“She’s back!” Grimhilt shouted, relief washing over him. He crouched over the Testing Stone in the antechamber to Indara’s offices, reviewing the readouts floating in front of him. Indara rushed to his side, a small retinue flocking behind her. Four spheres of gold, orbited by one silver globe, hovered just above her head height, pulsing with soft light.
“Energy looks low,” an aide muttered, darting a look at Indara. He licked his lips, backing away from the chancellor, as if concerned that he’d misspoken.
“Dangerously low,” Indara agreed. “Rashana shows signs of instability. We may need to consider executing the failsafe when she returns. For now, let’s hope she accomplishes the goal without feeding too aggressively.” She tilted her head toward him. “Grimhilt, report?”
“The others seem to be improving, but Errol blinked out an hour ago. Given the injuries he’s sustained, I’m not sure he makes it.”
“He’s surprised us a few times already.”
Grimhilt rebuttoned his epaulet, which had somehow come loose during the long night of monitoring the Golden Sphere—a specialized module from the Imperial capital that interfaced with the Testing Stone. He straightened his uniform and sighed. “He certainly has.”
“But?” Indara prompted.
“You saw his most recent ability upgrade. It’s probably better for us all if a newly-formed Eel doesn’t return to the city in triumph.”
“I promised him such a promotion.”
“The others don’t know the initiation rites. What do you think will happen when the truth gets out?”
Indara waved her hand, dispelling his concerns like so many biting gnats. “By then we’ll have the Heart of the Tempest under our control. We can make an army of Eels if we wish.”
Grimhilt lowered his voice. “And do we wish to make an army of Eels? I thought this was simply about preventing the coming storms, not bolstering your military might. An army of Eels sounds like a strike force for—”
Indara caught his eye, frowning. He swallowed his words, berating himself for speaking up in front of the lower ranks, but she waved them out of the room and turned on him.
“Have you ever turned down a conscription of weapons at the armory?”
“Point taken,” Grimhilt grunted.
“I’d ask if you agreed with my assessment of Cyneburg, but I don’t think you read my last security briefings,” Indara snapped. “Our position is more tenuous than you realize. You’ve been distracted, but that needs to stop now.”
Grimhilt saluted. “As you command.”
Indara’s horns pulsated. “Don’t dismiss me like that. Other officers might buy the act, but we both know you don’t let go once you latch on to something. What’s piqued your interest?”
“A friend of ours seems up to his old tricks. But nevermind that right now. Do you really fear a Cyneburg invasion?”
A smile twitched on Indara’s lips. “Who said anything about fear?”
“Someone always profits from chaos,” Grimhilt finally said. “Might as well be you.”
A soft golden light winked out above him, distracting Indara from whatever reply rose to her lips. They rushed back to the Testing Stone. Grimhilt scanned the vitals. He slammed his fist against the wall. “Gruvrik’s out. We're down to three, plus the soulbound.”
Indara's laugh caught him off guard. "Count again, dear Captain. Eels are too slippery for death to catch them so easily."
Grimhilt raised his head. Four lights. And then, with a weak, guttering effort, a fifth flared. He waved his hands in a control sequence, pulling up the status of the two new ring bearers, and tilted his head toward the readout shimmering in the air between him and Indara. "New player enters the scene."
"Not a signature I recognize," Indara muttered, skimming through the vitals. She tapped the globe, querying the Sharks for their database entries. "No known match, but she's strong, even though she's injured. On the verge of leaving behind the third level. Do we pry?"
"I can send a message over," Grimhilt offered reluctantly, "but we'll tip our hand. We don't know if we're dealing with friend or foe."
"Message Rashana. She knows the imperial code. It's slow, but she can deactivate and reactivate her ring in patterns to send us an emergency response."
Grimhilt barked a laugh. "Always with the stacked deck. Shame you don't have a bigger audience to applaud your cunning plan."
"Sycophant is an ill-fitting suit on you. Take it back to the tailor."
Grimhilt didn’t answer, turning his attention to the task at hand. He composed a question to Rashana and fired off the missive. Now they just had to wait and hope.
