by J. T. Wright
Trent spent a minute in thought, then shrugged, and his knife flashed as it separated the wing he held. After all, Kerry wasn’t a Guard Recruit. Adventurers probably had different types of danger they had to look out for.
Felicia dropped the loot-gathering sack in front of Kerry as she and Dreq moved to help Trent. The Dog and Mage, with their supporting Skills, had been left out of the fighting since Trent started concentrating on Kerry. The job left to them was to pick up after Trent. Dreq had gotten adept at spitting coins into an open sack, but his tendency to chew on other drops relegated Felicia to handling the nonmetal bits.
“You two probably missed it from way in the back,” Kerry said proudly, buffing his fingernails against his breastplate, “but I was glorious!"
“Bravo, hero,” Felicia said, giving Kerry three soft claps.
“I am a hero! Tell them, Trent. Tell them about the one-hit kill. Tell them how good I looked!” Kerry pleaded, holding open the sack so Dreq could deposit coins into it.
“You looked strong enough to kill chickens, and ugly enough to scare children,” Trent said, not looking up from his work.
“Really? That’s it? Not one nice thing to say.” Kerry rolled his eyes. “It wouldn’t kill you, you know.”
That got Trent to stop what he was doing. He had thought that phrase was nice. He remembered the day Cullen had said it to him. It had been on the way to the Burning Lake. He had managed to get a single hit on Tersa during the morning’s sparring. The look on her face had been priceless.
True, it was just one hit, and Tersa had pummeled him for it, but that was the day Cullen had promoted Trent from being too weak to kill chickens and too ugly to be let out in public. In Trent’s book, he had given Kerry high praise.
“There were twenty-five Beetles, and—" Felicia started primly.
“Wow! That many. I must have lost count.” Kerry’s chest swelled. “Didn’t think I had it in me!”
“You don’t!” Felicia jabbed a finger in Trent’s direction. “He took care of fifteen while you were occupied with the first two.”
“Oh.” Kerry deflated and cleared his throat. “That’s still pretty good. Can you name another first-year student who can claim they’ve bagged ten Beetles in one fight?”
Felicia sniffed and knelt to pick up a handful of glass vials. Kerry’s words hit her hard because they were true, and that scared her. Under Trent’s tutelage, Kerry had blossomed, and that was frightening. It forced her to consider that all she had heard of the violet-eyed might not be true.
Kerry called Trent’s instruction harsh, but Felicia saw it from an outsider’s perspective. The students and instructors could have helped Kerry buy out of his charter. They all liked him, and knew he was worth helping. Yet, they hadn’t.
She had chased after them from the market, thinking to profit from Trent. She had expected to see brutality and bloodlust. Instead, time and again, Trent was generous and, in his own way, kind. Those that called themselves Kerry’s friends hadn’t stepped forward to help the Warrior, but Trent had, at considerable cost.
He gave freely of his time. Felicia suspected that, on his own, Trent could have cleared the first floor of the Dungeon thrice in the time he had spent ushering the group along. She could have explained that away as a desire for company, or the security offered by an extra set of eyes, but there were other instances of generosity that couldn’t be dismissed.
The incident with the potion, for example. Trent had not only given it to Kerry, he had forced him to drink it. There were cautionary tales told about Adventuring Parties that had fallen apart over less impressive loot than an Attribute-increasing potion. Trent gave it away without a thought, then afterward crafted an invaluable weapon, from a material standpoint, and gave it away as well.
Felicia saw it, and once he was done pouting, Kerry probably would, too. Trent had an odd way of putting things, but it was a fact, no one else had invested as much effort into Kerry. Not his supposed friends, not the instructors who were paid to look out for the students, and certainly not the members of his chartered party.
Felicia had been raised to fear the violet-eyed. All elves and half-elves did. The Elven half of her family hadn’t lived in Elven controlled territories for centuries, but they still told stories of the slaughter during the long retreat. They sang songs describing the bloodlust that resulted in the burning of Tinredi Grove, and the laughter of the Al’rashians as ash floated into the air.
