they had acquired at some point. Fifteen dirty and amazed children sat in a broad circle all around the trio. Kerry had never noticed them arriving and suddenly felt very self-conscious about the morning's activities. In his eyes, he hadn't exactly lived up to the image of a hardened Adventurer.
The circle of children was quiet at first. Most were unwilling to meet Trent's eyes as he waited for them to reply. That reply, when it came, was from the most unlikely source. Kerry expected one of the older boys to speak, but it was a young girl, about six years old, who stepped forward.
With straw-colored hair and cheeks red from the slight chill, the girl kept her eyes trained on the ball of mud that Dreq had become as she asked Trent, "Can we play too?"
"Play?" Trent scratched his head uncomfortably. "You can join us if you like. We can train awhile longer. We'll have to change things up some, though."
Kerry wholeheartedly agreed with that. Trent shouldn't be allowed to use a stick anymore, and at least one of his legs should be tied up behind his back. Perhaps, they could find a bag that would slide down over his torso. It would be more comfortable than a blindfold and restrict the use of Trent's arms.
Kerry started to search for a way to diplomatically word his suggestions, but when he saw Trent begin to rub out an oval-shape that had been drawn on the road, he burst out, "No way! No way were you staying in that circle the whole time!"
"Of course I was!" Trent looked hurt by Kerry's accusation and Kerry was tempted to fling the water skin at him. "There would be no challenge if I could move anywhere I wanted. You would never have gotten close. I'll need more space with so many people, though, otherwise you'll get in each other's way."
Trent's assertion that the elimination of the confining circle was for his opponent's benefit brought Kerry to his feet with a roar, "All right men, gather round! We go to war!"
The war went badly for Kerry and the army, which he named the Farmers Field Militia. He blamed himself. Maybe coming up with a more inspirational designation for his troops or providing more charismatic leadership would have brought them success. As it was, they were outmatched from the beginning, and Kerry could only watch as his men were slaughtered.
The first casualties fell to fatigue. The legendary fortitude of farm brats wasn't able to compete with Trent's limitless energy. Kerry tried to rotate his teammates, allowing some to rest while the others battled on. Somehow, there were always more laying down than running.
The straw-haired leader was the biggest shirker. She claimed Dreq within the first five minutes and pulled the pup away, depriving Kerry of not only her services but also those of his most dedicated fighter. Kerry didn't hold it against the Dog. Dreq looked none too pleased to receive a shower from Trent's water skin and a snuggle from the implacable six-year-old.
Morale was also an issue. Not for the children. Kerry's motivation took hit after hit, though he tried to hide it for the sake of keeping up his army's spirits. He might have had a brighter outlook if it weren't for Trent's stick. Trent used his hands with the children, sending them tumbling with light cuffs and pokes that made them giggle. Trent saw no need for kid gloves with Kerry. Every time Kerry turned around, wood whistled for his forehead or chest.
He should have had victory in his palm. Kerry had numbers on his side and a handful of experienced ten-year-olds, who were large for their age and wise in the ways of bullies. Only, just when Kerry was sure they had the Beggar cornered, Trent would flip over the heads of his assailants, wearing a serious look and calling for them to take their training more seriously.
It was Trent's mobility that finally had Kerry waving the white flag. Kerry could only approach his foe when Trent allowed it, and Trent only allowed it when he decided Kerry needed a fresh introduction to the grass. The final act that broke Kerry's will to fight was when Trent stole every stick
to be found, and after an impossible flip, he landed on Kerry's shoulders. Launching the spare sticks like javelins with his left hand and tapping the back of Kerry's head with the branch in his right, Trent crushed all resistance. No man could continue on after that humiliation.
Trent looked disappointed when Kerry sank to his knees and gave up. Most of the children were sprawled in the grass, happily exhausted with the day's game and unable to go on. One brave boy managed to stay on his feet long enough to approach Trent and ask to examine the blindfold. After verifying that it did indeed block all sight, the boy's doubtful gaze became worshipful.
"How'd ya throw the sticks like that, iffen ya couldn't see?" The boy exhaled, gripping the blindfold tightly.
Trent scratched the back of his head. Before he could explain that it was the children's noisy laughter and heavy feet that gave them away, an angry adult voice shouted, "Oi! What's going on here? Who, by the bleedin' abyss, are you two?"
Three burly men came running over and, based on their rough clothing, Kerry guessed they were the Farmers, probably fathers or brothers to some of the children in Kerry's army. Pushing himself to his feet, Kerry sought the words to explain why he and Trent were standing amidst a group of obviously exhausted and slightly battered children.
His tongue feeling as thick and clumsy as the rest of his body, Kerry realized there was no good explanation. There wasn't a large age gap between himself and the kids, and he suspected that gap was even smaller for Trent. That wouldn't matter to angry family members. In the eyes of the World, they were adults, with Status and Skill. Worse they were strangers, and Farmers were often suspicious of unfamiliar Adventurers.
Trent didn't suffer from Kerry's sudden tongue paralysis. He introduced himself to the largest of the red-faced Farmers with a short bow and offered an apology. "Sorry, sir, we didn't mean to interrupt their training."
"Training? What are you talking about?" The straw-haired girl ran up and
grabbed the man's hand, still clutching a miserable looking Dreq in her arms. The man pushed her behind himself as she tried to explain, and she kicked at his ankles in annoyance.
"You've got three seconds to tell me what's going on here! You Adventurers aren't welcome at the… you've got violet eyes!" The man's own eyes were wide as he took in Trent's appearance. "You're Al'rashian!"
It was not a question. The man recognized Trent's features, and Kerry silently cheered to hear Trent's race announced. He had been nearly certain Trent wasn't human. It was another personal subject he'd been avoiding. Not that there had been a lot of time for personal conversation with the ongoing war efforts.
Trent had squared his shoulders and lowered his chin at the Farmer's aggression. When anger turned to astonishment, he didn't know how to react. He was prepared for a fight. Now every eye studied him, marveling, the way Trent would at the sight of a new sword or Skill Stone.
"You've come for the festival? Of course, you have, and you're welcome. Come along!" The man swept the little girl up with one hand and beckoned to Trent with the other. "Folks will be glad to see ya, never had an Al'rashian join the festival before! The games are about to start; you'll want to hurry to get in on them."
"Festival?" Trent's voice was conflicted. He'd never been to a festival before. "We should be getting to the Trial."
"You would be looking to clear the Trial, with those eyes, of course, you would!" The man's head nodded approvingly as he shushed the girl in his arms who was clambering to be put down. "But the Trial will be there in the mornin', and folks will be heartbroken iffen ya don't join us."
"They will? Why?" Trent found an arm around his shoulders and let himself be led away from the road.
"It's the Festival of the Fall," The man said as if that explained everything. "Your friend can come, too, if he likes. He'd best behave himself,
though."
Kerry had been walking slowly behind the group that somehow excluded him. Suspicious eyes shot his way, making him stop. It made no sense to him for the Farmers to welcome Trent and not him. In every way, Kerry had more in common with the human residents of Bellrise's outskirts than Trent did. He probably even knew some of the people that would be present. He'd done chores in the form of Quests for plenty of local Farmers.
But the expression on the face of the straw-haired girl's father made it clear that while he said Kerry was welcome, his words were for Trent's sake. That almost sent Kerry back to Bellrise on his own. The sight of Trent's back getting smaller as he was dragged away, steadied Kerry's resolve.
Welcome or not, he would be joining the festival! Too many opportunities had slipped through his fingers of late. Kerry thought he had made real progress with Trent that morning, and he wasn't about to lose the ground he'd gained just because some pig-faced farmer gave him a dirty look!
Twenty-Four The Farmers had set their festival up not too far from the road. Kerry was
amazed by the preparations. The field had been transformed into a city of tables and tents. Areas had been roped off for various competitions, and fires built for cooking sent pleasant aromas flitting through the air. It seemed that every farming family within one hundred miles had gathered. Whatever the Festival of the Fall celebrated, the locals took it seriously.
And it was definitely the Festival of the Fall and not the Fall Festival. The children were the only people who seemed happy that Kerry had joined in the festivities, and even they looked at him cross-eyed when he made the mistake of misnaming the day's events.
Kerry and his troops dogged Trent's steps, eager to stay in their victorious foe's shadow. Had there been the opportunity, they would have claimed the Al'rashian for their own. Their energy had been restored by the copious amounts of food to be had at the gathering, and they were ready for another round of Beggar Taunt.
They were no match for the adults, who had a firm hold over Trent's time, and the younger crowd had to accept that. Kerry munched on a slice of warm apple pie while Trent was led from one group to another and introduced loudly again and again. The straw-haired father of the straw- haired girl was named Mick, and Mick announced Trent's presence as if the Al'rashian boy was his own son, home after long years away at war.
That would have been amazing enough for Kerry, but if Mick was proud, Mick's neighbors were no less joyous to meet Trent. It was his eyes. They gaped over his Al'rashian features and complimented him on his firm grip when they shook his hand, but it was Trent's eyes that they focused on.
Kerry did not get it. In a girl, the shade of purple that colored Trent's corneas would be pretty. In a man, Kerry thought it was a silly color. Not that he said anything. It wasn't an opinion that anyone else shared, and Kerry's presence was barely tolerated as it was. He kept his mouth shut and looked for a chance to reclaim Trent for himself.
That chance never came. The Festival of the Fall did not meet Kerry's expectations of a country celebration. Some of the traditional trimmings were there. A stage had been built by setting several wagons close together, and
musicians played lively tunes while sitting atop a platform of planks laid across wagon beds. There was a space for dancing, and food could be found near to hand wherever you stood.
The musicians were largely ignored, and only a few young couples occasionally made use of the dancing area. It was the games, or rather Trent's participation in said games, that drew the crowd's attention, and those games were far more martial than Kerry expected.
Axe throwing and wrestling, even archery, Kerry could understand. It was the sword and knife competitions that were out of place. Except for the Militia members, most of the Farmers hardly knew one end of a blade from another. Trent looked embarrassed as they pushed him into the ring where he won handily, hardly expending any effort.
Kerry found himself growing uncomfortable as he witnessed Trent disarm yet another Farmer, only to have the older man gush praises instead of being suitably outraged at his defeat. It was like the man wanted to lose, as if Trent's winning was a mark of honor for the community.
There were traditional games interspersed between these inept military displays. Foot races, pole climbing, and log tossing, Trent joined in these as well. In the log tossing, Trent saw his first defeat. That competition was won by a man twice Kerry's height and width, however it was during these peaceful events that Trent came alive. Kerry thought it was the true competition that made the difference.
With a wooden weapon in hand, Trent was untouchable, but he came in second during a distance run, and only claimed victory in a sprint by a hair. His biggest opponent in the sprint was a slip of a girl who was none too pleased when Kerry intruded on her shy congratulations to slap Trent's shoulder and comment on what a close race it had been considering his competitor.
Kerry watched the last competition of the day while nursing a mug of cider and gently poking at an eye he was sure would turn black. It turned out Farmers' daughters weren't as shy as they wanted you to think and much stronger than they looked. The girl he had interrupted could teach Academy students to throw a punch; her right cross had knocked Kerry on his ass.
Oddly, that punch had also broken the ice for Kerry. It was either the punch or the lecture on how girls could run just as fast as boys. Kerry couldn't be sure which. Either way, it turned out plenty of others had felt the girl's fury and viper's tongue in the past. Kerry went from an unwelcome
outsider to a fellow victim after that. Despite the de-thawing, no one was willing to tell Kerry why the mood of
the festival shifted when Trent insisted on being included in the last game. They had tried to talk him out of it. It was mostly for the kids, they pleaded, and the adults were just there to keep things interesting. It wasn't dignified! He would get dirty.
Trent would not be dissuaded, though. The prize wasn't important, and he could certainly keep things interesting. He never cared about getting dirty; he had the Self-Clean Charm. As for dignity, he could care less.
