Chapter Forty-Three – Hall of Fame
Tara woke gradually. She wasn’t sure where she was, or even who she was, as she opened her eyes to the pale ambience around her. Above her, soft embers like ghostly fireflies circled and drifted. Tara stared upward, still only partially aware. She felt comfortable and warm.
When her memories returned, she sat up like a shot. Everything flooded back in an instant—the Fell King’s attack, the armored trolls, and Acalon.
“Be easy,” said a familiar voice. The Shieldmistress bent beside Tara, taking her gently by the shoulders. “You’ve had a terrible shock.”
“What happened?” gasped Tara. “There was a terrible fight. Then everything went black…”
“You’ve levelled up, for one thing,” said the fair elf coolly. “I daresay you will want to improve your skill with a bow. Or your stamina, perhaps. You are still not ready for the worst of Allerion’s challenges.”
Tara was in no mood to argue. She rose quickly to her feet, facing Altheria.
“What happened down there?” she asked. “The trolls—are they—?”
“They are dead,” affirmed the Shieldmistress.
“But how? Why? I don’t have that kind of skill. The most powerful attacks I have are in one-handed combat, not magic. I don’t know anything about magic!”
The fair elf considered her. “Yes,” she said. “Something has happened, Tara MacQueen, that I do not fully understand. Will you accompany me?”
Tara followed her, mystified. Although she felt physically recovered, she was still unsteady on her feet. She couldn’t shake the memory of that power coursing through her, blinding and sure. How in the world did she have that kind of skill at Level 4?
The Shieldmistress led her to the tree where she could improve her skills. Tara’s eyes widened as they approached. There was the tree—its iron branches reaching upward, glowing crystals hanging on the stems. Beside it, new trees had grown that were even taller and more impressive. There must have been hundreds of them, twining together and forming what looked less like a forest than a massive wall stretching upwards.
“What is this?” Tara whispered. “What does it mean?”
The Shieldmistress gazed upward with her. “I saw it happen before you arrived,” said the elf. “I did not understand at first, and was afraid as you are. Then I began to realize.”
Tara was still staring, mystified, when Altheria guided her once more by the arm. They reached the area where Tara was able to review her companions’ loyalty. One again, the luminous box popped into view describing her companions’ loyalty status.
Character Name
Min Loyalty
Current Loyalty
Max Loyalty
Acalon
0
150
200
Elita
0
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120
200
Horon
0
120
200
Wenrick
0
120
200
“One hundred and fifty,” said Tara, staring at Acalon’s bar in shock. “But—he’s angry with me. I ruined everything.”
“You saved his life,” said the Shieldmistress dismissively. “Such an act somehow impresses mortals. But that is not what I wanted to show you.”
At the massive table where Tara was able to choose between her companions, she saw the familiar figures of Horon, Wenrik, and Elita. But what interested her far more were the shadowy figures outlined in gold beyond them.
Tara’s eyes widened at the impressive, armored warriors forming row after row. There must have been hundreds of them—Borzerk, Skor, Fenfolk, even gnomes and trolls. Each person was arrayed in splendid armor, beyond what Tara could afford or was even strong enough to wear. Each stood poised as if they were alive, but when Tara tried to speak to one of them the tall Borzerk woman made no sign that she heard.
“What are they?” Tara whispered. “They’re breathing as if they’re alive. But I’ve never met them before. I’ve never seen them in my life.”
“These,” said Altheria, “are heroes of Allerion. This one was the first of your kind—we knew him as HairyBooger3.”
Tara admired the proud, erect Fenman who stood with his chainmail-cased hands folded solemnly on the hilt of a longsword. His name certainly didn’t match his heroic demeanor.
“They’re all gamers?” she asked. “I mean...um...heroes? Like me?”
“Yes,” said Altheria.
“Are they playing, too? Is that why they’re here?”
The fair elf shook her head. “I don’t believe so,” she said. “You should not be able to see other heroes at all. You may encounter them randomly in Allerion, but in my Vale? I have never heard of such a thing happening before.”
“But you understand what it means,” prompted Tara.
“I believe I do,” said Altheria. She fixed Tara with a stern eye. “Tell me what brought you to the Vale this time. What happened in Allerion?”
Tara took a deep breath. She described everything to the Shieldmistress, the attack, the spell she had used against the trolls.
The elf listened closely. She nodded with satisfaction. “It is as I supposed,” she said. “You used one of the most powerful attacks accessible to those who choose to improve their magic skills. It is particular to the dark elves.”
“Like the False Sun,” said Tara eagerly.
“Except, this is not false,” the Shieldmistress corrected her. “What you used was true light, not a dark curse. The most powerful dark elves are able to use light against their enemies. Their special skill is ‘Blinding Light’—an attack that disorients and blinds their enemies. But more terrible than this is the skill ‘Raining Fire.’ It is a devastating attack that requires a powerful constitution to endure. I am afraid that when you used the attack—you died.”
Tara was stunned into silence. “I…what? But if I died, doesn’t that I mean I lost the fight? That I shouldn’t be here?”
“No,” said the Shieldmistress. “You died shortly after achieving your victory. What is interesting is not that you died, Tara, but that somehow you have been given access to all the skills that every hero of Allerion ever possessed.”
Tara didn’t know how to react at first. She glanced again at the golden, impressive heroes.
“I don’t understand.”
“You must truly be the Last Hero of Allerion,” murmured Altheria. “The skill trees next to your own are not yours, and yet each plant has twined together, and you have been blessed with incredible abilities. I wondered at first how it would be possible for you to do what no other hero has been able to achieve—that is, defeat even the Fell King himself and bring peace to our world, as it is hoped the Last Hero will do. Now I see that you will achieve this not because of your own skill, but because of all the abilities of those who, like you, were willing to live and die for Allerion.”
Tara wiggled her fingers. She remembered casting the spell, but she didn’t feel tremendously powerful even if the gift was hers.
“So—I don’t need to learn anything?” she asked. “I might as well be Level 1000?”
The Shieldmistress laughed. Her laugh was like merry bells. “If you could handle all this power, perhaps,” she said. “But do not forget, this last spell killed you. It was far beyond your skill. You won this fight, but I would not trust every situation to be the same. Nor would I suppose that these abilities will serve you on a whim.”
Tara only half heard her. She was beyond impressed. “This is amazing!” she said. “I still don’t get it, but I’m not going to complain.”
“I don’t fully understand myself,” allowed the Shieldmistress, “but it pleases me. I am pleased to think that despite all that Allerion is suffering, there is good at work to counter it. It pleases me to remember all the heroes who have gone before you and see their faces again.”
Tara saw the fair elf’s face soften with unusual tenderness. It touched her.
“You miss them, don’t you?” asked Tara gently.
The Shieldmistress faced her. Those blue eyes were cool once more, but far from cold. “You must be strong, Tara MacQueen,” she murmured. “Don’t give up on our world.”
Tara’s throat tightened. She didn’t flinch from the elf’s gaze. “I won’t,” she said. “I don’t know why I’m here, but believe me. I won’t ever give up on Allerion.”
The Shieldmistress smiled. “In that case, let’s waste no more time,” she said. “You earned three points after defeating the trolls. You may be able to unlock a new skill.”