Felicia had more reason to hate Al’rashians than most modern elves. The ancestor who had started their line had been crippled by Warriors of the Verren Clan and brought to what had been a secret merchant outpost long before it was a kingdom as a slave. She had every reason to despise Trent.
So she thought. Stretching her back after dropping the last vial into the sack, Felicia watched Trent breathlessly peering at a wooden spoon. Miscellaneous goods like that showed up in drops all the time. Socks, needles, cups, they could be seen cluttering the ground when the Dungeon was filled with Adventurers too lazy to pick up the junk.
However, Trent insisted on collecting all of it. It might have a use, he insisted. The Trial provided it for a reason. It sounded acceptable when he said it, but she had seen the innocent light in his eye when he pushed back his mask to more closely inspect a carving of a duck.
She could not bring herself to hate someone who chuckled when he found a rose made from paper. She could admire a man who stepped between his companions and harm, and she couldn’t fear a Swordsman who tucked shiny pebbles into a belt pouch when he thought no one was looking.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“There shouldn’t be any Beetles between here and the entrance.” They had reached the first split in the tunnels after hours of backtracking, and Trent pointed towards the exit while addressing Felicia. “If you think you can’t make it by yourself, we can walk you out.”
“What are you talking about?” Felicia had been ready to follow Trent down the middle path, the last route that they needed to explore. When he had turned and started speaking, it had taken her by surprise.
“You have what you came for. There’s no need for you to go on.” Trent said, “Don’t sit down, Kerry, we aren’t stopping long.”
Kerry paused in the act of sliding down the wall and tried to pretend he was flexing his legs, “No, of course not. We've been at it for days. Why would we rest?”
“It hasn’t been a full day yet,” Trent disagreed. “We can rest after the Guardian. Didn’t you say each floor starts with a Safe Zone?”
“It’s been twenty-six hours, actually,” Felicia interjected. “We’ll need to pick things up if we want to explore all five floors before the next term starts.”
Kerry’s ears perked up at that. Not only did Felicia sound like she wasn’t going back, but there was also a tone in her voice when she spoke of the coming start to Academy classes. A tone that suggested she didn’t care if they made it back on time.
Trent was taken off guard by Felicia’s comment. He had already dismissed her from his considerations. It was also annoying to learn he had lost track of time again. There had to be a way, a Spell or device, to monitor the passing of hours. It was something to investigate later.
For now, “You aren’t coming with us,” Trent said flatly. Felicia had offered to help complete the first floor with them. It was then that Trent stopped thinking of her as a member of the team. He saw no need to invest in a person that wasn’t committed to the group. Especially one who so far had contributed little.
“You have what you need. It’s best to part ways here.” Trent started to turn away, confident the conversation was over.
“You need me!” Felicia grabbed his arm to hold him in place. “Unless you like walking in the dark.”
“Point to her, Trent.” Kerry coughed into a fist, uncomfortably. “I don’t have a torch, and unless you know a Spell to light the way—”
“I do.” Trent cast Spark. It was second nature for him to brighten t
he flame and bind it in place. He chose to bind it to Dreq’s tail, and for good measure, he set another two flames on the Dog’s ears, before sending Dreq down the tunnel where Felicia’s Spell was unable to reach.
“Huh!” Kerry pushed up his visor and squinted after Dreq. “Works well enough. Looks like you can take it in after all, Felicia.”
“I'm the group’s Healer!” Felicia countered, adamantly. “Potions can’t replace a Healer.”
“No, but they can replace a Mage who knows Minor Healing.” Trent’s foot tapped an impatient beat. “You have what you need. There’s no reason—"
“What I need has changed.” Felicia reached up and unfastened her veil, pulling the thin cloth away. She tucked it into her pouch and started to remove her hat. “And there is one more thing you should know.”
“Careful, Trent,” Kerry said uneasily. He took off his helm with a sigh. “When women start talking about their needs, it’s a good time for smart men to make themselves scarce.”