Kerry expected Trent to look smaller stripped to the waist, barefoot, and wearing just a pair of faded black trousers. Without his armor and weapons, Trent should have been diminished into a normal mortal like all the other participants. But rolling a pair of broad shoulders and stretching a narrow waist, his compact muscles rippling, Trent made every man present question their physique. Kerry prodded his own middle with a dissatisfied finger.
It wasn't fair! You could raise your Attributes all you liked, but some things were determined by nature. Kerry was confident in his own Strength, but no matter how much he ran, his muscles were always concealed beneath a layer of comfortable fat. The girls that oohed and awed over Trent would probably shudder to see the hair that covered Kerry's chest like a rug.
Or maybe not. Kerry thought he had a distinctly masculine air that less vain girls would find handsome. Not the girls here today, but the right girl would. These girls had obviously been raised on the unrealistic standards of bards' tales. They even overlooked the fact that Trent needed a haircut.
Instead, they fought over who would be allowed to fix Trent's hair for him. That argument was won by the heavy-handed girl that Kerry expected, and he would have won coin had anyone been stupid enough to take his bet. Instead of braiding it, or simply binding it, the falsely shy vixen wove a dark blue ribbon through Trent's black shining hair, and to Kerry's disgust, she blushed when Trent thanked her with a bow.
Trent finished his stretching and tugged at the ribbon self-consciously. All the women present said the tie made his hair glisten and looked appalled when he suggested cutting the unruly locks. Trent did not understand what they found so upsetting about the idea. He decided the ribbon was alright, so long as it kept the hair out of his eyes.
"Ya sure you wanna be in on this, lad?" A white-haired and bearded man to Trent's left asked him. It was the third time he had done so. "Gonna get
ugly in there. It always does. Ya might get hurt." "I've been hurt before. You get over it," Trent said, rubbing his palms
against his trousers. "Yah, reckon that's the truth." The man's eyes slid from a faded white
scar on Trent's shoulder to a fresher one on his back. "Well, remember, keep the kids safe as ya can. This is fer them."
Trent nodded and flashed the man a grin. He lined up against a wooden fence with the other five men chosen to mediate the game, while twenty or so children manned the other side, tense expressions on their faces. The fence encircled an area sixty feet long and seventy feet wide. The center had been filled with mud, and considering the festival was held in a common area, far from any farm, Magic or Skills had probably been involved in its creation.
Two gates had been installed at either end of the fence. Behind one gate was an enclosed wooden pen that had been painted bright red. At the other gate, Mick stood, wearing a ceremonial white robe, and holding a staff. All eyes were on the Farmer as he raised the staff high and slammed it against the ground, shouting, "Release the Beast!"
Two girls wearing white dresses just as elaborate as Mick's robe reached down and grasped handles attached to the red cage. They both winked at Trent before lifting the handles in unison, raising the gate of the pen. Trent wondered if the wink were part of the show and who they would have offered it to had he chosen not to participate.
Then the Beast came rushing out with a high-pitched squeal, and Trent was leaping over the fence to splash into the mud. The battle had begun.
He'd been looking forward to this ever since he'd overheard it being planned. A fierce, unarmed exhibition of Agility and cunning was how he pictured it. The planners had been worried it would last too long or end in victory for the sly Beast. Apparently, that had happened in the past when the animal wore out the pre-Awakened warriors with its slippery maneuvering. Though he was told he mustn't interfere with the hunt itself, Trent had found the prospect of a front row seat exciting enough to offset his disappointment.
The reality didn't quite live up to the image he had built in his head. The men went over the fence and the children slipped through it as "The Beast" made its appearance. "The Beast" was a pig! More precisely, it was a piglet, not much taller than Dreq, and greased to a shine. Its battle cry pierced Trent's ears, a shrill annoying sound and nothing like the howl he had envisioned.
Trent was at a loss as he watched the pig dash through the spread legs of one boy without offering a bite or a kick as it went. The boy's arms closed on air, and though the pig didn't so much as nudge him, the redheaded boy still fell face first in the mud. When one of the mediators set the boy back on his feet, wiped the mud from his eyes, and then pushed him back into action, Trent realized why everyone had tried to talk him out of participating.
It seemed his job was to keep the pig and the children running, not to gloriously hold off a raging Beast while the kids… Trent wasn't sure what he had expected the kids to do. From his interactions with them, he'd learned that the un-Awakened were hopeless when it came to combat. Their zeal for training was admirable, but their reflexes just weren't developed, a fact that these tiny warriors demonstrated again and again.
Trent stomped his foot, sending the pig racing back towards them, and called for the boys to spread out and encircle the creature. They ignored him, bouncing off one another as the piglet ran by unhindered. He shouted encouragement, joining the other men in picking up boys that lost their footing. It was amazing how they managed to do that. The mud was not that deep. Trent didn't even need Steady Footing to stay upright in the mess.
The planners had worried the event might last too long, and Trent was starting to share their concerns. Trent lifted a crying boy over the fence and placed him in the hands of his waiting mother. He was the third such warrior Trent had carried from the battlefield and all in about ten minutes. At this rate, it wasn't time, but the piglet's victory that Trent worried over. He had to find a way to turn the tide.
There was one warrior that Trent thought might carry the day. Evelyn, Mick's straw-haired daughter, had the courage to accomplish the impossible. That could be seen by the fact that she was the only girl that had chosen to participate. Trent just had to push the pig in her direction.
Finding Evelyn was simple enough. Turning away from the fence, she was the first thing Trent spotted. Perhaps it was because she was lighter than the other children, or maybe she had Awakened and learned a Skill that let her traverse the mud with ease. Whatever steadied her feet, Evelyn practically flew over the muck, not gracefully but certainly fast.
It would have been more impressive if she hadn't been running towards Trent and away from the pig that squealed as it chased her. With only seconds to act, Trent leapt into action. Grabbing Evelyn by the waist, he lifted her up, turned her around, and set her back on the ground. Then
stepping past the screaming girl, Trent hooked his foot under the piglet's belly and propelled it into the air, shouting, "Catch!"
Mothers gasped, pressing their hands to their mouths. Fathers shrieked, pulling at hair and beards. Evelyn continued screaming, but when the piglet neared her, she closed her eyes and swung her arms out. When they closed, those arms wrapped around the mud and grease-covered pig.
It couldn't last. The wide eyes of all present expected to see Evelyn's hold broken instantly by the valiant hog. All eyes except Trent's. He was confident that any hands that could hold Dreq against his will for an entire day could wrestle a simple pig into submission.
It was a toss-up which was louder and shriller, the pig's squeals or Evelyn's screams. With eyes squeezed shut and arms clasped tightly, the girl's face was as pink as the piglet had been at the start of the game. Amazingly, somehow, she persevered. The pig squirmed and wiggled but could not escape.
"To the exit gate!" Trent's voice went up an octave as he shouted, "Quickly! Move! With a purpose! Now!"
Evelyn had never been taught to move with a purpose. The phrase was merely gibberish to her. It was probably her father's presence and not Trent's command, that caused her eyes to pop open and her feet to fling mud as she ran. She ran bawling and screaming, mouth open and snot flowing, but she ran, and she kept hold of her pig. She almost made it too.
She was only a few feet away from the open gate and her father when the pig scrambled loose. Girl and piglet exited side by side, one to be captured by quicker, sturdier hands than those of a child and the other to be swept up by her father, who held her high and announced, "The winner!"
Evelyn's tears stopped immediately as the crowd roared in approval. Wiping her nose on the sleeves of her father's robe, Evelyn lifted her tiny fists and shook them in victory. Her eyes shone, terror forgotten, as she remembered why she entered the arena in the first place. The pie and wooden sword that had been offered as prizes were hers!
Climbing back out of the pit, Trent cast Self-Clean. He had to cast it a few more times as the mediators climbed out beside him and slapped his back with mud-covered hands thanking him for his intervention.
"Could-a lasted forever if not fer you, lad," one man said, slumping to the ground and leaning against the fence. "Hafta remember that fer next year."
"It's alright fer him to do it," another said twirling his mustache between
his fingers. "The violet-eyed... Well, proper fer him to help, but tisn't right fer us. Is it?"
"Damned iffen I know, but I fer one will be tryin' it." The first man made a kick with his foot and frowned at the results. "If I can. 'Spect it's harder than it looks."
Kerry, who had been holding Trent's pack, trotted up just then and recognized the man who spoke. A widower with no children, Jeb was a frequent poster of Quests. Kerry had cleaned the man's barn often enough to be comfortable asking, "If everyone hates it, why do it?"
"Tradition, Kerry boy! Tradition!" Jeb thumped the ground with his fist for emphasis. "And it's not usually as bad as it has been the last few years. The youngins these years is smaller and younger than they should be. The last crop of chasers Awakened sooner than we expected."
"Maybe it's time for a new tradition, Jeb. That was brutal." Kerry shuddered as he handed the pack to Trent. "This Storage Device of yours is weird, Trent. I saw you put your shirt in it, but all I can find inside is a pickax and a rolled-up hide."
"Ya can't change tradition, Kerry!" Jeb snorted. "That's why they call it tradition and not… not…"
"Foolhardy? Stupid? Asinine?" The light feminine voice that cut through Jeb's floundering caused everyone but Trent to wince. Kerry quickly stepped back as a slender girl in a green dress replaced him in front of Trent. "If not for Trent, you would have had to catch the pig yourself, Jeb Miller."
"Wasn't as bad as all that. The boys were startin' to find their rhythm!" Jeb matched the girl's disapproving tone, and Kerry found himself admiring the man for his courage as he covered his swollen cheek with his hand. "And you mind how you talk to your elders, Cally Damcott. You keep that tongue for your siblings and remember your manners."
Cally dismissed the old man with a sniff and turned back to the original reason she'd come over. "Trent, you're not going to wear that ratty old shirt, are you? And those pants are a disgrace. We can surely do better than that!"
"This is my best shirt. And my armor will cover it," Trent answered. He tried to move back, but Cally matched him step for step, sticking close as she brushed at his shoulders.
"That won't do. You can't wear armor all the time!" She took the pack from Trent's hands and thrust it back at Kerry. "You come with me. My brother's feast day clothes will fit you well enough. I may have to take the
pants in, and you're a little taller, but I'm a fine hand with a needle. A good cook too, you won't find better in Bellrise! Have you tried my…"
Kerry settled down beside Jeb as Cally hooked her arm through Trent's and led him off forcefully. Kerry wanted to rescue Trent, he really did, but he had already felt the girl's fist once. Once was plenty. "Temper on her, huh?"
"Not the word to describe it, lad. Bad as her mother," Jeb muttered, "and twice as stubborn. Best you get your friend back to Bellrise sharp like after the burning, you hear? And keep him away from the Damcott barn. What Cally sets her sights on, she usually gets. You don't fight the Damcott women, you run and hide."
"That'll do, Jeb." Where Cally's voice had the men wincing, the new voice sent them jumping to their feet. Kerry kept his seat, watching in disbelief as Jeb blushed and quickly retrieved his shirt, which he hadn't felt he needed before.
Kerry looked to the owner of the cool voice, with its unfamiliar accent. He expected to find a woman older than Cally, mature and beautiful to match the smooth, rich tones she spoke in. The face he looked up at held more lines than Jeb's, and her hair was whiter. Wearing a grey dress and white apron, the woman was thin and stern-looking though an understanding smile lit her eyes.
"You men best be off. There's still work to be done before dinner and the remembrance." It was startling to hear such a young voice coming from lips thin with age, and Kerry had to wonder if there was another speaker hiding behind the old woman.
"That there is, Gran, that there is. Come on, lads, it's not all games for us." Jeb bobbed his head and touched his brow before hurrying off with the others in tow. Kerry would have followed them, but they were gone before he could find his feet, and he was left with the thought, just how old did you have to be for a man like Jeb to call you Gran?
