under the impression that all challengers in the Trial had received the Quest. He cleared his throat. “I have, but I guess you haven’t. Does that mean you can’t earn a name that way?”
“No, the Forest has given me no task. All Beasts avoid the Truce Breaker. His presence is more offensive than that of the Moon Cursed. They at least follow the dictates of their nature. We leave him to starve or become cursed himself. However, we can help one another.” The Reme grew sly and it slunk closer. “If you help me with my hunt, I will assist you with yours.”
“I don’t require a name,” the Beast added hurriedly. “I entered the Forest to complete my growth. Wings! Wings are all you must help me with. I've already killed the Rats, but the Wolves are trickier. The blacks appear without warning, and the greys can summon help. Working together…”
Trent did not reply at first. He thought over the Reme’s offer carefully, looking for the catch. The Truce made betrayal unlikely, but the Beast was too eager. The Reme hadn’t helped Trent against the three Wolves, though Trent couldn’t hold that against it… against her? The Reme batted its lashless lids in a distinctively feminine way as she waited for his answer.
“I'll help you,” Trent said at last, “once Dreq is awake."
‘We mustn’t wait!” The Reme stomped two sets of paws against the ground. “The Dog might sleep for days while undergoing the change! Carry it while we hunt!”
“I only have two hands.” Trent held his arms up in demonstration. “Both of which I need to fight with. I can’t just toss Dreq aside every time we run into an enemy.” Trent conveniently forgot the many times he had done just that.
“And you won’t abandon him, I suppose,” the Reme trilled impatiently. “Your kind uses bags, yes? Put the Dog in a bag and carry him on your back!”
“Of course! Why didn’t I think of that!” Trent slapped his forehead with a palm and then felt around with exaggerated motions. “Only I seem to have misplaced my pack! How could that have happened?”
The Reme reared up and spun on her back legs, disappearing into the brush. When she returned, she was dragging three Winter Wolves, two with her middle set of limbs and one with her teeth. “Make what you need, Hunter! Quickly! My wings await!”
Trent stared at the three corpses deposited before him. They had been killed by claws, a weapon the Reme lacked, so he was certain she hadn’t broken the Truce, only… “They are Hunters. Are we allowed to?”
“You mustn’t eat them!” the Reme warned. “But the rest, nothing says we can’t make use of their bodies. It will go to waste otherwise. Now, hurry!”
The Reme plucked Dreq from Trent’s lap and started to set him aside until a growl from Trent stopped her. Her feathers ruffled as she cradled the pup in a mothering fashion while giving Trent a look that said she had never intended to drop the Dog in the first place. Her eyes blinked rapidly, demanding Trent set to work.
Which he did. Drawing Sorrow, Trent began to Harvest the Wolves, muttering apologies as he cut. It felt disrespectful to make use of a fellow challenger this way. His Skill whispered to him, telling him to take the claws and teeth as well as the hide, but those, along with the Core, he left. He used Earth Manipulation to dig a grave for the three fallen hunters after he finished.
The Reme scoffed at this and hissed under her breath about wasted time, but when Trent’s glare found her, she was staring skywards, rocking Dreq as if she hadn’t said a word. Trent cast Prepare Hides instead of arguing with the creature, then sat back on his heels and looked at the results, stumped.
He was new to crafting, and his Sewing Skill suggested a solution to his dilemma, only it wasn’t very practical. Without a better idea, Trent cut thin strips out of one hide and a large square out of another. He slit four holes at the sides of the square and folded it, then used the strips to bind the hide into a makeshift pouch. He cut a series of holes along the top of the pouch and wove a longer strip through them.
Wrapping the rough belt around his waist, Trent tied it securely in front. The pouch hung at his back, and Trent had the Reme place Dreq in it. He was not happy with the results. Dreq would bounce when Trent ran and be exposed to any strikes that came from behind. It was the best he could come up with. He allowed the Reme’s approving trills to convince him that this would work, and the two set off.
Trent had notifications begging for his attention, but the Reme would suffer no delays. The creature’s heightened senses found grey Werewolves quickly and, just as quickly, Trent realized he had been set up. The Reme looked intimidating with her bulk, but her paws, while heavy, had no claws, and the teeth in her muzzle were flat. She could crush the smaller Wererats with her weight, however, she needed to borrow Trent’s blades to kill the Wolves.