=+=
Pain skittered across Errol’s body like an army of spiders. Spasms shook him like he’d turned his shock lance inward. Every tremor reminded him of long-overlooked muscles. He groaned with the agony and tried to push himself up to sitting. Hands caught him and lifted him from the ground, setting him on his own two feet.
Blinking against the light, Errol turned to look at his helpers. Half a dozen scouts stood around him with solemn countenance, hands folded in front of them as they looked on. No, not solemn, he realized a moment later. Something about their bearings—all straight backs and squared shoulders—brought back memories of his induction into Shark Clan as a boy. Eager recruits, plastered wall to wall in an abandoned warehouse, all jostling for the privilege of being the first to see one of the Great Ones, faces shining. They were filled with anticipation. Awe.
Errol wanted to ask what had happened, but instinct warned him that he would lose the good standing he’d earned with whatever he’d done. Instead, he saluted like an Eel, watching as their eyes lit up with pride and affirmation.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
How am I even alive?
The pain diminished, replaced by a pleasant burn as his muscles and bones repaired in a heartbeat. Somehow, he’d managed to gain a new rank. The fatigue and aches washed away. He could sense the newfound potency of his lance, but he twisted his ring and connected to the Testing Stone anyway to reassure himself.
There, in bold letters, proof that he’d fulfilled his dreams: Eel.
Vitals Affiliation Name: Errol Diplomacy: 14 Shark Clan Level: 2 Strength: 9 Mako (Tier VII) Class: Shock Trooper Acuity: 13 Eel Division Health: 65 / 65 Inner Fortitude: 15 Reputation: Strike force Lifeforce: 100 / 100 Abilities Items Favor Sensor field: Adept, Tier VI
Shock lance: Adept, Tier VII
Belt Knife
Thieves' Kit
Silver Amulet of Clarity
Bridge Spirit
unknown entity
Errol glanced up, taking inventory of the beach where they’d set up camp. They’d made it across the water after all, although their numbers had diminished, unless he missed his count. Merv and Percy stood a little apart from the others, but they should have been joined by at least two more. He sighed and added the names to the death tally. Indara had best be right about the importance of this adventure.
A long stretch of pebbled beach curved away to either side. Behind the men, grasslands gave way to a low rise of rocky hills, and beyond them stood the central command tower. After a solid breakfast, Errol meant to make toward the tower with all haste.
He turned slowly, admiring the barren beauty of the place. Plants and creatures clung to the land despite the storm. It wasn’t some lush, tropical paradise, but it still gave him a sense of pride to consider how his little slice of the world flourished against the odds.
You have that in common, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. He shuddered and ignored the Bridge, continuing his survey of the beach where they’d landed. He probably should be thankful, but the accusing words that showed his favor with the Bridge spirit terrified him. How could a simple boy from the streets earn that kind of affiliation?
A monstrous, crippled form at the water’s edge elicited a scream, but Errol clamped his mouth shut before he sounded like a raw recruit, and mercifully the sound came out more like a hunter’s cry than wounded shock. Telltale scoring crisscrossed the still-smoldering hulk. Errol let out a soundless whistle. Had he slain that monster?
“I told you the water was the only choice,” Errol joked, pasting a smile on his face. The smell was horrendous, and the missing men tugged on his conscience, but a flash of pride still made him hold his head a little higher. He squared his shoulders and nodded toward the men again. “Good work, soldiers. Remember that an important mission means an important reward. I won’t forget your sacrifices when we return.”
They saluted back, and Errol felt a pang of longing for his own team. They’d needed him to stay true to his word. And, worse than simply abandon them to their fates, he’d replaced them wholesale with their enemies.
Stuffing the shame into a sack to dissect later, Errol turned toward the tower and began to march. A pang of emptiness and a growl from his stomach brought him up short. He sank back down to the sandy pebbles. “Think that thing is edible? Got a powerful hunger right about now.”
Merv broke into a chuckle. “Considering by all rights you should be dead, a bit of hunger is reassuring that you’re human. We’ve got actual victuals. I think we can manage to whip up something tasty.”
“If that thing can’t kill me, then I suppose your cooking can’t, either.”
Percy shot him a look, but got started on a small campfire. “Never seen anything like that back there. Don’t know if anything can kill you. That some kind of Shark Clan wizardry?”