"Older than you think," the woman said, reaching out and pinching Kerry's cheek. "Not that you should be thinking it at all."
At first Kerry thought the woman had read his mind, then, "Did I say that out loud?"
"You did," The woman confirmed with a brisk nod. "I'm sorry, Gran," Kerry said horrified. "I didn't mean to! I would
never–" "Only Jeb Miller calls me Gran, and that's because he's as rotten an old
man as he was a boy! Most call me Elder Geisel." Geisel's face softened. Kerry's broad face was so twisted with remorse, it was difficult to chastise him. "But you can call me Gran if you like. Gran but not Granny, I won't stand for that piece of ridiculousness!"
After Kerry relaxed some and said yes ma'am, Geisel reached out and poked at his cheek. "You'll have a nasty bruise by morning if you don't take care of that. Here, try this."
She pulled a flat round container from the pocket of her apron and handed it to Kerry. Opening it, Kerry's eyes filled with tears at the pungent herbal aroma that suddenly assaulted him. "Do I have to, Gran? It smells stronger than what I need."
"What you need is to do as your told. Just rub a bit under your eye. And be careful not to touch the eye itself!" she admonished. After Kerry applied the salve as directed and returned the container to her, she said, "Good, you can listen. That will help. Walk with me… Kerry, yes?"
"I've heard talk from those you've worked for, and they all say you're an upright lad. In fact, I haven't heard a bad word about you all day, except for some light complaining from Cally, most of which you earned." Kerry fell in beside Geisel as she began walking. She walked slowly but not with the careful steps of the aged. She maintained a comfortable pace for conversation, and if anything, Kerry felt clumsier than usual matching her graceful, measured stride.
"People are saying good things?" Kerry coughed into his hand. "That's surprising. From the looks I've been getting, I thought the Guild had put out a bounty on me."
"Those looks have less to do with you and more to do with the festival." Geisel cast an amused look at him. "Outsiders generally aren't welcome to the Festival of the Fall."
"Trent seems welcome enough," Kerry grumbled. He brightened as a thought occurred to him. "Is he from one of the local families?"
"Trent Embra is the other reason you're getting looks you don't deserve." Geisel stopped to let a few children run by before resuming her walk and speaking again. "He is one of us, though not in the way you mean."
"Prick the finger of any settled resident in Duke Al'dross's territory, and Al'rashian blood will flow. The city may not remember, but the land, and those of us that work the land, we remember. We keep the traditions, even the foolish ones." She flashed him a smile, white teeth, bright and healthy
seeming out of place in her wrinkled face. "And one of those traditions is that violet eyes are always welcome."
"And another is pig chasing?" Kerry quipped, feeling lost in the conversation.
"Cally would be surprised to learn that that tradition has been toned down considerably from its origins." Geisel laughed, shaking her head, and then tucked a stray wisp of white hair back behind her ear. "The Boar Hunt was more thrilling. The pig chasing is safer and an important part of our heritage."
"Boar Hunt? Then shouldn't the men do the chasing?" "The age of the participants and the number of minders are two things
that have not changed. We coddle the young too much these days, but the blood has thinned, and we live in peaceful lands." Kerry stopped walking as he tried to determine whether that had been a joke or not. The winner of this year's chase had been a six-year-old girl! If the age of the participants had not changed, then was there a time when Evelyn would have been required to kill a boar in order to claim her prize?
"But now it is time for you to answer questions, Kerry." Geisel spun on her heel and stopped. Kerry had to look up to meet her gaze. It was a strange feeling. In his mind, the elderly were like children, small and frail, in need of protection. Geisel had a presence like an oak tree, tall and unwavering. "Why are you traveling with Trent Embra? What are your intentions?"
"My intentions?" Kerry wanted to bluster, to tell the woman it was none of her business, but he found himself answering sincerely, "I want his help in the Dungeon. And, if possible, I'd like to be his friend."
"That's good! See that it stays that way," Geisel tapped a long finger against his chest, "for your own good."
"You're worried I might harm him!" Kerry's eyes narrowed indignantly. "I would never–"
He didn't expect the laughter. It broke over him and, in other circumstances, the warmth of it would have been comforting. Geisel's laughter was free and young, and her breath smelled of mint and lavender. Knowing the laughter was directed at him spoiled its charm.
"I do not worry for Trent Embra, Kerry lad." A hint of derision further soured Geisel's pleasant tones. "The people I talked to today said you were smart and meant well, but that you are too trusting. They didn't say that you were blind.
"Did you fall asleep watching the games today? The boy you would
befriend won nearly every event against men twice his size and age. They were not holding back. While you," another tap to Kerry's chest to drive her point home, "were slapped to the ground by a girl who barely stands as high as your chin. It's not Trent's safety I worry about.
"It's for a lad that folks say is too trusting, one who had been burned in the past. The problem with boys who have been burned is that sometimes they like to see others suffer from the same mistake." She reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out the flat container again. She pressed it into his hand and said, "You keep this, Kerry. It's good for burns as well as bruises, just mind you don't get it in your eyes. Hopefully, it will remind you not to burn Trent Embra, because if you do, you'll find out why the violet- eyed are welcomed wherever the Al'rashians are honored. As a hint, it's not because they're such fun to have at parties."
Twenty-Five "Your feet are too far apart," Trent said absently, picking at the
embroidery that decorated his sleeve. "And use both hands; left hand guides, right hand powers the strike."
Trent and Kerry had claimed a seat on the grass after a dinner of roasted meat. Evelyn soon found them. This time, she was not looking for Dreq. The Dog was left sleeping, innocently curled up on Trent's lap as Evelyn showed off her new wooden weapon. Somehow her prideful exhibition had turned into a serious lesson on the finer points of delivering a slash.
"You would think you were a Swordsman, the way you're correcting her stance." Kerry leaned back on his elbows, shaking his head., "She's six, Trent. And quit picking at the threads. Cally will have a fit if you ruin that shirt!"
He looked about nervously, hoping his words didn't summon a demon. Cally would probably forgive Trent for damaging the shirt. She might hit Kerry again just because. Trent didn't see it, but Kerry knew her type.
"I am a Swordsman." Trent reluctantly stopped messing with his sleeve. Although the white shirt with the red flowers embroidered from wrist to shoulder fit him, he didn't think it suited him as well as the black shirt he'd been ordered not to wear. "What does Evelyn's age have to do with anything?"
"Yeah, you're a Swordsman. That's why you wear knives everywhere." Kerry rolled his eyes in the direction of Trent's belt. "I'm surprised Cally let you keep those. It spoils the look."
"Let me? She insisted! Said I wouldn't look proper without them." Trent let the doubts about his Class slide and began tugging at his cuff again. "This shirt feels weird."
"It's a perfectly good shirt. You look as pretty as a maid in it. If there's a beauty competition later, you should enter." Kerry pulled his feet back as one of Evelyn's strikes came perilously close to his ankles. "With that shirt and the ribbon in your hair, you'll win for sure."
"You boys ready for the burning?" Jeb planted himself beside Kerry with a groan, sparing Trent from having to decipher what Kerry's beauty competition comment meant. "You've chosen a prime location for viewing."
That prime location was at the bottom of a small hill, some distance away from the rest of the festival. Kerry and Trent had followed a group of men carrying logs here, with the intention of helping set up for whatever the burning was. Their help had been turned down, and they settled for watching as the men piled the logs in a square pit.
"What is the burning, Jeb?" Looking around Kerry could see the rest of the crowd making their way over to form a circle around the log filled pit. The previous jubilation that had marked the day was gone. Solemn faces and quiet murmuring replaced the celebration as people found places to sit.
Jeb took the wooden sword from Evelyn and pulled her into his lap, hushing her complaints before answering Kerry. "The burning is for watching, Kerry boy, and that's all you need to know for now. Unless you're planning on settling down in these parts. With Cally perhaps, hmmm?"
Kerry made a gesture to ward off evil while giving Jeb a dirty look. Any comment that might have accompanied the gesture was lost as a rhythmic thumping began to sound from the top of the hill. Looking behind, Trent and Kerry noticed the festival musicians had stationed themselves there and were beating out a steady cadence.
The instruments they struck were made of hide stretched over a framework of wood, and though the musicians were only using thin sticks to strike them, the sound they created could be felt in the bones. Hypnotic and powerful, the drums stirred all present, and Kerry clutched his hands together with anticipation, wondering what the instruments summoned. That was the feeling they evoked, the sense that an army was approaching.
As the sun drifted downwards to rest at the edge of the horizon, the watching crowd parted for a group of ten men that walked forward, matching their steps to the beat of the drums. On their shoulders, the men carried an intricately carved and constructed replica of a castle, a fortress, ten feet high and twice as long. The drums beckoned, and the men answered their call, moving purposefully to lay their burden on top of the pyre.
The drums stopped with a suddenness that made Kerry sit up straight and catch his breath. As one, the bearers, freed from their labor marched back the way they had come, and the parted crowd filled back in to cover their retreat.
"It's Al'drossford." In the silence, Trent's whisper rang loudly, starling Kerry.
"It's a castle, not a city," Kerry whispered back. He had grown up in Al'drossford and was intimately familiar with the city's design. Nothing in
the wooden carving brought to mind the streets of his home. "Not the city, the Keep," Trent answered. He swallowed, trying to push
down a lump that suddenly obstructed his throat. "Not Al'drossford," Jeb said in a low serious voice. "Older than that,
much older. Now, hush." Kerry barely heard Jeb. He had lived in Al'drossford for fourteen years,
and never once seen the Keep. He could describe the bridges across the Streg River and knew almost every point of interest from the outer wall to the inner, but beyond those guarded inner gates was a blank. Why would Trent think the carving was of the keep? How could he know what the Al'dross Stronghold looked like?
Kerry would have blurted out these questions despite Jeb's remarks, but the drums came again, silencing him better than Jeb's raspy murmur could. The same cadence, slow and driving, and once again, movement from the crowd. Elder Geisel stepped out this time, her grey dress and white apron replaced by a crimson robe.
In her arms, cradled like a child, she carried a sword. At first, Kerry thought the blade was made of metal but straining his eyes, he saw the sword was crafted from wood, the same dark wood as the castle. Kerry glanced at the toy Evelyn held in her chubby hands. There was no comparison to be found there.
Evelyn's prized blade was little better than two boards stuck together and lightly shaped. The sword that Geisel held carried the weight of a true weapon. Single-edged, with a broad blade that bore a noticeable curve and a long hilt meant for two hands, it was easy to imagine a warrior wielding the sword to drive off an invading army. Under the influence of the drums, it was even easier for Kerry to imagine himself as that warrior.
Geisel's stately stride brought her before the unlit pyre, and Kerry expected the drums to halt again as she came to a stop. Instead, the drums sounded louder, pushing at Kerry, demanding… something. He felt the urge, the need to move, but just like everyone else, he kept to his seat. Whatever the drums called for, it wasn't meant for him.
Wrapped up in his own thoughts, Kerry did not see Trent stand. His fluid movement wasn't enough to break the drums' spell. Trent pulled on his gloves, equipped his cowl, and tugged his mask into place, all without being noticed. Not by Kerry, at least. At the pyre, Geisel bowed. Turning, she noticed Trent's preparations, and the gleam that lit her eyes said she
approved. The rhythm of the drums spoke to all, but what they stirred in Trent was
unique. Everyone wanted to move, each in their own way wanted to act. Only Trent was unable to remain still, unable to resist the call. There was something required of him. His feet carried him to Geisel, and his hands took the hilt of the sword of their own volition. Geisel surrendered the sword with a sad smile, then she was gone, and Trent was left alone before the image of a castle that wasn't the one in Al'drossford.
The drums paused after one last thunderous beat, for the briefest of moments, and when they resumed, they were wilder, fiercer than before. Swelling in sound and speed, the drums crashed with a sense of urgency, and a howling from the assembled crowd answered them. Kerry shivered as black-cloaked figures swept out from all sides to converge on the pyre, screaming in rage and anguish.
