by J. T. Wright
“Why not stay at an inn?” Kerry said to Trent’s back as he started to walk away. “Inns are more comfortable than fields.”
“The boulder, in a few hours,” Trent replied without looking. He tapped the side of his thigh so Dreq would know his words were not meant for him, and the Dog left the cover of the table to rush to Trent’s side. “Don’t come too early.”
Slipping through the crowd with Dreq, Trent heard Kerry mumble about how grass was no substitute for a bed, and he tugged his mask into place to cover his grin. Kerry, at least, would be coming. Trent found himself looking forward to the company. Trent’s grin slipped as he realized what Kerry’s complaint implied.
Were inns places with beds? Beds that anyone could sleep in? He had seen signs and walked by quite a few buildings that said they were inns on his way to Bellrise. Could he have been sleeping on a soft bed all this time? Why hadn’t anyone told him that?
Stepping out of the Guild and into the street, Trent tried not to think about warm blankets and soft straw-filled mattresses. It had been months since he last slept indoors. He was used to rolling up in a fur on the ground, but he could remember beds.
He had been much smaller when the servant’s quarters in Michael’s chambers had been assigned to him. The last time he had slept under a roof, he was still under Level 1. He might not fit in a bed. Trent shook his head irritably. Of course, he would! The bed in the Keep’s infirmary was large enough. Trent had trouble climbing out of it. It would probably be just about the right size now.
It was midday, and the streets were filled. Dreq pranced beside him as Trent made his way towards the gates. The Dog used eyes and nose to examine the busy thoroughfare while Trent walked like a man on a mission, his neck stiff, eyes glued to the road in front of him. He stopped twice. Once at a stall to purchase a handful of potions and again at a woodcutter.
With potions, a bundle of firewood, and three rounds of wood safely secured, Trent nodded to the Guards and exited Bellrise. He left the hard-packed road and set off across the fields.
Dreq bounced through the grass, chasing bugs and birds. It bothered him that Trent walked so stiffly. He knew better than to question the pace. Dreq kept his mouth shut and enjoyed the not quite leisurely stroll. When traveling with Trent, such simple activities were rare.
The destination Trent had picked was not far from the gates. A mile, maybe less, a distance quickly covered by ground-swallowing strides. Finding the location where the Festival of the Fall had been held was a simple matter. Grass, trampled flat by the feet of Farmers, and signs of temporary structures were everywhere. The land was still recovering from the festivities of six days ago. An expert Tracker was not needed to find evidence of celebration.
The grass around the red boulder still stood tall and waved in the wind. No one had come near it during the day’s activities. The Farmers hadn’t avoided it specifically. It was more like the rock was set aside for other purposes, ones not connected with the festival.
Trent set up his camp fifty feet from the boulder at the base of a small hill. He dug a pit with Earth Manipulation, lined the edge with stones, and placed the wood rounds he had purchased around it. Anyone watching, had they seen him with the others in the Guild, would assume he was setting out seats for his friends and wonder which of the group would be left without a chair.
Trent tossed his bundle of firewood beside the pit. He made no move to light a fire. He had bought the wood on a whim. It saved him the trouble of gathering sticks from the forest, which was another four or five miles away, but the day was still warm.
“When they get here, stay behind me, don’t get involved.” Trent swung his arms and rolled his wrists. “It might be best for you to hide somewhere.”
Dreq sat with his back to the camp site and boulder. His head tilted to the side as he asked, “Who… is… coming? Kerry?”
“No,” Trent settled his hands on his hilts, “the ones from the Trial.”
“Spotted us, huh?” A man’s voice, followed by the man himself, stepped out from behind the boulder. “That why you put on the show, tossing the seed into the air like that. It was to let us know you had it. Cocky and brave, not a good combination.”
A second man popped up on top of the rock, a bow in his hand. “He threatened me, Kosey. Let’s kill him and be done with it.”
“Hold on.” Kosey lifted a hand to stop the impatient Mark. “We’re recruiting, remember. A little talk won’t hurt anything. This one is interesting.”