Felicia’s hands crumpled the brim of her hat as she counted slowly to three. “A smart man would never have said that out loud. Ignore him, Trent. Kerry knows less about women than you do about the value of rare goods and materials.”
“Hey! Instructor Bragee says—" Kerry opened his mouth to defend himself, proving that he indeed was not a smart man.
“Instructor Bragee,” Felicia said, in a dangerously calm voice, as she tugged her hat deeper around her ears, “is a foul old man, who would have been murdered a dozen times if he wasn’t so good at hiding. A wise person disregards any comment which comes out of his mouth that isn’t directly related to scouting or field craft.”
“I think he makes a lot of sense.” The flickering light of a returning Dreq drew Kerry’s eyes away from Felicia. “His stories are funny, too, and... Ow! Stop that!”
Felicia’s hat made the point that Trent had been trying to convey to Kerry for several hours. Putting down your shield or taking off your helm when you could be attacked at any time was a bad idea.
“Would you shut up, you oafish bastard!” Felicia struck again and again with her hat, shouting at Kerry, “This is serious!”
Trent exchanged glances with Dreq as Felicia wailed and Kerry cowered before her. The flames on the tips of the Dog’s ears bobbed and swayed as Dreq turned them to catch every word of the Mage’s tirade.
Dreq was curious about words he had never heard before, but Trent was anxious to be off. He waited until he thought Kerry had learned whatever lesson Felicia was trying to impart and then came to the Warriors aid by clearing his throat.
“Your hair is green,” he said. He wisely avoided pointing out how red Felicia’s face was. It was his first time seeing it, but he was nearly certain that red wasn’t its normal shade.
“Yes!” Felicia shot another glare at Kerry, before composing herself to address Trent. Her hand touched the green locks of hair that fell to her jawline. After making sure it wasn’t sticking up in all directions, her hand drifted to her ear, specifically, to the sharp point that became visible when her unruly hair was tamed.
“My hair is green and my ears are pointed because I'm an elf, a half elf.” Felicia paused, her body language defiant despite the way her hand trembled. “Is that a problem?”
Trent took the question seriously. Felicia’s features were more guarded than Kerry’s, but her distress was easily seen. Thin eyebrows twitched minutely over almond-shaped eyes the color of honey. The nostrils of her thin, straight nose flared, full lips were pressed tightly, and there was a tremble in her chin that would be missed if you weren’t looking closely.
Trent stepped closer, trying to find the problem that Felicia thought might be hidden in her exposed face, and was stumped. She was a little shorter than he had thought, the top of her head hardly reaching his nose. Her hat had made her look taller. That probably wasn’t what she was talking about.
“I don’t see anything wrong with how you look,” Trent said, stepping back.
“Good,” Felicia sighed, relieved. “I don’t have a problem with you being Al’rashian either. So I'm staying with the party.”
“In that case,” Trent took a damaged book from his Storage and handed it to her, “can you learn these?”
“Is this a Spell tomb?” Felicia flipped through the pages. She murmured angrily at the sight of the scorch marks and tears that marred the book and then became even more irate when she identified what Spells the tomb contained.
She closed the book with a snap and pushed it back towards Trent. “These are Fire Spells. I won’t learn them! I'm a support Mage only!”
“Then you can’t come with us,” Trent said, not taking the book back. “Not without some way of protecting yourself. A potion can replace the Healing you provide, but Kerry and I can’t be a sword and shield for you. It’s too dangerous.”
“Do you know what these Spells do? Do you?” Felicia’s voice became ragged and she waggled the book in Trent’s face. “They set people on fire! They burn people alive! Does that sound like fun to you? Does it sound like a good time! I don’t need them! I have defensive Spells and can take care of myself, and… what are you doing?”
Trent had tried to interrupt Felicia several times. When an upraised hand and soft word failed, he made his argument by removing his upper armor and shirt. He pointed out the scars on his ribs and shoulders silently. He turned to show Felicia the marks on his back, and when he was sure she had seen them all, he pulled his shirt back on.