The sun had set without fanfare, and without anyone to light it, the pyre erupted with fury to replace it. Flames licked at the sky, illuminating the surroundings while deepening the shadows and threatening to consume the replica of a long-forgotten fortress.
The black-cloaked figures rushed to where Trent stood with his back to them. He turned to face them, sword held in both hands, low and steady. His mask was void of features, but the cloaked attackers tossed back their hoods to reveal masks of their own, and theirs were anything but unexpressive.
Leering faces, twisted in evil grins, and eyes weeping blood, there was more expression but less humanity on the faces of the figures as they broke apart to dance with abandonment in circles around Trent and the burning fortress. The screams that issued from their throats were wordless, yet still obscene, as the dancers twirled and leaped, kicking their legs high and throwing their arms wide.
Kerry did not recognize the faces depicted on the masks. Trent did. In his mind, the dancers became what they represented: Terrors and Fleshlings, Beasts and Orcs. He held his sword and waited. The enemy would come; they had to. This was a battle already lost, and all that remained was one last act of defiance.
The dancers produced weapons of their own and came for Trent in a flurry of movement. The end had come, and Trent joined the dance. The drums instructed him, and his body moved in a way that he had always actively repressed. Ocean Meets the Shore was a Technique meant for the
blade in his hands, but it was beyond his capability to utilize. In a true battle, Trent would be hindered by the Skill. Tonight, with
drums to guide and an experienced blade to show him the way, Trent learned what could be accomplished with the Al'rashian's greatest sword form. Dancers tumbled as Trent swung the Al'rashian longsword. Wood whistled over heads as monsters in masks slid underneath and narrowly missed bodies, as dancers flipped themselves in response to Trent's movements.
Rolling to their feet, cloaks swirled as men and women continued to circle the fire and throw themselves at the Swordsman before the pyre. It could have lasted forever, but Al'rashia was no more and Windshire Stronghold had fallen. The dance had to end as well.
None of Trent's strikes had connected with flesh; he had enough awareness of himself to hold back. It was a near thing, at times, as fire and drums forced his heart to beat wildly and his blood to pulse. Then the last foe presented itself, and the drums screamed into Trent's mind, demanding he deliver a blow to finish things. The armored Knight that flowed towards him, the one three times taller than any man had a right to be, had to die.
Trent's blade was a blur, both from the speed with which he struck as well as the power he imbued in his sword. Wood cracked, and the dancers let out one final howl as the Knight was split at the waist and the torso of the enemy, a mannequin built of straw and twigs, fell into the fire to burn with the Stronghold.
Kerry had come to his feet at some point. He couldn't say when; he didn't know how much time had passed. Sweat covered his face as if he had been one of the dancers, and he expected to see the masked Swordsman collapsed on the ground. Kerry felt like doing so, and he had been an observer. It was unreasonable for the Swordsman to have the energy to stand after participating as he had.
And he did fall, though not how Kerry envisioned. Turning back to the pyre, the Swordsman mimicked the motions of sheathing his sword and then, holding the blade close to his side, he knelt. On one knee, Trent bowed his head and pressed a fist against the soil.
"A head lowered in reverence, a hand to earth for what must be protected, and another to hilt for the means." The drums had stopped, and again Kerry couldn't say when the change had occurred. When Geisel spoke into the stillness, he jumped, drawing an amused look from Jeb.
In her crimson robes Geisel stood over the kneeling Trent and cast a
handful of herbs into the fire. The flames burned higher, turning from red to a brilliant blue, and then she knelt beside Trent and placed a hand on his back. "We remember the Fall of Al'rashia."
The crowd echoed her words, all except for Kerry, whose mouth merely hung open. From a hundred feet away, Kerry could feel the heat of the pyre and he couldn't understand how Geisel and the Swordsman could stand so close. When he found his voice, all Kerry could say was, "Jeb, what was that?"
"The Burning of Windshire Stronghold, or how it might have happened." Jeb cleared his throat and set Evelyn aside long enough to stand. "None can say for sure; no one saw it happen. Ha! None have ever seen it danced this way in more years than I care to think."
"You let children watch this?" Kerry waved a hand at Evelyn, whose round red cheeks wore a grave expression that was unnatural on the tiny girl. "It will give her nightmares! Noemi's mercy, it's gonna give me nightmares!"
"Our kids are made of sterner stuff than you, Kerry boy." Jeb placed his boney chin on Evelyn's head and gave her a squeeze. "They watch so they'll remember after we're gone. Later tonight, parents will tell the story of the fall and hand out sweets. It's tradition."
Kerry didn't have anything to say to that. He stared at the flames which still burned blue, and then at Geisel and the Swordsman who knelt there. He gave out a choked gasp when the embroidery on Trent's sleeves identified the figure he had thought was just another dancer.
Dropping his gaze, Kerry found Dreq was sitting beside him, but Trent was long gone. "He… He really is a Swordsman, isn't he?"
"He told you he was," Jeb chuckled. It was a tired, weak noise conveying that he was as drained by the night as Kerry was. "I swear, Kerry boy, this is what gets you into trouble. You don't pay attention."
It would take the rest of the night for the bonfire to burn itself out. Trent,
Kerry, and Jeb, along with all the single young people from the surrounding farms, had volunteered to watch it and make sure the flames didn't leave the pit. That was the reason given anyhow.
The truth was that once the older folks had taken the children to bed, a new festival began. Less skilled but more enthusiastic musicians played long into the night while the young Awakened men and women laughed and danced. Barrels of cider were broken out, and liquors with a kick were passed
around. A few older Farmers like Jeb made sure that the revelers kept away from the fire. Otherwise, they stayed out of the way, content to watch and drink and share stories of past festivals.
Kerry expected the Farmers' daughters that had chased Trent all day to swarm over the violet-eyed Swordsman once their mothers weren't watching, but other than Jeb, the locals avoided Trent. However, it wasn't the cold shoulder that Kerry had received earlier. Instead, Trent was subjected to looks of reverence and near worship for his exploits during the burning.
Only Evelyn still had the courage to treat Trent the same way she always had. Her parents had dragged her off hours ago, protesting and complaining the whole way. She would have taken Dreq with her, but the Pup had hidden himself behind Trent and refused to answer the girl's calls. That might have set the tired six-year-old to kicking and screaming, but Trent had forestalled it by taking out a small carving knife. Evelyn watched with bright eyes as Trent turned her wooden sword into a much more refined toy weapon, and she solemnly promised to practice what he had taught her before letting her parents carry her to bed.
Geisel had never reclaimed the wooden Al'rashian longsword from Trent after the dance, and while the true Festival of the Fall took place around him, Trent sat with it in his lap, trying to reclaim the feeling the blade had given him during the dance. It was no use. No matter how hard he concentrated, he could not hold on to the mastery that had swelled up while he defended the burning castle.
He ran his bare hands along the wood and sighed. If there had been fewer people present, he might have stood and gone through the forms that had always tripped him up. It was probably a good thing the Farmers and Militia members were here. It would have been discouraging to have performed so well without conscious knowledge only to fail when he tried to relive the moment.
"You're a Swordsman, and you have the Detect Trap Skill. That I can accept!" Kerry blurted out the words he'd been holding back, and Trent welcomed the interruption. "It's unusual but not unheard of."
In fact, many of Kerry's instructors had told the Academy students, repeatedly, that anyone could learn Detect Trap. It was easier for Archers and Rogues, but it wasn't a Class-specific Skill. There were many Skills, like Harvesting and Herbalism, that anyone could learn with the right affinities and enough effort.
"But how did you know the dance?" Cider sloshed in Kerry's mug as he gave a frustrated swing of his arms. "And how could they let you? It looked dangerous! You almost hit some of the dancers! You couldn't possibly have practiced!"
Trent saw his opportunity and carefully baited his trap. "How do you know what sub-levels are? It's the same thing."
"That… that has nothing to do with anything!" Kerry shook his head and pulled the hide that Trent had lent him more tightly around his shoulders. "Everyone knows about sub-levels; it's not the same at all!"
Trent bit his tongue in frustration. It would have been acceptable if Kerry had avoided the trap, but the barrel-shaped youth blundered through it like it wasn't even there. Maybe verbal Traps were different from tripwires after all.
"It's ancestral knowledge, Kerry boy!" From his place on Kerry's left, also wrapped in one of Trent's hides, Jeb helped the young warrior completely avoid the conversational bait Trent had laid out. "It's in the blood, bred in the bones, dipped in the mucus. How could he not know?"
"You're drunk old man." Kerry tossed a pebble in Jeb's direction and took another drink from his cup. "And making less sense than normal. You don't just know a dance that complicated–"
Kerry broke off with a yawn. His eyes slid shut, and his mug fell from his hand as he slumped over asleep. Jeb and Trent were startled by the suddenness of it. Jeb struggled to his feet, almost falling over backward when his nose unleashed a sneeze that wracked his whole body.
Casting a wide-eyed look around, Jeb spotted what he had missed before. Young lovers huddled before the fire, dozing against each other's shoulders. Gruff old Farmers snored where they sat, and young people yet to partner off slept in unnatural positions in the grass where they had fallen while dancing. The music had ended without Jeb's noticing, and prized instruments lay forgotten on the ground as their owners' soft breathing played a different kind of melody.
"Damn it, Gran, you witch!" Jeb grumbled, trying to fight off the sleep which threatened to overtake him. "I'm not a child! You can't tuck me into bed whenever you feel like."
His protests useless, Jeb let out his own yawn and fell over next to Kerry. Realizing what was happening and thwarting it were two different things. Had he seen it coming, Jeb still would have fallen prey to the sleep which crept up on the wind.
Standing with the wooden sword in hand, Trent swallowed as Geisel stepped into the light. The flickering firelight added more lines to her face, making her look like the witch Jeb named her. She had changed back into her dress and apron, and she winked at Trent as she took another pinch of dust from the pouch in her hand.
She sprinkled the substance directly into Jeb's face, saying, "He was always a stubborn child."
"Witch?" Trent asked softly, his hands shifting on the hilt of the weapon that, outside of the night's festivities, was as much a toy as Evelyn's sword. He tossed it away and drew Sorrow and Strife. In the face of Geisel's power, the bone handles of his knives hardly reassured him.
"An insult, not a Class. The fool knows I'm an Herbalist," Geisel said dryly, tucking her pouch into the pocket of her apron. "You won't need your weapons, Trent Embra."
"An Herbalist can do that?" Trent lifted his chin to indicate where Kerry had rolled over in his sleep to drape an arm over Jeb's chest. The two breathed in and out in unison, looking peaceful, though Trent doubted that peace would last if they woke in their current position.
"Herbalists do more than grow plants. You should know that; you hold the Profession yourself." Geisel smoothed the front of her apron as she approached. "Powders, salves, and potions belong as much to us as they do to Alchemists. Some of the more impressive alchemical arts are beyond us but inducing sleep in those already tired is simplicity itself."
"Why?" Two things kept Trent in place as Geisel swayed towards him, the fire at his back and the Dog at his feet. Both kept him talking when he thought he should be running.
Arriving within arm's reach, Geisel pushed the tip of Sorrow downwards with one finger. "We have a few things in common, Trent. We both have secrets, for one. However, the biggest difference between us is that I am better at protecting my secrets."
Trent sheathed his knives. He had resisted Geisel's prodding as best he could, yet she didn't seem to notice. Sorrow's blade didn't so much as prick her finger. "Meaning you know some of my secrets already?"
"Your secrets are laid bare for all with eyes to see." A surprisingly girlish laugh escaped her as she said this, and Trent blushed behind his mask. Her hands reached up and gently pushed his mask up, revealing his embarrassment. "It is wise to hide your eyes. The Verrens have spies who
watch for clansmen. I hope you'll forgive an old woman wanting to see that which she thought long lost."