Kosey plucked a long piece of grass and placed it in the corner of his mouth. “They called you Trent, right? You feel like a little chat, Trent? Don’t mind my partner. You scared him in the Dungeon, and he is holding a grudge.”
Kosey took Trent’s silence for assent and continued speaking in a lazy drawl, “Scared me some, too. That makes you interesting. Then I see you here, talking to your Dog.”
His eyes shifted to Dreq who had slunk behind Trent and was growling with teeth bared. “Lots of men talk to their dogs, not often you see the Dog talk back. That makes you worth talking to. Makes me glad I didn’t have Mark shoot you in the back once we were out of sight of the Guards.”
Kosey paused, giving Trent a chance to chime in. When Trent remained silent, the corners of Kosey’s eyes crinkled in irritation. “You led us here. You must have a plan, but an arrow in the back would have sorted you out. Didn’t you think of that?”
“It wouldn’t have worked out for you,” Trent answered, a hint of a laugh in his voice. “You’re not as far from the Guards as you think you are.”
That straightened Kosey from his easy slouch. He looked up at Mark whose head swiveled, trying to spot anyone approaching. When the archer shook his head, Kosey’s face twisted into an unfriendly grin.
“You had me there for a second.” He spat the stalk of grass he had been chewing. “Thought we had walked into a trap. You’re good at bluffing. But we’re done with all that now.” Kosey sneered. “You can hand me the seed, and we can talk about you joining the group I work for. It’s that, or we take the seed and leave your body here for the crows to eat and the Farmers to find.”
“It’s a seed?” Trent’s right hand left his hilt and touched his pouch. “What do you grow with it?”
“It’s the threats, isn’t it?” Kosey sighed. “I'm off my game. The damned Dungeon got me all worked up and turned out to be just a tease. It’s made me unfriendly. I frightened off the girl, and now I’ve got you willing to fight for a marble you don’t know the worth of.
“Should have listened to you.” Kosey looked up at Mark. “Never thought I’d say that. Go ahead and kill him. The seed and a new set of swords will cheer me up. Then we can focus on what we came here for.”
Mark didn’t need to be told twice. He was pulling his bow and was forming an arrow before Kosey finished speaking. One arrow became five as he released it, and Mark’s lips spread in a vicious grin as his shot sped towards Trent.
Mark gasped and doubled over as a burning pain ripped through his abdomen. He was grateful for the hand which gently relieved him of his bow, freeing his own hands to clutch at his stomach. Blood flowed over his fingers, and Mark grunted as his legs trembled beneath him.
The second line of fire at the back of his neck was less intense. Mark barely felt the blade that severed his head. He felt nothing at all as his face bounced off the boulder and rolled to the ground below. He wouldn’t feel anything, ever again.
Kosey was bending to pluck a new blade of grass when five arrows slammed into the dirt. The dirt, and not the body of a certain cocky Swordsman. One moment Trent had been standing there with nowhere to run, and the next, he was gone. Kosey was left staring at five arrows still quivering from the force of their delivery. All five vanished as the head of the Archer who fired them rolled over to nudge Kosey’s boot.
It would have frozen many men in place. It did stall Kosey briefly. However, the sound of a sword returning to its sheath and the creak of a bow being drawn
stirred him. Reflexes honed by long years traveling the Wilds had Kosey spinning as he drew his sword and long knife. His blades flashed, cutting three arrows from the air and Kosey rapidly stepped back.
Three more arrows followed the first volley, and another three came on the tail of those. All six of those were swatted down by Kosey’s weapons. A trickle of sweat ran down the man’s face at the sudden exertion. A flicker of motion at his feet had Kosey sidestepping to avoid the Dog who lunged for his hamstring, and Kosey sent Dreq tumbling away with a kick.
Dreq huffed as he skidded across the ground. Kosey growled and would have finished the pup, but another volley of arrows put him back on the defensive.
On top of the boulder, standing over the body of the slain Archer, whose bow he was using, Trent hissed in appreciation at Kosey’s swift display of expertise. He couldn’t have matched it. Arrow’s Flight, the Skill Trent had gained when he leveled Survivalist, permitted him to avoid the Archer’s attack. 200 SP and 100 MP had shot Trent back along the path of the wooden missile and allowed him to bury his sword in Mark’s gut.
