A cudgel fell down hard at my shoulder and the wielder uttered a manic shriek that seemed to emanate from elsewhere. It felt an easy dodge — I’m not sure whether it was the small Dexterity boost or simply being in the New World for a little while, but I felt I was getting used to the way that my body moved. The cudgel hit the floor, spraying up dry red leaves, and as the untrained man stumbled, I sent the point of the Bronze Dagger I’d taken deep between his shoulder blades. I wrenched the dagger free before he dropped hard, whining and squirming on the floor.

A dozen remained. They were stout and had orange skin like the emberfruit weighing down the branches of the trees that lay in lines all around the village, just beyond the circle of red-thatched huts. Everyone standing held some kind of weapon — I spotted iron pokers, a scythe, a hand-saw, but also a few daggers, a bow in quivering hands, and even a couple of spears.

Flushes of anger passed through me, tinged with worry, but what really settled was indignance:

How dare they do this to us?

I was aware that no one knew our purpose here, and I’m sure no one would believe us if we told them, but it still rubbed me the wrong way.

“We’re awfully sorry to do this,” continued Old Mereth. Of course someone called ‘Old Mereth’ was a witch — Alator had even insulted her using the term — I felt a bit like an idiot. “It is very rare that the Elder Spirit requires two in the same month, but it’s true: the Spirit needs your blood — and this time, for the first time, it specified your blood.”

“I’m flattered.”

“We don’t know what’s special about you, we wouldn’t dare ask, but we take the Spirit very seriously. And what it wants, it gets.”

In mortal servitude to a mysterious force? That seems to be all the rage in Barbican.

“Look around you; nearly the whole village has turned up. It provides for everyone here, and further beyond. Our caravans travel weeks north over land to far-flung Cryswood, sharing of our bounty, and we brave the difficult way to Ur-Kadesh, but always the Ember Spirit keeps the way safe.”

The crowd encroached on me a half-step, but stopped as a final gasp came from the man on the ground and his breath drifted away. As I felt the body still at my feet, I felt a sickening ball of guilt in my stomach, and a couple of questions came to mind:

Is this still self-defence? Can I really bring myself to kill these people?

The orange faces around me were lit with madness, a blood-craze, or possessed by whatever the Ember Spirit was. They’re not human, not really, but they have lives . . . hopes, dreams, fears . . .

It is definitely self-defence, I suppose . . . but is that good enough? Can I bring myself to kill a dozen people in self-defence? Would it be better to destroy whatever was calling itself the Ember Spirit, but in turn doom them all to starvation or migration? . . .

Suddenly a whip of air sang past my face and I felt my cheek ring pain. A thud a short distance behind me as an arrow sunk into the wood. I raised my hand to my face and felt a wet, open line across the bone. The pain came afterwards, splitting through me, but my pumping heart kept it from overwhelming.

// SYS : No choice. You won’t have the privilege of ethical quandaries when you’re dead. //

Unfortunately, she was right. I touched the Analysis Card in my pouch and scanned the crowd, and shocked another use of [Battle Tactics] through my mind. I made note of a few particularly low Stats, and some choice weaknesses. Interestingly, in the few moments I took to do this, one of the weaknesses changed from Afraid to fight alone to Sensitive scalp — possibly it was the case that if they have a few weaknesses, that the Analysis Card attempts to choose for me the most situationally-appropriate.

I pushed my neck to one side, cracking and popping the top few inches of my spine, then stretched my arms and fingers out in front. I’d fallen to sleep before sundown, and it was now well past midnight. New energy flowed through me. Improved Strength, absolutely heroic kills, and the comfortable pressure of [Battle Tactics] still on the walls of my mind, I breathed in the night air deeply. I felt that wild smile reach across my lips, and I think for the first time, really, consciously understood what it was: the love of battle.

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

The archer nocked another arrow, but the bow creaked and his stamina was already failing him; the arrow went wide and slapped harmlessly against the stone of the hut. In one motion I ducked low and rushed [Vigour] into my veins.

// SYS : Your use of [Vigour] has upgraded the Skill to Level 2. You can now utilise [Vigour : Endurance]. //

No time to learn what that meant, but even just using it how I always had been, the change was enormous. Though the instantaneous effect was similar, the leach on my effort was noticeably less. My thighs thrust me forwards towards the group faster than any of them could react and with another [Vigour], my closed fist met the archer’s jaw. His head spun with a wet click and he fell.