“I’m not supposed to talk about clan secrets,” Errol said with a helpless shrug.
“Not even a friendly chat with the man who makes your breakfast?
Errol patted his stomach. “I suppose if it stays on the Bridge, though . . .”
“Thought that may sway your mind,” Percy said. He pulled a bundle of provisions from a waterproofed pack and set up a skillet over the campfire.
“I did a lot of things today,” Errol said, scratching his nose and trying to sound as casual as he could. “What are you referring to? I might be able to bend the rules a little.”
“You don’t even know what happened, do you?” Percy breathed. He glanced about the beach, ensuring the others hadn’t overheard. “I won’t tell; the secret is safe with me. They think you’re some demigod. I know different now, but even so, you’ve been blessed, child.”
Searing meat from the skillet carried an aroma that drove conscious thought from Errol’s mind. He floundered for a response, swallowed to clear out the drool pooling in his mouth, and finally said, “I’d like to hear the tale, right after I eat. Smells delicious, Percy.”
“Thought about opening a restaurant when I’m out of the force someday. A lot more fun than worrying if some Eel is going to blow your insides right out your eyes.”
“Sorry about that. Guard wouldn’t stop kicking me.”
“No one liked him anyway. Nasty streak. We’re soldiers, not inquisitors.”
Errol nodded, trying to remain patient. The seasoning Percy had added reminded him of the fancy meal Cedric had made for him when they got the news the Shark Clan had accepted him into training. A meal like that, out here on the Bridge, seemed like paradise.
In his haste, Errol burned the roof of his mouth on the thin shaved beef. He sucked in a lungful of air, directing the cool stream over the tender flesh in the top of his mouth. Patience is only a virtue when you’re not hungry, he realized.
As he ate, he reviewed his new skills. He’d earned a Blessing, but he didn’t know where to best apply it. At a thought, the Testing Stone opened to other possibilities beyond the few Shark Clan offered. The sheer array of options left Errol feeling faint-headed. He’d been dreaming far too small when Eel was his only goal—as far as he could tell, that was simply a class, not even a rank. He browsed through entirely new skill trees and wondered about life beyond Laurentum. If the Testing Stone was right, then he might be better off without the Shark Clan in the long run.
Freyman’s men had already packed by the time Errol finished eating. Wiping grease off his lips with the back of his hand, he stood and scurried over to watch for their advance scouts.
“Movement ahead!” One of the scouts ran back to the path, gulping air. His entire body shook with the exertion of a long, hard run without food or water. He waved a hand back in the general direction of the tower, then crouched down to catch his breath.
Errol sprinted over to the scout. He knelt in the gray, dusty dirt to look him in the eye. “What did you find out there?”
The scout's head lolled to the side. He slumped forward. Errol caught him and propped him back up.
Color slowly suffused the man's pale cheeks. He drew in a ragged breath and his eyes fluttered open. He steadied himself on the ground with one arm. “Fire, raging up into the sky like I've never seen before. An enormous monster. Savages with spears. Should run.”
Bits of gravel dug into Errol's knees, but he stayed down next to the man and spoke in an even, level tone to calm him. “I’m a match for any monster out there. That’s why I was sent to the Bridge.”
The scout nodded and repeated his report when Percy jogged over. They conferred for a moment, then Errol called all the scouts together. “Catch your breath. Get something to eat. We march out in five minutes, double-time. Enemy combatants spotted. Be on guard.”
Errol fell back to mid-pack when they struck camp, letting Merv take the lead. They took off at a fast march as soon as he joined them, heading for the tower. There was no telling when the others had reached the control center, but they needed to make haste if they wanted to have a chance of catching up. The burly fighter swept his head back and forth as they trudged, scanning the pale plains for any signs of monsters or spear-wielding enemies, but they didn’t encounter anyone. No sounds of distant battles filtered through the waving grasses.
Thin fronds of fern and sage grass wavered in the chill breeze, shaking gently as their team passed by. In the wan half light, the scout group reminded Errol of a company of ghosts, all muted hues and solemn visages, trudging through forgotten places in a haunted world. Wind gusted again, cutting through his layers of clothes, but it wasn’t the cold that made Errol shiver. He couldn’t leave this blighted land soon enough.