However, Trent was now rethinking his decision to confront this duo he had spotted in the Guild. His Mana was almost spent, and Kosey had not been so much as nicked by his created arrows. Judging from the way the man had deflected or cut every projectile launched at him, Kosey was not someone Trent could defeat blade to blade.
With his hands full and his enemy close, Trent wouldn’t be able to drink a Mana restorative. Kosey was fast. His swordplay, at least, was faster than Trent’s. Trent had the sinking feeling it might be time to find out if Kosey was a faster runner as well.
Both Kosey and Trent jumped as a meteor slammed into the ground between them. Shrapnel of dirt and rocks pinged off Trent’s mask and had Kosey shielding his eyes. A cloud of dust filled the area around the boulder where Trent had chosen to set his failed trap, and for a moment, the combatants were shrouded from each other.
When the dust cleared, neither had moved. The sudden explosion had been so unexpected, they weren’t able to respond to it. The third man who had appeared had no such trouble. He wore the black and silver of an Al'dross Guardsman and moved with the prowling steps of a predator. His broad shoulders could be compared to the boulder Trent stood on, but the more likely comparison would be to the ridiculously large weapon that had apparently fallen from the sky to interrupt the fight.
Sergeant Cullen hawked and spit as he wrapped a hand around Peacemaker’s haft and lifted the weapon free. “Excuse me, dropped my axe. Hope I didn’t spoil anything.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Kosey lowered his weapons at the sight of a Guardsman's uniform. He licked dust-covered lips and shuddered at the way the man lifted the battle axe with one hand. “You’re just in time, sir. This man stole from me and murdered my companion. I'll swear out a complaint.”
“Lots of Adventurers turning to the Guard today.” Cullen inspected the edge of Peacemaker and wiped the dirt off it with a cloth. “Unusual. Normally I have to drag you all in to make a complaint.”
With that said, Cullen stored his axe and turned his back to Kosey. “You've gotten lazy since you left, Runt. You should have looted the body and kicked it down for disposal by now. Are you picking up bad habits?”
Trent tucked his acquired bow behind his back, shifting guiltily on his feet. “No, Sergeant. I was just surprised.”
“Why’s that? You were obviously expecting me. Get to work, Runt. I do not have all day!” Trent bent to rifle through the dead Archer’s possessions and Cullen turned to address the stunned Kosey. “You still here? Adventurers from the Wilds should be better at telling which way the wind is blowing.”
Ten or more feet separated Cullen from Kosey. The Adventurer stepped back as if the Sergeant was looming over him. “You two know each other?”
“You’re smarter than I gave you credit for.” Cullen cracked his knuckles and sneered. “Or good at faking it. Good enough to trick the Red Pussy into sending you here, but not actually smart enough to keep out of trouble.”
“Red… I think you mean Red Tiger.” Kosey’s mind was a mess trying to keep up with the ever-changing situation that did not seem to be shifting in his direction. “You know who sent me, then you should—"
“Runt!” Cullen yelled sharply, “Do I ever say anything I don’t mean?”
Kosey flinched as the Swordsman literally kicked Mark’s body off the boulder and then jumped down himself. The cold-blooded action was distinctly at odds with the way Trent hemmed and hawed, attempting to come up with the right response to Cullen’s question.
“The answer your looking for is, ‘No, Sergeant,’” Cullen snarled. “You’re definitely back-sliding, Runt!”
Kosey’s weapons were slapped out of his hands and a finger jabbed him in the chest. He hadn’t seen Cullen move, but suddenly he was disarmed, and the man towered over him.
“You go back and tell your Red Tiger exactly what I called him!” Hot breath washed over Kosey’s face as Cullen leaned over him. “Tell him Cullen of Al’drossford said if he wants to keep looking for talent here, he had better send politer envoys.”
“And don’t lie.” Cullen softened his tone and clapped a hand on Kosey’s shoulder. “You tell the Tiger exactly what happened. He might let you live if you’re honest.”