In the same moment, with the Skill ridging my tendons and sending all my muscles to twitch, I sent a vicious elbow into the back of another’s neck, then with a leap, I buried a knee into a sternum, then changed grip on my dagger, whipped about and slashed it through an exposed thigh.

Four people fell about me and were spluttering. The serrated edge of the new Skill nearly moved me to keep up the onslaught, but I relented, took full control, set my instinct to a backseat, and instead took the rippling moment of terror as an opportunity to run from the clearing.

I heard shouts from behind me, and Old Mereth barked some orders.

“Alator!” I called.

I charged around the ruby obelisk in the centre of the village, wherein still smouldered those embers from the day before — much unchanged — and started glancing at the shadows between houses for my companion. [Vigour] lasted a bit longer, this time, either due to the improvement I got, or because I was only gently exerting myself, and just as it was fading, I saw him step out.

“Alator — you’re safe,” I breathed a sigh of relief, but was met with only a level determination.

“Talbot, I told you when we met that you needed to learn a thousand things. This is one of them.”

My breath caught in my throat a second, but centring myself, I found myself still fairly fresh.

“You would have let me die!”

He showed a quick shimmer of pain, but the corner of his mouth twitched a smile, and in his eyes grew the beginnings of that yellow-golden glow that I’d become so familiar with.

“But you did not die.”

Exasperated, I put the conversation on hold. A nigh-on score of the crazed, bloodletting villagers turned the corner and made towards us.

“No need to kill them, Alator,” I said quickly.

Alator gave me a blank expression, in return.

“But they said they would kill us,” he replied, speaking as if he were explaining a simple concept.

Shaking my head, I grabbed his arm, set off at a run, and dragged him after me. After a moment I felt his body stop like iron as his muscles pulled against me.

“We need to leave, Alator — they follow instruction, it’s nothing more than that.”

“All of them made their choice.”

I put a fist to his chest and was going to make another plea, but the villagers were almost upon us. Instead I grabbed a fistful of his hair, jerked his head back, sent molten steel through my veins with [Vigour], and pushed him onwards.

My legs pumped like a sprinter’s. I didn’t know in truth whether my improved Skill matched up to his passive Stats, or if he just finally accepted my effort as convixion and went along with it, but within a matter of seconds we were fifty yards past the houses into the pure overcast blackness. I made a sudden left turn, went another another fifty yards, down half a dozen lines of trees, and we left the voices far, far behind.

Ducking behind a gnarled emberfruit tree, pressed up against the ancient, sweet-smelling yellowish bark, I let go of his head and muttered an apology. He said nothing.

Peering around the broad trunk, I saw by a faint flicker that the villagers had lit torches and were searching, but so far in the wrong places.

“Okay, Talbot, explain yourself,” Alator spoke under his breath, his teeth glinting, but it rumbled out from him, regardless. “Where I’m from, if someone attempts to make good on a promise to kill you, you kill them, first.”

Then SYS interjected, supporting him:

// SYS : That’s what’s needed here, Talbot. //

“Well, where I’m from, we consider these things properly. What about the sanctity of human life?”

“It’s reserved for those who are not trying to kill us,” he responded quick as a flash, still keeping his voice low.

“B-but . . .” my arguments were being reduced to mumbles — something about the situation felt wrong to me, but I had trouble articulating it. Gathering my thoughts, I leant to keep an eye out again and saw the bobbing lights, still far in the distance. “Even in self-defence, we try to limit unnecessary harm. . . . I don’t want to kill them if I don’t absolutely have to.”

My companion squinted at me, the yellow-gold point of light fading from his eyes. He opened his mouth, either to assent or to argue further, but it was cut short:

A FLASH of bright light erupted from the side of the tree and a ball of embers singed our bare arms, bark burst from the impact and pelted us like sharp needles. Wincing and dropping to one knee, I cradled my damaged arm, using my left as a sling, and spun my head, trying to understand what had happened.

Perhaps twenty yards from us, hidden in nearly absolute darkness, I saw the glint of Old Mereth’s red eyes, and the end of her emberwood staff glowed red. I saw her lips begin to move, fast but measured, extremely precise, preparing for something else.

Terror crept over me, it felt like I’d been pelted by rubber buckshot, and she was loading another cartridge. But . . . despite that, I couldn’t help but feel the rush of combat and a new ridiculous, giddy excitement:

MAGIC!