The world had descended into darkness as Trent lost the Dark Vision Ability his cowl provided, and Geisel studied him as Trent blinked and tried to adjust to the change. His face was guarded, but youthful, and for the life of her, she could not imagine how he had been left to wander on his own.
"Sit, Trent, we should talk." Following her own directions, Geisel sank gracefully to the grass, arranging the skirt of her dress around her legs. A moment later, with a helpless sounding sigh, Trent followed suit. Sitting cross-legged, Trent opened his mouth to ask the old woman how much she knew of him, shutting it again when she pushed a mortar and pestle into his hands.
"Grind these for me please," she said, dropping a few leaves into the stone bowl. And, lacking a reason to refuse her, Trent did so, holding the mortar in his left hand and crushing the leaves using the pestle with his right. He used a little more force than necessary to accomplish the task, but Geisel nodded approvingly rather than reprimanding him.
"Sub-levels." She dropped a few more dried leaves into the bowl. Trent's ears perked up and his grinding became less urgent. "In Al'rashia it was said that an Awakened can only walk one path at a time.
"For those with multiple Class slots, this meant you should concentrate on a single Class until its Skills are second nature to you, and then it is time to consider greater things." She added a handful of white berries to the mixture forming under Trent's hands. "The saying takes on a slightly different meaning for those who can take up both Class and Profession.
"Class or Profession, whichever you take first, will determine your Level. You are already familiar with how Levels work. Sub-levels are a bit trickier. They give set amounts of Attributes and you will never learn a Skill from their growth." She poured a vial of liquid into the mortar and, while Trent's eyes were glued to her face, hers never left the concoction in the bowl.
"You can learn the Skills manually or by using Stones, of course, and you should. It will be very difficult to increase your Professions if you don't." She took the bowl from Trent's hands and began to dab the mixture onto her face. "Now, I've answered the question, in part, that you've been clumsily trying to tease out of others all day. Will you answer my questions?
"No, you won't," she answered for him, spreading the paste over her cheeks, "because my questions touch on secrets. Perhaps if I offer a secret of
my own?" She tilted her head back, and taking another vial from her apron, allowed
a single drop of clear liquid to fall into her eyes. A clean white cloth appeared in her hand, and she scrubbed her face as she lowered her chin. When the cloth came away, Trent leaped to his feet and backed several yards away.
"Has my face become so fearsome?" Full lips pouted in a face untouched by age as Geisel mocked Trent's reaction. "The hair I'll leave as it is, I'm afraid. Surprisingly, it's harder to get it to look this way. You'd think the wrinkles would be the tough bit, yes?"
She tugged her white bangs straight to consider them. Trent's gaze never left her eyes. Geisel had brown eyes, ordinary, not unpleasant. They were still a pleasant unassuming brown, but after the application of whatever she carried in the vial that she had dropped back into her apron, they lost the white and black that marked a human's eyes and became the solid orbs of an Al'rashian.
Trent had put Geisel's sharp bone structure down to the thinness of age. With those eyes dancing at his shock, he could only see the sharpness of Al'rashian features. It was more unsettling than the sudden bloom of youth that filled her face, more unexpected.
"Is that your real face? It could be a trick!" Trent tried to wet dry lips with a tongue that was equally parched.
"You know it is." Geisel shrugged and settled her hands in her lap, "It's the same face I've had for over… For many years. Since before the time of the Fall. I was the last full-blooded Al'rashian for thousands of miles, and then you came. Is this secret enough for you to tell me how you came here without Clan or escort? Do the Embras ride for Al'drossford at last?"
Trent was silent, and Geisel pointed at the ground in front of her. "Sit and speak, Trent Embra, or is civility towards one's Elders another thing the clans have lost?"
"Ask me something else," Trent said, slowly settling to the earth. "I can't answer that."
"Can't or won't?" Geisel passed a flask to him, and Trent drank from it, grateful for a distraction. His gratitude fled quickly as a burning fluid seared his throat.
"Can't." He coughed, handing the flask back and clawing for his waterskin. "I've only met one Embra; I don't know what they're doing. What was that?"
"Nothing harmful," Geisel recorked the container and tucked it away, "just a little something to bolster the spirit and calm the nerves."
Trent felt anything but calm as he washed the taste from his mouth. He told Geisel so as he spit out a swallow of water.
"No, Survivalists don't usually care for it. The Dusk Wraiths were the same, resisting what was good for them at times." She held out a piece of flat bread and, when he refused to take it, Geisel scoffed, "It's just sweet bread to remove the taste. You'll regret not taking it."
She didn't push it on him, and Trent found his fingers closing on the bread. He sniffed it suspiciously before taking a small nibble. As a sweetness contrasted with the heat that still filled his throat, his walls fell, and he chomped down on the rest without hesitation.
He was still young, Geisel thought to herself, her gaze shifting to Kerry's sleeping form. Still young, and like Kerry, too trusting. They were both well and poorly matched in that regard. Kerry had good cause to be suspicious of others, and if she was reading Trent correctly, he did as well. But both boys carried an innocence that couldn't be displaced by suspicion. Perhaps they could look out for one another, though they would need someone with more sense to fill in for their lack.
When her eyes turned back to Trent, a simple smile lit his features, and his eyes were distant as if he were studying his Status. She felt a pang of guilt looking at that face. Trent might have answered her questions without the herbs she'd fed him, but that wasn't a certainty, and Geisel was a big one for a sure thing.
"Alright, Trent, pay attention!" She snapped her fingers, and his out-of- focus eyes swiveled towards her. "Tell me, what brought you here, and why the Embras let you slip away. Tell me everything."
Trent began speaking. He spoke for hours and at the end he held an egg- shaped Skill Stone in his hand, babbling about how he had to learn it, but he couldn't learn it, and wasn't that strange. Geisel rubbed at her brow and pinched the bridge of her nose as Trent shouted at the Stone, demanding it give him what he wanted.
She should have known better. Any Survivalist would have been resistant to her tricks, but a violet-eyed Al'rashian was built to withstand her efforts. She would have been better off trading her own secrets for his and hoping he would keep them to himself.
The information she had pried out of the boy was scattered and confusing.
He said he was an orphan, but not really. He talked of kings and dukes and the Undead in a circle, and claimed fire would answer his call, but not as a Spell, and if he didn't have a Spell how was he supposed to feed his gloves. At the end he had shown her the Skill Stone and said he needed it. He needed it and it wouldn't come to him. Then he began shouting at the object in a voice that grew increasingly stressed and unstable.
It was laughable, really. Trent had outsmarted her. Geisel did not receive any of the answers she wanted, but she could provide the information he needed. It was absurd to meet a boy whose first Class was an Advanced one. She might be the one person alive who knew that Trent's situation wasn't a blessing. There was a reason the Basic Classes came first.
It had been more years ago than she cared to remember when she told Damien Dross to attend to his lessons and stay away from the river. That boy was never one to listen, though. He had been a born leader, and as a new Awakened, those tendencies had meant if you told him to go left, he ran forward. She said the river was dangerous, and he built a raft.
Damien's stubborn belief in his own capabilities had led him into a Hereditary Trial as a Level 3 Warrior and, when he came out, Master Mage had been added to his Status. It had taken Geisel and the other elders years to figure out how he could build a Class he didn't have the foundation for.
Trent would benefit from those years of study now. "Trent, listen closely!" She snapped her fingers again, cutting off his
babbling. His eyes narrowed, but his head wobbled as he tried to pay attention to her. "Advanced Classes do not need Basic Skills. You should already have them. If you need Basic Spear to level Survivalist, it's because your Class is forcing you to build the foundation you should already have.
"Your situation is complicated because, while you have an affinity for the Spear Skill, your Swordsman Class is fighting against you. There are several ways around this.
"First, teach your body what it needs to learn. Jeb knows the spear, have him instruct you in the morning. After his lesson, try the Stone again. If that doesn't work, keep practicing until it does."
She took a deep breath. "The other way is to take a third Class, one which uses the spear. Having another Warrior Class will help balance the demands of your first two Classes. It may also cause problems of its own. However, that may be what you need. Archer, Rogue, or Warrior all have the potential to become Hunters, and all Survivalists start as Hunters."
"Already a Hunter, Shadow Hunter, but I only hunted the one Rat." Trent hiccupped, his head rolling on his neck. "But I will, do that… and then Mage! Pyromancer! Fire, is what I need!"
"No!" Geisel almost slapped him. She had to shake him several times during her interrogation when he got stuck on his rant. The boy had an unnatural need for a tier-one Spell that she could not understand. Neither Survivalist nor Swordsman used magic. Adding a Mage Class would compound his problem.
"No Mage Class until you're well beyond Level 20! Survivalists don't fight with Spells; they're completely unrelated. The Mage Class would be a hindrance. Learn them with Stones or study if you must." She clapped her hands in front of Trent's nose. "Why do you want Fire Spells anyway?"
For the first time since she'd begun this arduous process, Trent's eyes sharpened, and a growl came from the back of his throat. "Secrets are meant to be kept! That's mine… but…"
She should have taken his knives away. That was all Geisel could think as Trent drew Sorrow and slashed at the air. He couldn't hurt her with the bone- handled blade, but one misstep in his inebriated state could see Trent cutting himself badly. She held her breath as Trent held his right arm out to the side and sent the heavy knife dancing along his knuckles, a feat made impressive by the blade's size as well as Trent's intoxication.
"Close," Trent whispered hoarsely, not bothering to watch the sharp edge he set to spinning in his palm.
"Middle." Right hand still manipulating his knife, Trent's left hand flashed, and a dart popped into existence next to Geisel's knee. She let out the breath she'd been holding in a rush.
"But not far." Trent sheathed his dagger and the dart returned to wherever he had it concealed. "Fire can be far. Or Archery, but Archery is soooo boring. More boring than reading! Almost as boring as reading…"
Trent's eyelids drooped, and his chin fell to his chest. Geisel reached out and pushed him backward with two fingers. He fell to his back without resisting, his legs still crossed. Straightening his legs and tossing what she discovered was a Dire Bear hide over him, Geisel spoke one last time before Trent drifted off.
"Sleep now, Trent Embra, and in the morning ask Jeb to train you. If he refuses, tell him Geisel knows who dyed Farmer Greer's cows blue all those years ago. And remember no Mage Classes, not for a very long time, not
until…" She stopped speaking because Trent was past hearing. Hopefully, he
would remember in the morning. "Not even Charm Specialist?" Trent's sudden question caused Geisel to
jump. "Charms… are… fun…" She didn't bother answering. He was asleep now. And deeply so. Geisel
stood and brushed the dirt from her dress. She paused, looking around at the sleeping forms all around. She had forgotten that there would be no one left to watch the fire after she scattered the powder that gave her uninterrupted time with Trent.
Tradition said the fire had to be allowed to go out naturally, and it must be observed. It was a tradition she had started herself, in honor of the King and his Wraiths. She settled back to the ground and started taking out the supplies she would need to reapply her wrinkles. Tradition and disguise were burdens that lay firmly on her own shoulders. As much as she'd like to, the time hadn't come to set them aside.
Twenty-Six "Poke me again, I dare you," Jeb snarled without opening his eyes. Crouching next to the old man, Trent withdrew the finger he'd used to
push at Jeb's cheek. "Ah, Elder Geisel said you would help me. Will you?" One of Jeb's eyes creaked open. "The sun isn't even up, boy. Come back
at a decent time and bring breakfast with you, then we'll talk about help." Pulling the hide that covered him up to his chin, Jeb started to go back to
sleep. "Elder Geisel said that if you didn't help me, I should say that Farmer
Greer was still curious about who painted his cows blue." Trent didn't see what cows had to do with anything, but given the way Jeb's eyes shot back open, the old man did.