Annoyed as he was at the discovery that the Reme was mostly incapable of harming their foes, Trent had to admit she had her uses, and the two found a pattern. While the Reme drew the Beasts’ attention, Trent struck from the sides. The Reme wasn’t able to damage the Wolves. Neither could their howls penetrate her feathers. She swatted at the Beasts and then bore the brunt of their assault as Trent stabbed and sliced.
The Reme was reluctant to accept Trent’s leadership, so they were forced to split their kills rather than share them. When it was Trent
’s turn, his sword cut to kill, but for the Reme he disabled limbs and bled the Beasts until they fell, at which point the Reme used her blunt paws to cave in skulls.
Dreq slept peacefully unaware in his pouch as the two slaughtered their way through the Moonlit Forest. They killed greys until the blacks appeared. The first black Werewolf called for a change in their tactics. Smarter and faster than its grey relatives, the Beast ignored the stationary Reme and went for Trent.
Trent almost lost his head to a swipe before they worked out an answer. With the black Werewolves, Trent stood his ground and traded blows while the Reme crept up from behind. Once she was in place the feathered creature would leap and wrap her six legs around the Trial Beast, dragging it to the ground with her greater weight. Unyielding limbs held the Wolf while Trent stabbed relentlessly, whittling away its HP.
The Reme pushed Trent on frantically. She hardly allowed him to catch his breath before urging him to the next target. She was delighted and possessed as she tromped through the forest whispering of wings and demanding Trent move faster. He lost count of the number of Beasts they slew, and it wasn’t until a black Wolf died under the Reme’s stomping that he realized just how far they had come.
The Reme’s excited yowling as the Beast’s head gave way told Trent that this kill brought something new. His arms hung limp at his sides and the tip of his sword dug into the dirt. He was exhausted. The Reme hadn’t allowed him to rest, and he felt like he hadn’t slept in days. The creature’s leaping, spinning dance was bizarre, but if she allowed him to stand still for a few moments, Trent was happy to watch her display.
“That’s the last!” she shrieked, her voice distorted. “You clever cub! You've done it! Wings! I will finally have wings!”
The Reme’s flat muzzle lengthened and hardened. A wickedly sharp beak appeared on her face, perfectly complimenting the black talons that grew from her toes. Green and white tail feathers spread out from her rear and fanned at the air. However, it was the lumps on her back that held Trent fixated, and he took a nervous step back as two sets of wings erupted. The Reme screamed as the eight-foot appendages burst forth in an eruption of blood and feathers, but there was no sign of pain on her avian face. It was ecstasy that shone in her yellow eyes.
Bunching her legs beneath her, the Reme shot into the sky, becoming a shrieking green streak. She soared upwards and turned loops, swatting at treetops as she swooped. When she landed again, the ground trembled under the force of her impact, and Trent could imagine the bones of Were-Beasts she hadn’t been able to harm before breaking from her drop.
Trent rolled his shoulders uncomfortably as the Reme preened her feathers with her new beak. Clearing his throat, he broke her from her reverie, “Congratulations! Now, about my Quest…”
“Yes, I haven’t forgotten.” The Reme butted against his chest with the top of her head. “You must kill the Truce Breaker. He is near. His stink lingers outside the stone circle. Go there, and you will find your prey.”
The Reme pointed further down the trail, and Trent turned to look. There was no sign of a circle, stone or otherwise. When he turned back, a shimmering portal had appeared behind the Reme. When she stepped towards it, Trent reached out a hand to stop her and was ignored.
“Good hunting, man-chick! Do not enter the circle itself!” With this, the Reme stepped through the portal and was gone. Trent’s grasping fingers held nothing but air, and he let his arm fall back to his side.
Man-chick? Clever cub? Trent didn’t know when he had stopped being a Hunter in the Reme’s eyes, but a part of him was glad she had left before heaping any other new titles on him. His boots scuffed at the dirt as he tried to remember the exact terms of their agreement. The Reme had said she would assist him, and in a way, if her mention of a stone circle turned out to be true, she had.
“There is no Truce outside the Hunter’s Trial,” Trent repeated out loud the words the feathered Beast had uttered. He had come to doubt the Reme’s story about eating the Awakened she had conversed with outside her den. He glanced at the crater created by her landing, and picturing the Reme’s razor-sharp beak and talons, he knew that the next group who approached her home might not escape. She was a Beast, after all. A Beast that Trent had helped grow stronger.
Then again, she had helped him develop as well. He had had notifications before their meeting, and he sensed more awaiting his reading after her departure. Martin could wait a few minutes longer. He undid the sash that held Dreq’s pouch and cradled the sleeping pup in the crook of his arm as he looked for a place to rest.