“Now, get lost!” Cullen roared, shoving Kosey backward. The Sergeant did not watch the man go. He dismissed him from his thoughts, confident that the member of the Red Tiger Company would keep running till he was safely back in the Wilds. He probably would not stop running until he was with his company again, which, considering he had left his weapons laying on the ground, would probably be smart.
Trent was staring at the body of the man he had killed when Cullen’s eyes found him. Cullen took a deep breath as he ordered the words he always offered to Recruits after they first killed a man. “It was you or him, Runt. Are you sorry to be alive?”
“I didn’t mean to kill him,” Trent said in a small voice. “His armor should have stopped most of the blow. I probably could have shot the other one if he hadn’t died so quickly.”
“You cut off his head, Trent,” Cullen’s eyebrows drew together. Trent sounded more curious than distraught. “That tends to kill most people.”
“I only did that because he was already dying,” Trent replied quickly in a defensive tone. “His armor was useless!”
“You aren’t upset about killing a man?”
“Of course, I am.” Trent shrugged. “Wounded, he was a burden, but dead, he didn’t distract the other one at all. Why did he die? Was his Constitution so low?”
Cullen scrubbed the back of his head with one hand. This scene wasn’t playing out how he thought it would. “There are Scholars who can answer that question. Men who have dedicated their lives figuring out formulas, from how Armor Ratings and Constitution work when protecting the Awakened to what it takes to break them. I'm not one of them. Just keep in mind that if you don’t want to kill a man, you shouldn’t stick a sword in him. Not in his gut, at least. Try the shoulder next time.”
Trent nodded absently and filed the information away with everything else Cullen had ever told him. Once the training had been properly digested, he squared his shoulders and lifted his head. “I'm ready, Sergeant.”
Again, Cullen was taken aback by Trent’s words. “Ready for what, Runt?”
Cautiously, Trent lifted his mask and pushed his cowl back. “Aren’t you going to yell at me?”
“Blood and Ash!” Cullen spit angrily. “Is that why you think I’m here? I do more than yell, Runt. I was fuckin’ worried about you. Gods know why! You test every bit of my patience. I've half a mind to kick you back to Al’drossford!”
Trent relaxed as the familiar bellow hit him then stiffened again at the mention of going back. “I can’t go back, Sergeant! I have to go west!”
Cullen threw his hands in the air and strode to where Trent had laid out his camp. “Bury the body and get th
e fire going, Runt! Don’t forget to pick up that sword. We have things to discuss.” He tossed a packet over his shoulder. “And sprinkle that on the corpse before you cover it.”
Trent hurriedly retrieved the packet and rushed to do as he was told. Cullen plopped down on a round of wood and watched, sparing a second to dig out his pipe. His eyes followed Trent and the Dog that scampered after him while the boy created a hole in which to roll the body. The Sergeant winced when Trent poured out all the corpse-dissolving powder.
He clamped his lips around his pipe and puffed furiously, the smoke forming a cloud above his head. That powder was expensive, and a pinch was all it took to speed up decomposition. Thinking of how Trent expected to be yelled at, Cullen kept the correction to himself. Maybe it was for the best. The last thing anyone needed was for a Farmer or child to dig up the body while working the field.
With Earth Manipulation doing most of the work, Trent was quick to finish his task. Afternoon sunlight hit his dark hair and drew out the blue highlights as he walked to where Cullen waited. He sat on a second wood round and gestured for Dreq to claim the third. He folded his hands in his lap and met the Sergeant’s glare.
“I've known lots of Warriors that grew their hair long, and even a few that braided it with ribbons,” Cullen said after he had studied Trent for a few heartbeats. “Didn’t think you were the fancy type, Runt.”
Trent reached up and tugged self-consciously on his shoulder-length hair. “I keep meaning to cut it. There never seems to be time.”
Trent’s hand moved to his belt and drew out his Harvesting knife. He lifted it only to be stopped by Cullen’s bark.
“You'll make a mess of it doing it yourself!”
Trent didn’t resist when the Sergeant took the blade from his hand and moved to stand behind him. He didn’t flinch as he saw the sharp blade approach the side of his head out of the corner of his eye. Soft, fine hair began to fall all around as Cullen trimmed and sliced.