"That old bat can't prove anything!" he said in a strangled voice. "This old bat doesn't need to prove anything. Greer will put two and two
together when I remind him you ran off to join the Guard the same year his cows changed colors." Geisel's voice snapped through the dark like a whip. "He's still worked up over that. Twenty head of cattle that he could not sell. Not even as beef! The stain went right to the bone, and people wouldn't touch the meat or the milk. He still has three of them that he keeps around to remind him that the culprit is out there."
"The enchantment wasn't supposed to be permanent, wasn't even supposed to dye the skin," Jeb whined weakly. "It was meant to turn the milk blue for a few days, is all."
"I'm sure Greer will see your side of things when you explain it to him," Geisel said understandingly. "I hope he gives you the chance. He served in the Guard as well, you know. With the Scouting Regiment from what I hear. For a big man, near twice your size, Jeb, he walks soft."
"What is it you need, Trent boy?" Jeb threw off the hide and stretched his arms above his head. "Always happy to help whomever, whenever I can. Most helpful man in the kingdom, that's how people know old Jeb Miller!"
"You can teach me to use a spear?" The interaction between the two older people went straight over his head, but Trent was pleased at the results. Geisel, sitting next to the embers of the bonfire, wrapped in a shawl, was just as pleased. She had been waiting a long time to motivate Jeb with that threat.
She just hadn't found the right cause until now. "Sure, I can run you through the drills easy enough, I'm a fine hand with a
spear. Prefer the glaive myself, but if it has a long shaft and a point, I can use it." Jeb tugged at his beard and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Wake up, Kerry boy, though. You'll need a partner to…"
It was at this point that Jeb discovered the arm draped across his chest, and Kerry's head pillowed on a pack next to him. The innocent Kerry yelled and covered his head as Jeb delivered a series of curses and slaps that woke him quickly enough.
"Damn, kid, I ain't your bleedin' teddy bear!" Jeb came to his feet, and Kerry, not as agile as the old man, had to roll away to avoid his kicks. "Get your ass up, boy! Don't know what they're teaching you in that Academy. Half the day's gone, and the chores ain't done. It's a good thing you didn't join the Guard! I know a Sergeant or two that would whip that lazy attitude of yours out fast like!"
Trent nodded approvingly at the burst of energy displayed by Jeb and Kerry. This was how a person should wake up! Alert and with vigor, ready to face the day! It was exactly the kind of thing Sergeant Cullen…
Trent's mood took a dip as Cullen once again pushed in on his awareness. He'd gone a whole day without wondering what the Sergeant and Tersa were doing. It had occurred to him that Cullen would be better than Jeb for this morning's training, but that wasn't going to happen.
"Uh, Trent, we've got a problem." Jeb glanced around and saw his way out of training and back into his blankets. "Need a spear or two to learn how to–"
Three long poles, the ends of which had been wrapped in padding and cloth thumped to the ground at his feet.
"I thought you might say that," Geisel said from the fire, "so I got those ready for you."
"Damned nice of you, Gran," Jeb said through gritted teeth. "Never knew you cared so much. You boys grab those, and we'll head… We'll stay right here, not near enough light except by the pit. We won't be in your way, will we, Gran?"
"Not at all, Jeb Miller." Geisel tossed a handful of powder into what was left of the fire and the huge pit flared to life, illuminating their surroundings. "I look forward to seeing you enlighten the next generation."
"Uh, why do I need to be a part of this?" Kerry asked sullenly. "I don't
use a spear." "You ain't foolin' no one, Kerry boy," Jeb sneered, picking up a practice
pole and poking at Kerry's middle. "You don't use any weapons. Don't think I haven't heard about that bit of shit! Learning the spear will be good for you, but if you can produce another weapon, any weapon at all, feel free to employ it!"
Kerry was still drowsy as he grabbed a pole and stood. He listened with half an ear as Jeb walked them through how to hold the weapon and then how to stand. He poked at the air when Jeb said to thrust and lunged in small steps when the Farmer barked. There was no point to the exercises that he could see, and he couldn't summon any enthusiasm for the drills.
Trent demonstrated why this was a poor attitude when the time came to spar. He had soaked up the lessons like a field long denied water, and he had always approached weapons' training like it was a life or death situation. Because it was. When he came at Kerry, he held nothing back, only pausing to help Kerry back to his feet when his partner fell.
Which Kerry did, and often. Trent started to think Kerry was practicing tumbling more than he was the spear, and he approved. Falling was a difficult skill to master, and Kerry did need the practice. He always went down hard and never got up quickly enough. Trent did wish Kerry would stay on his feet a little longer. It wasn't necessary to fold up like that every time you got poked in the ribs.
"Well, Trent at least seems to have a handle on the fundamentals," Jeb said, calling a halt to the activities as the sun started its climb into the sky. "Kerry, have you considered taking up farming? You seem to like the dirt."
"Har, hardy, har, old man. If my ribs weren't already busted, they'd break now. You're the funniest man alive." Kerry rolled over on to his stomach and pressed his face against the grass. "Are we done?"
"You are, Kerry boy," Jeb said, rolling his shoulders. "It's my turn now. Trent needs polishing that he's not going to get tickling you. Now, Trent…"
For the first time that morning, Trent wasn't paying attention to Jeb's instructions. He held the Common Skill Stone clutched in his hand and was squeezing it for all he was worth. When the egg-shaped Stone crumbled in his grip and a new Skill added itself to his Status, he almost collapsed with relief.
"If you had the Stone, why are we doing this the hard way?" Jeb grumbled, irritated. "Could have got hours more sleep. Why does a
Swordsman need to learn the spear anyway?" "Because he's more than a Swordsman, you daft thing," Geisel answered
for Trent. "You should keep that in mind if you plan on facing him yourself." Jeb waved away her warning and squared off in front of Trent, who was
slowly going through the motions he had just learned. "Let's see what you've got, Trent boy, and don't worry if…"
Jeb had only met a handful of men in his life who could use a spear as well as he could. Mostly they were older Guardsmen, career soldiers. There had been one young man who had given him a run for his money, but Francis had been an exceptional Recruit. Watching Trent get excited learning from a Stone, he didn't count the boy among the Spearmen he needed to be careful of.
A Common Skill offered no bonuses to Damage. Hardly anyone chose to learn them, and they were only useful when Basic Skills were not available. The Stone that Trent prized held the rudimentary movements of the spear and couldn't even be called a Technique. With that Skill under his belt, could Trent even be called a Spearman? A Farmer with a hoe would be more dangerous.
Jeb was shortsighted. The first thrust Trent sent at him was stiff. The second flowed into a butt strike, which had the former soldier hopping. The series of jabs that came at his face made Jeb look as clumsy as Kerry, and for the first time, Jeb realized he had to take things seriously.
There were no words of instruction as poles clashed and feet stomped. Trent was beyond the need for teaching; he just had to combine what he had gained with the real-world lessons he had earned in combat. Jeb could practically see Trent's Skill increasing, and it terrified him.
Jeb had trained Recruits as a Guardsman, and he put the Militia members through their paces once a week, now that he was a Farmer. There was no rust on this old man, but he had never once seen an Awakened take to a Skill this fast. Trent was still miles behind him, and he had no real difficulty holding the younger man back once his shock wore off, but with time and practice, Jeb could see their positions switching.
A straight thrust, stronger and faster than any previously sent his way, rushed for his stomach, and Jeb stepped out of the way. The pole tugged at his shirt before he caught the shaft in his hand and held it fast, bringing a stop to the match. That had been a Skilled strike, which was only possible if…
"Basic Spear?" He asked dumbfounded, and Trent nodded. "How is that
possible? You just learned the common moves! It's been less than an hour…" He cleared his throat and coughed into his hand. "It's bad form to use a
Skilled Strike without warning, kid! Someone could get hurt!" "Didn't seem to bother you when it was me getting hit, Jeb," Kerry
offered from the side. He tossed a rock at Jeb's ankles which the Farmer blocked with his pole.
"Neither here nor there, Kerry boy!" Jeb spat and tugged at his beard. "But I think we're done for the day. I think I just witnessed a miracle. The morning's too young and I'm too old for miracles. My heart won't take it."
"Breakfast then?" Kerry looked fervent for the first time since his abrupt wake-up call. "Who's cooking?"
The answer was Elder Geisel. She supplied the vegetables, utensils, and
seasonings and volunteered to prepare a meal with only a minimal amount of complaint. Trent brought out slabs of meat to add to the morning's offerings, and when the smell of cooked Dire Bear roused the other sleeping celebrants from their unnatural slumber in a way the sound of mock combat hadn't, he joined Geisel in her grumbling. Neither of them had anticipated feeding more than fifty farm brats, all of whom were keen to show off the legendary appetite of those who worked the land.
The taste of Geisel's cooking silenced Trent's disgruntled comments, and Geisel's were only murmured because people expected it of her. She had been feeding Farmers since Al'drossford was a military outpost made of wood. It didn't bother her, truly.
It was still early when the locals left for home, and Trent and Kerry said their goodbyes. By Kerry's reckoning, there was no need to rush back to Bellrise. They could take their time and still beat the majority of the town's Adventurers to the Dungeon. Bellrise wasn't what you would call a fast- paced place.
It was a point he tried to make to Trent several times, but Trent was well rested and a step closer to leveling Survivalist. With Quests in his Status and Dreq trotting at his heels, Trent saw no reason to delay the exploration of the Trial that had been calling to him for days!
"Well, at least explain why we, why I, had to endure that torture back there?" Kerry huffed, referring to Jeb's instruction in the ancient art of the spear. "Are you a Swordsman or not? Why does a Swordsman need to learn to use anything other than a sword?"
"A Swordsman doesn't, I do." Trent reached out a hand and steadied Kerry as the bulky youth once again tripped over nothing. "Are you sure you should be going into the Trial? You seem…"
Trent searched for a polite way to say it and finally settled on, "You're clumsier than a drunk, pregnant sow!"
Cullen had used that phrase to describe Trent once, and upon seeing the dirty look Kerry threw at him, Trent realized it might not be a very nice thing to say.
"I'm not so sow-like with my armor on!" Kerry said defensively, before adding, "Benefits of the Heavy Armor Skill!"
"Then, you should wear your armor all the time." To Trent, this was just good sense. He had already put the Witching Hour armor back on. Dreq barked his agreement with Trent's statement as he rushed ahead to avoid Kerry's lumbering feet.
"Maybe I should," Kerry admitted. The walls of Bellrise were getting larger as they approached, and Kerry felt a pit grow in his stomach. "About the Dungeon, you'll really go in with me?"
Trent shrugged. "Sure, it's always better to have an extra set of eyes." "Then, you should know, I'm a member of a chartered party." Kerry
watched for Trent's reaction out of the corner of his eye. "Why should I know that?" "Because, ah, the others… we've been looking for a Rogue." Kerry
rubbed the back of his neck. "The others are busy for the next few days, but when they're available, they'll probably want to work with you too. They will want you to sign before we go in with them, so we can share XP, and there's no question of loot division."
The charter didn't allow Kerry to discourage Trent from signing outright. Kerry could only prepare Trent carefully and hope that Trent recognized the pitfalls to the charter when he read it himself.
"Go back in? Why would I clear a Trail twice? And I'm not a Rogue!" It was Trent's turn to be stumped. Trials were meant to be challenged, but there were so many to be discovered. There was a whole world to explore. Though he might not know exactly what the future held, from Trent's perspective, it was a waste to repeatedly clear the same Trial. "Can't we share XP this way?"
He extended an invitation to Kerry through his Leadership Skill. Kerry checked the notification in his Status without thinking. "There are five floors
to the Dungeon. It's not like we can clear all five with just the two of us. Even with Jace and Holly, we're a long way from… you have the Leadership Skill?"
Kerry stopped abruptly, swaying in place. Trent kept walking, not answering the question. It was obvious he had the Leadership Skill. If Kerry didn't trust what his Status told him, nothing Trent could say was more dependable.