The tree he found was not ideal. Only the timber with the silver bark and Wolf Vine had proven to be secure. Any concealment would have do for now. Holding Dreq carefully, Trent made his assent and, settling into the V of a high branch, opened his Status.
The results left him breathless. He had enough XP to level Swordsman multiple times, and every one of his attack Skills had grown, providing several Attribute Points to Strength, Agility, and Dexterity. The fact that he had completed almost all the terms of the Trial was stunning. All he needed for a Perfect Clear was to defeat the final Guardian.
If not for one last notification, this might have been the most important detail in Trent’s Status. But there was one message that captured his attention and confused him.
You have created
Staring at his Status, Trent could see connections leading from all his attack Skills, including Ocean Meets the Shore and Acrobatics, leading to the unnamed technique. In his mind, he could feel the familiarity he had acquired with this new Skill. It was rough, and time would tell if it remained effective, but for this Trial it had met his needs.
He did not name the Skill. After leveling Swordsman three times and assigning 4 Attribute Points to Strength, 4 to Agility, 2 to Dexterity, and 2 to Constitution, he closed his Status. There was too much to consider, and he had things to do. Tying Dreq’s satchel to a nearby branch, Trent took out pieces of Elwire wood and Beast teeth. He whittled at them as he thought of what came next.
Martin Vane. Trent knew next to nothing about the Ratkin. Not his Level, how he fought, or what Skills and Abilities he might have. Trent was completely in the dark about the man he once thought might become a friend. A man whom the Trial demanded that he kill. All Trent could say for certain was that Martin’s Level was higher than his own.
That wasn’t a frightening thought. Trent could not recall a time when he faced an enemy that was his Level or less. Maybe the Skeletons he and Tersa had dealt with in the prison? Trent knew his wide range of Skills allowed him to compete with Beasts that should be stronger than he was.
But Martin was a Thief, and, outside of sparring, Trent had never tested himself against another Awakened in a life or death struggle. He would need everything at his disposal. He hefted the Elwire stick he had carved into a long-pointed dart. A flick of his wrist sent the projectile downwards, where it stuck into a lower branch. Barely.
Retrieving the dart, Trent noted that the tip was already blunt. Not good. Martin wasn’t Moon Cursed, so Trent would not waste a vial of Liquid Silver. So, after sharpening the tip, he used Spiritual Flame and Fire Manipulation, not to imbue the dart, but to harden it. The thick, sweet smell of the wood spread out through the forest, causing Trent to curse at himself.
Stupid! He might as well set the tree on fire! At least then he could be warm when every Beast in the Forest lay siege to his perch! He held perfectly still and waited to see what his ineptitude would bring. When the scent dispersed and no howling hordes of enraged Were-Beasts came for him, Trent allowed himself to relax.
The process had worked. The wooden shard had lost its yellow sheen and was as hard as black iron. A second test stuck
the dart an inch into Trent’s target, a good foot away from where he had meant to hit. The dart was thinner and too light after the excess was burned away. He would need to practice. Later. First, there were plenty of branches and teeth left to be carved.
Chapter Sixteen
Master Taylor probably would not be impressed by the mess Trent had made of his creations. Trent could picture the Craftsman’s face twisting with displeasure at the sight of the pockets Trent had added to his shirt. He would most likely forgive the boy after learning that Trent’s Sewing Skill had risen to Level 3, but no perfectionist would appreciate their work being sullied by amateur hands.
Trent, on the other hand, was happy with the results of his crafting. Two new belt pouches hung from his waist. He had sewn the hide with the fur on the inside as lining. He added extra padding to cradle the vials of poison and the greater Healing potion they carried. The pockets that he had positioned low on his side held the best examples of his carving and weapons craft. He did not coat or imbue the darts with Liquid Silver. If all went as planned, Trent would be selling the last of the vials, not using them.
The pup, Dreq, still slept, blissfully unaware in his satchel. He snorted and stirred as Trent lifted the bag from its hanging spot, but the Dog’s eyes remained clamped shut. Trent tied the bundle around his waist with a sigh. He had gotten a little shuteye himself, just not enough, and he couldn’t help but wish someone would carry him around for a day or two while he rested.
Trent scanned the area before dropping from the tree. His sword was in his hand, not pushed through his belt. As his boots touched the ground, he crouched for a moment, in case a black Werewolf made an appearance. When one didn’t, he straightened and started in the direction the Reme had told him to go.