“Half of those wounds were unnecessary.” He didn’t look at her as he fastened the buckles of his armor. “I took them for a friend who… she was too scared, I think. Scared and angry and half-mad. She thought she was fighting but… I took blows meant for her because I couldn’t do anything else to help her.”
He still avoided looking at Felicia as he adjusted his cowl around his shoulders. “I might be injured again in this Trial. Kerry is trying, but he has a long way to go. I can accept that because he is… a friend who is doing his best.”
“But you? All I know about you is that you are a Mage with no weapon or means to attack and only one defensive Spell.” His violet eyes pierced Felicia to her heart, robbing her of the arguments she tried to summon.
“If you can’t learn the Spells, that’s alright. If you won’t even try?” His mask snapped into place, and Felicia jumped at the sudden sight of her own blurry wide-eyed reflection peering back at her. “Then it’s better that you not come. I can’t protect you if you won’t protect yourself.”
**********
Felicia was right. Kerry didn’t understand women. He was positive that if he stripped to his waist and paraded around pointing out his battle scars, he would be laughed at. Or slapped. Slapped was a real possibility.
Maybe it was the Leadership Skill. There was something that leant weight to Trent’s words, and Kerry did not think it was the faded white lines left by teeth, claws, and blades. Although Felicia was welcome with any party formed in the Academy based on the strength of her boosting Spells, that hadn’t prevented her classmates from encouraging her to learn more traditional spell-slinging.
None of it had worked. Not the orders of respected instructors or the pleas of well-meaning friends. Felicia had always stubbornly resisted learning magic that burned, froze, or sliced. She had flared up with white-hot anger whenever it was suggested.
So what made her sit in the corner with a blank parchment on one knee and a tattered Spell book on the other, trying to decipher the missing pieces of the arcane text? It wasn’t Trent’s reasoned arguments and irrefutable logic. Kerry might not know women, but he did know that Trent was insane.
“What’s your favorite color, Trent?” Kerry said over his shoulder, planting his feet and refusing to move.
Behind him, Trent stopped in place a moment before his hand shoved against Kerry’s back. Kerry pressed down on the chuckle that attempted to boil out of him. It had worked. The simple question had been a stall tactic, and it had worked!<
br />
It had to be a simple question, one a normal, sane person knew without thinking. With topics like the Dungeons or combat, Trent’s opinions came quick, rattling off his tongue like he expected to be quizzed on them. However, ask about his favorite food or season, and Trent would lapse into deep thought, giving Kerry precious minutes to rest and catch his breath.
“I don’t have a favorite color.” Trent’s reply was quicker than usual, his hand pushing Kerry forward. “What are you hesitating for? Didn’t you say the Guardian was just a bigger Swift Beetle?”
That sentence could only come from Trent. The Academy recommended students work in teams of six to fight a floor boss. Trent was proposing that he and Kerry do it alone. He wouldn’t even allow Felicia to cast Grace or another boosting Spell on them, claiming Kerry needed to learn to fight without them.
“Level 8 Swift Beetle.” Kerry tried to dig in his heels, but Trent’s arm irresistibly pushed him forward into a large open cavern. “And bosses have more Skills! It’s not as simple as twice the Level!”
Dreq was sniffing at the entrance to the cavern, and as Kerry stumbled by him, the Dog sneezed. The sharp exhalation came out sounding like the word, scared, and the wheezing that followed it was suspiciously like laughter. Kerry put the oddity of the noises down to his own sensitivity, though there were times he would have sworn he heard the mutt speak.
“You can go back anytime you like,” Trent stopped shoving and stepped around Kerry, “or you can wait with Felicia. It’s up to you.”
Felicia had anchored her Light Spell to Kerry’s gauntlet. Trent was beyond the Spell’s illumination after a few steps. Kerry watched him draw his knives and twirl them once, before Trent was lost in the darkness.
Dreq stayed behind, sitting at Kerry’s feet, his tail swishing. Kerry’s shoulders slumped as he looked down at the Dog. “Do you know how he changes his hatchets into knives?”