Kerry watched Trent's back and then read the invitation to join Trent's party once more. With Leadership, Detect Traps, and a Specialized Class, Kerry felt that Trent was more a mystery all the time. He accepted the invite after a moment, not noticing that the Dog, Dreq, was already a party member.
Whatever happened, he had to keep Trent away from Jace. Away from Jace and close to himself. Within Trent's confident strides, Kerry saw his ticket out of the mess he had created for himself. He just had to be smart about it.
Twenty-Seven They had to stop at the Academy to retrieve Kerry's armor. Leaving Trent
at the school's gate, Kerry promised he wouldn't be more than a handful of minutes. Trent presented an odd sight to the few students who walked by him as he leaned against the wall and entertained Dreq with a game Evelyn had taught the pup.
A man playing fetch with his Dog wasn't so unusual. When that man was dressed in fine leather armor and masked, it was a touch suspicious. What really shocked the students was the casual way Trent tossed the Beast tooth for Dreq to retrieve.
Beast parts were not toys. In the student's eyes, Trent was throwing money on the street, and Dreq's teeth were damaging valuable crafting materials. It was the silver of coin and not the white of a tooth that flew through the air as the students watched. Several thought of trying to snatch the tooth for themselves before Dreq could run to it. There was something in the way Trent rested his left hand on the hilt of his knife that kept their greed in check.
Slightly more than a handful of minutes went by before Kerry reappeared, adjusting his pauldrons and gauntlets while tightening his helm. A tower shield hung on his left arm and clanked against the steel of his greaves as he walked. It was true that he was nimbler in armor than he was out, and combined with his size, there were some who found the sight of Kerry intimidating.
Trent was not one of those. He was distinctly unimpressed upon seeing the spots of rust and dents in Kerry's protective gear. The armor was big and heavy, but cheap and poorly maintained. Trent could empathize with the dents. There had been a time when his own equipment had been scarred enough to be nearly useless. But the rust? Trent found the sight of a problem that could be cured with a bit of oil and patience distasteful.
"What do you think?" Kerry came to a stop and flipped the visor of his helm up. "Not as pretty as your leather, but it's got its own flair, right?" He hefted his shield so that Trent could get a good look at the rectangular monstrosity that was almost as tall as he was.
"It looks like armor," Trent agreed neutrally, rapping his knuckles against
Kerry's breastplate. "Can you run in that?" "Run? Why would I need to run? There's nothing on the first two floors
that can breach this!" It was a subject that Kerry had hoped to avoid. He could run for a short distance, but his Heavy Armor Skill was only at Level 3. It would have to reach Level 6 before it started to reduce the weight he carried.
"So, no, huh?" Trent reached and retrieved the tooth he'd been throwing for Dreq. "Can Beasts on the third floor get through metal?"
"There are acid spitters on the third floor sometimes. We shouldn't need to worry about them." In Kerry's opinion, they wouldn't reach the first-floor Guardian on this delve.
"You also forgot your weapon," Trent observed, shouldering his pack after pretending to toss Dreq's toy into it.
Trent had noticed it was missing when Kerry stomped up. There was a broad leather belt wrapped around his waist, and a bag too large to be called a pouch hung at his side, but Trent saw no weapons anywhere on Kerry's body. There wasn't so much as a carving knife unless Kerry had it hidden in his satchel.
"A shield can be a weapon! It's a bug Dungeon; nothing like a heavy plate to deal with bugs!" Kerry smashed the edge of his shield against the ground to demonstrate.
"True enough. A feather can be a weapon, if you're strong enough." Trent tossed that bit of wisdom over his shoulder. Somehow, he had known what Kerry was going to say, and he was starting to see problems arising from agreeing to work with the iron clad Warrior.
"What's that supposed to mean? I'm strong, I'm plenty strong, you just wait and… you just wait up." Slapping his visor down, Kerry rushed to catch the dwindling form of Trent. "It's not fun to run in this! Slow down!"
To reach the Dungeon entrance from the Academy dorms, they had to pass by the Guildhall and go through the market square. Kerry might have been forced to jog the whole way, but the market was busier today than it had been the last time Trent went through. Kerry managed to catch up when Trent stopped to look over the goods a green-robed girl had displayed on a blanket.
There were always a few students who set up shop in the square, selling things they made themselves or found in the Dungeon. Today the market had been taken over by the Academy Mages. When Kerry, panting from exertion, stopped beside Trent and flipped his visor back up, he was surprised to see
nearly every Mage he knew had spread a blanket to hawk their wares. Trent stifled a sigh when Kerry rested the edge of his shield on the
ground with a bang. It wasn't his place to tell Kerry he would never get used to the weight of the tower shield if he leaned against it all the time. Besides, what was on the blanket was far more interesting.
"Are these Charms?" He asked breathlessly. "Why do they look like that?"
Trent had seen Spell Stones before. They weren't much different than Skill Stones, and it was only with Appraisal that he could tell them apart. He was confused because it wasn't Stones heaped in six different piles on the blanket. Spell Stones were spherical in shape; these were more like faceted cylinders and much too small. The brightly colored crystals were the length and width of his little finger.
"You've got it right. They're the finest Charms in Bellrise!" The Mage's voice was chipper as Trent picked up a crystal holding the Light Charm and pushed back his mask to examine it more closely. "I'm only asking five… ten silver apiece! I can give you a discount if you buy–"
"Piss off, Maryann! Ten silvers for a charm! Three coppers is being generous for the trash you have here." Kerry had been drinking from his canteen when Maryann announced her price, and he almost choked when he heard her ask for silver.
Kerry had separated from Trent before Trent visited the market on the day they met. He had no idea the lasting impression Trent had left on the vendors during his shopping spree. Maryann hadn't been present either, but there weren't many masked adventures with dogs, grossly overpaying for everything, wandering around Bellrise. She heard the stories and, seeing Trent crouch down at her blanket, she thought her fortune had come in.
"What would you know, Kerry? These are quality goods, I made myself," Maryann hissed. "What are you even doing here dressed like that? Isn't the rest of your team part of the field exercises? Shouldn't you be obediently shoveling dung?"
"For your information, my friend and I are planning a delve," Kerry said importantly. "And my business is none of yours. What are you doing here? In fact, what is everyone doing here? It looks like half the Academy is franticly selling every piece of junk they own!"
"Where have you been, stuck on the beetle farm?" Maryann said derisively. "There's a new shipment of Spell Stones at the general goods
store. They've even got some tier-two Spells! With the seniors and every Rogue in the field, no one is diving. We're all trying to raise what money we can until they get back."
"You're planning on selling enough Charms to buy a tier-two Spell?" Kerry didn't try to suppress the laugh that burst out of him. "You might as well try and sell rocks! You'd probably make more that way!"
Trent tuned out the argument and rolled the crystal held between his fingers. He had never seen anything quite like it. He would buy every charm on the blanket if Maryann would just tell him what it was and where it came from. Kerry thought he was keeping Trent from being cheated; Trent wished the Warrior would shut up.
"They're Beast Shards, from the Trial." Trent had been contemplating closing Kerry's mouth by demonstrating how the armor over his knee wasn't thick enough to stop Sorrow, when a soft voice saved Kerry from a punishment he didn't know he'd earned.
"Beast Shards?" Trent said wonderingly, turning his head towards the girl who had set up shop next to Maryann. "Are they like Cores?"
Wearing a black robe and a tall pointed hat, its wide brim obscuring her face, the girl kneeling on the nearby blanket answered him slowly, "Yes, they are Cores. That of low-leveled Beasts."
"You're wrong," Trent said, frowning. "I've taken regular Cores from low-leveled Beasts."
"Cores can be Harvested from minor creatures, yes. But Shards are drops from Trial Beasts. They're fairly common on the first three floors. You won't see a full Core until the fourth." The girl paused for a moment before lifting a hand and pointing at the Shard Trent still gripped. "Normally Shards are worth 90 coppers, but that one has been ruined. It's not worth more than ten."
"First Kerry and now you, Felicia! What did I ever do to the two of you?" Maryann broke off from scolding Kerry to turn on her neighbor. "Why do you care what I sell my goods for, and how dare you say the shards are ruined?"
"I dare," Felecia said calmly, "because an Archmage could place a Charm in a Shard, and there's still only a fifty percent chance that a person will be able to learn it. You've taken an object worth ninety coppers and decreased its value. That's fine if you're practicing Mana Manipulation. Trying to sell them for a thousand times what they're worth is immoral."
"Immoral? That's harsh! They're worth what people will pay for them."
Maryann panicked as Trent set the shard back down. Seeing her money slipping away, she snatched at his arm. "Ten coppers! She said they're worth ten coppers. Thinking about it, that's fair."
But Trent was already moving away to see what Felicia had for sale. He found himself just as curious about the strips of cloth that she had laid out. Picking up the most vividly dyed one, Trent held it up. "What are these for?"
With Trent directly in front of her, Felicia was able to see his face clearly inside his cowl, and her voice was timid as she forced out, "They're scarves."
"Scarves." Trent tried out the word and found he liked it. "What do they do?"
"You wear them on cold days, around your neck." Felicia's hand trembled as she pulled the brim of her hat lower.
Trent rubbed the cloth against his cheek. It was soft and thin, not at all scratchy, though that was how it looked. He pulled his cowl off and tucked it into his belt, then wrapped the scarf around his neck, securing the ends by pushing them under the collar of his armor.
"It's like a sock for your head!" Trent's laugh was warm and full, but hearing it, Felicia shivered. "How much?"
Trent was dropping the three coppers she asked for into her outstretched palm when Kerry spoke up, "Maybe another color, Trent. That one… it doesn't go with your ribbon."
Trent touched the blue tie woven in his hair. "That's alright, I'll cut my hair when we rest later." He unwrapped his new scarf reluctantly and put his cowl back on. Nodding his thanks to Felicia, he stuffed the scarf into his pack and started off.
"Trent, listen to me, it's the wrong color," Kerry pleaded. "It's pink, Trent, pink! You hear me? It's for girls. You can't wear that around me, not where other people can see! Are you listening?"
Maryann leaned back on her blanket and shot a glare at Felicia. "You cost me ten and made yourself three, I hope you're happy."
Felecia didn't listen to Maryann's complaints any more than Trent listened to Kerry's. Her hand had closed so tightly around the three coppers that her knuckles turned white. "He'd never seen a Shard, but he's gotten a Core from a low-level Beast. Unless he was lying, that means…"
"What are you babbling about over there?" Maryann stretched her legs out, disturbing one of her piles of shards. "No one's going to buy these, are they? You scared off my only potential customer. Hey, where are you
going?" Felecia was hurriedly packing up her scarves and stuffing them into a
bag. "They don't lie, they don't need too!" She ran off towards the Trial the second her goods were tucked away,
with Maryann calling after her, heedless of the people she jostled as she went. *
"The color isn't important," Trent insisted. "I've seen Adventurers wearing worse. None of them seemed to care."
"They don't care because good gear is worth putting up with some ugly." Kerry rolled his eyes. "But that scarf isn't enchanted. It won't save your life. It might even attract trouble if some jerk sees you wearing it. It's pink, Trent, pink!"
The wall that separated the Trial's entrance from the town proper was made from wood rather than stone. More a fence than a defensive fortification, its purpose was decorative. It was there because people liked to see a wall between themselves and a den of monsters. Kerry had pulled Trent to a stop outside the gate to make one last try at getting Trent to see reason.
"Hey, Kerry, and… Kerry's friend, wait up!" The last person Kerry expected to see again so soon was Felicia. At first,
he didn't recognize her. Her pointed hat always partly covered her face, but for reasons unknown, Felicia had added a veil to her attire since the market. Her distinctive black robe and conical hat were enough to tell any who knew her who she was, so Kerry couldn't see a reason for the veil and almost thought she was someone else.
"Felicia? What's with the veil?" Kerry's puzzled tone quickly turned excited, "Never mind. Since you're here, Trent wants to exchange the scarf he bought. Maybe for a grey one, or black. Black is good, too–"
"Shut up, Kerry." Felicia pushed the Warrior aside, or tried to. Failing to shift a half-ton of metal and flesh, she squeezed between the arguing companions, forcing Trent to step back. "I want to delve with you guys. You'll need me."
"We will? Why?" Kerry shared the same question that fell from Trent's lips, but he was feeling too insulted to voice it. Why was every girl in Bellrise picking on him lately? He had been punched, insulted, and now one tried to shove him!
"Because Kerry is a Warrior and you're no Mage." Felicia drew a deep breath and laid out her reasoning, "I know Minor Heal, and several effect
Spells for powering a party or weakening an opponent. More the former than the latter. I also own a Storage device that will come in very handy, and all I ask is that I am given the majority of any crafting materials that drop."
"Just that, huh? Gods, it's like you're offering your services for free," Kerry said sarcastically. "And we have a Storage device of our own. Did you miss the pack Trent is holding?"
"You mean the sack with the wooden handle sticking out of it?" Felicia's head turned slightly so she could eyeball Kerry from within her veil. "That's no Storage device."
"Wrong!" Kerry announced, missing how Trent shuffled his feet guilty. "I've seen Trent using it; it's definitely a device."
"I don't know what you've seen, but it's not what you think!" Felicia said primly. "Do you see any runes stitched on the sides or bottom? No. Can you feel any magic emanating from it? No. It could be a high-class device with the enchantment hidden, I suppose. If that were the case, the handle wouldn't poke out. It is not a Storage device."
Kerry wanted to refute her claims more than almost anything else in the world. But she was a Mage, she should know about magic items, and he hadn't been able to figure out how Trent's pack worked when he tried to find Trent's shirt for him. "You can tell all that just by looking at it?"
"No, I'm a Mage Apprentice, not an Enchanter," Felicia confessed. "I saw him buy it, and Jake Carter sells leather sacks, not devices."
Two hits in a row nearly sent Kerry to his knees. He could have taken Felicia's confession or that Trent had been fooling him, but put together, it felt like the whole town was set against him.
"My secrets are laid bare for all to see," Trent said ruefully. The words were right, though he couldn't say why they sprang to mind. "We still don't need you." He only needed to touch an object to put it in Storage. The pack disappeared from his back without him moving.
"You have Storage. That's unusual." Felicia reorganized her arguments and tried again. "But still no Healer, or Mage, I can fill both positions."
"We have potions for Healing, and from what I've heard, we're not likely to need them or a Mage in this Trial," Trent answered. He wasn't opposed to bringing Felicia along, however. "I have my own use for the crafting materials. The price of your company is too high."
Felicia's eyes bulged. She had personally witnessed Trent paying twice, if not more, for what his purchases were worth. Trent had paid a silver for the
bag he'd made vanish. A silver for an item that he didn't need! The crafting materials she wanted in exchange for her services were worth no more than a few coppers a bundle.
"I have a Specialized Class, Mage Apprentice," Felicia said after a deep breath, "I deserve a larger cut of–"
Kerry tapped her shoulder. "He's a Swordsman, with Detect Traps and Leadership. You're not going to impress him by comparing Classes."
"You can come with us if you like," Trent said, shrugging and turned to walk away. "But all drops will be split equally."
"Drops, split equally," Felicia repeated slowly. "What about materials gathered other ways?"
Trent came to a sudden stop, causing Dreq to run into his leg. He turned back around. He felt a sudden urge to drive this Mage off. Her and Kerry. They were slowing him down, and with every step he took, it seemed like they saw through him more and more. All while remaining a complete mystery to him themselves. He accepted Kerry's company because the Warrior was in no way a threat, and that logic could be applied to this new Mage as well, but their intentions, their reasons for wanting to join him, were hidden. The people he had known and trusted hadn't wanted him around, and now strangers latched on to him at every turn!
"Strength in numbers," Trent whispered. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he looked down at Dreq, who rubbed up against his calf comfortingly.
"You know that I have Mining?" Trent asked, thinking of the pickaxes whose handle had been visible in his pack.
"I think you have Harvesting," Felicia corrected. "Am I wrong?" Trent spun on his heel. "You keep what you kill, or in case of Harvesting,
what you cut off yourself." It wasn't the answer she wanted to hear, but Trent left Felicia no chance
to argue. He did not owe her anything, and he and Kerry had already intended to delve with just the two of them. She could come up with a dozen reasons why they should beg her to come along, but whether she did or not, it wouldn't affect their plans.
"He's different, not like us Academy students." Kerry cleared his throat as Trent made his way through the gate and up the hill that lay inside it. "I'm just starting to see it myself. I think if he went in solo, he'd be fine. He doesn't need us. Not for the Dungeon, anyhow."
Stepping carefully around the stymied Mage, Kerry hurried to catch up to
Trent. Felicia opened the invitation in her Status that Trent had sent her. An invitation to join the party.
She touched the tip of her ear as she thought about Trent's violet eyes. She wouldn't get what she wanted if she followed him, and everything in her said Trent was dangerous. Harvesting and the chance to obtain things she needed to raise her crafting Levels had prompted her to chase Trent and Kerry through the market, despite her instincts.
A new thought compelled her to accept the invite. A thought that was like the one which kept resounding in Kerry's head. There was an opportunity here. Perhaps not the one she wanted, but maybe, more than she could imagine. Pulling her hat firmly down around her ears, Felecia decided she had to find out what gave Trent the confidence to say he didn't need a Mage. She beat Kerry up the hill to the Dungeon entrance in her haste.
Twenty-Eight A boulder twice as tall as a man sat atop the hill inside the fence.
Rounded up high and flaring out at the bottom, the bell-shaped rock gave the town that had been built around it a name. The crack in the center of the boulder that led inside was what gave Bellrise its purpose.
The Sergeant on duty at the Trial was enjoying a relaxed, lazy day. A guest instructor sent from Al'drossford had taken a large number of the Academy students for special training, and those left behind weren't entering the Trial today. It was nice to have a break from the mobs of young Adventurers clamoring to get inside, and the Sergeant intended to take full advantage of it.
It was hard to take this post seriously. The Sergeant was a serious man, not given to slacking, but since the Academy was sponsored by the Duke and allowed any team with the Detect Traps Skill to enter for free, he rarely had anything important to do. His days were filled with waving Adventurers through rather than collecting fees and keeping order.
He'd dreaded it when he heard of the guest instructor's plans at first. Lieutenant Craw from the Scouting Regiment was putting all the school's Rogues through some pretty intensive training, by all accounts. Lacking their free ticket to delve kept all the other students away. Not that the Sergeant enjoyed listening to baby Adventurers going on about their exploits, but it did make the day go quickly, and in his own way, the Sergeant missed the noise.
He had learned to adapt. Leaning back in his chair, with his hands behind his head and his feet on the table, the Sergeant let the morning sunlight play across his face. His eyes were shut, and he was on the verge of drifting off for a short nap. He wouldn't want things to stay so tranquil forever, but a week of nothing to do wasn't bad.
The nap almost claimed the Sergeant when a soft cough had him bolting upright in his seat. He blinked his eyes and tried to keep the surprise from his face when he found an Adventurer in white and black leather armor standing in front of him. A chainmail shoulder guard, black gloves, and a black, masked cowl completed the Adventurer's look, and that look was unsettling to the Sergeant.
His normal customers looked more like the two that were still trudging up
the hill, students who had poor equipment that they were still growing into. He vaguely recognized the Mage and Warrior approaching, and this ghostlike figure that had snuck up on him had nothing in common with those two.
"You're no student," the Sergeant said to fill the awkward silence. "No," Trent agreed. He pointed back at Kerry and Felicia. "They are." "Hey, Sergeant Gaffney!" Kerry greeted the Trial's minder amicably. He
leaned his shield against the table and stretched his arms over his head as high as his armor would allow. "Slow day?"
"Kerry," Sergeant Gaffney dipped his head to acknowledge Kerry, trying to restore the internal equilibrium that Trent had disrupted, "Slow doesn't cover it. You three are the only people I've seen all day."
Gaffney nodded a greeting to Felicia as well. She noticed that he didn't call her by name as she gave a small wave. She tried not to take it personally. Kerry knew everyone, and everyone knew Kerry. That was how things were. Kerry would have been one of the more popular students at the Academy if not for one bad decision. She, on the other hand, tended to keep to herself.
"I'm surprised you're here at all," Gaffney continued. "No free rides with all the Rogues and Archers occupied."
The Sergeant didn't blanch as he remembered that Kerry normally paid to enter the Trial. It was a close thing. His lips tightened as he recalled why Kerry was not only an infrequent delver but also one of the worst equipped Adventurers the Sergeant had ever seen.
"Got that solved, Sarge." Kerry tried to slap Trent on the shoulder and swiped at the air when he missed. Trent, hearing the word "Sarge," had taken a large step back and was staring at a passing cloud like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.
"Uh, my friend here isn't a student, but he has the Detect Traps Skill. Is that alright?" Kerry gave Trent a look, confused as to why he was suddenly pretending that Kerry didn't exist.
"It's not quite proper. For you, maybe I can make an exception." Gaffney took a closer look at Trent, placing his hand on the pouch at his waist. "What's your name, lad?"
"Trent Embra." Trent's voice was sharp, his reply quick as he answered. He, in no way, wanted to be caught up in the trouble Kerry might have caused by uttering the forbidden word.
"I see." The Sergeant's hand dipped into his pouch, where a folded piece of paper lay. "Can you prove you have the Detect Traps Skill, Trent?"
Trent's gaze drifted to the right and he lifted his hand to point. "Tripwire, ten feet from your chair, with a pitfall beyond it. The pit has an… acid trap?... at the far edge. Except someone's replaced the acid with water or something. That's probably not enough, is it? The traps aren't very well hidden. I don't think you need a Skill to spot them. Do you need to see my Status?"
Gaffney snorted and leaned back in his chair. "They are supposed to be easy to find, and if you can pick them out, you either have the Skill, or you're on your way to learning it. You three can enter, no fee."
"Wait!" Kerry exchanged a look with Felicia and half raised his hand to mimic Trent's pointing. "That's all you need to do to get in for free?"
The idea forming in his head was dispelled by another snort from the Sergeant. "You students flash your Status around any chance you get. Some are smart enough to keep it hidden. That's what the test is for. And it's no use trying to memorize their locations. We change them. Now, get going, before I remember that one of you isn't a student and charge you all for admittance!"
Trent was already stepping into the crack in the boulder before the Sergeant finished his threat, and Felicia wasn't far behind. Kerry took a moment to lift his shield and say goodbye to Sergeant Gaffney. As happy as he was to enter the Dungeon, he was slower to push his way through the crack. Turning sideways, his armor rubbed against the stone as he slipped in.
Once they were gone, Gaffney took the folded paper from his pouch and laid it on the table. He unfolded it and smoothed it with his hands until it lay flat. The paper bore a detailed drawing of an Adventurer in broken scale mail, and the name Trent Embra was written in bold letters at the top. At the bottom were clear instructions to assist the boy in any way he required and to report his movements.
Sergeant Gaffney would have to have a word with the Guards at the Gate and the members of the Watch that roamed the town. Trent should have been spotted a dozen times over, long before he reached the Trial. Gaffney hadn't heard a peep from men who were supposed to be known for their attention to detail and observational prowess.
It would be fine if the orders were just from the Duke. Lewis Al'dross was a stern but forgiving man. However, a second set of orders had followed the official notice. Written in a rough hand, in large letters as if the ink were shouting, Cullen's orders demanded to know Trent's location immediately. Cullen was not known for his forgiveness or understanding.
Gaffney took out two whisper rods and set them next to the paper. One
