The Humble Life of a Skill Trainer

The Captain and I had come into worse conflict since Baker developed his new Skill. I could understand his frustration, I was mainly doing part of his job for him. The troops were supposed to develop a few Skills during the Culling. Then over the next month, the guard would earn more Skills while they made the rounds to the various forts and guard stations. He would switch out those who couldn’t manage to obtain a Skill and post them in different places to wait out a season in the forest. Boredom and low pay would be an incentive to increase their training.

Then I came along and demolished his neatly ordered world.

It wasn’t blatant, but I was definitely causing him some frustration. My methods had stirred them to train, and more of the guards were developing Skills compared to previous years. Even a few more Guards with a combat Skill could be a turning point in a conflict. Worse, those I trained were developing different kinds of Skills from the norm as well. This was actually a more significant concern than the number. For example, Baker’s Skill was able to detect something far off, and his combat situational awareness was markedly improved. But that left it a waste to put him on the pike-line. I doubted he would have been happy as a simple lineman anyway. He continued training with me even after the brutal treatment from his tormentors. We had only had two more training sessions, but he was already showing signs of developing yet another new Skill.

Given the penalty of not being able to use shoes without becoming violently ill when his Landsense resource emptied, I figured that a useful Skill for him would be centered around movement. Specifically, we settled on trying for [Sure-Footed]. Other Skills might have been a better choice, but I didn’t have my Skill Dictionary to reference different options. While his Skill’s increase to balance was helpful, it had a hidden downside. It quickly became apparent that, like the rest of the Skill, it only really worked on natural ground. [Sure-Footed] would help with his balance issue even if he stepped on a man-made surface.

Watching Private Baker stumble over an impromptu obstacle course of mud, rocks, twigs, and even brambles and moss, was fascinating. Especially when I asked him to trigger the Active effect of [Seismic Awareness]. We quickly determined the unknown effect of his Skill was focused on stamina recovery and worked as long as he stood on rocks, soil, or dirt. His Skill updated itself when we figured it out, confirming the new information. This was a massive advantage for the young man, and the Captain tried to hide his happy grin when he was given the news. I was reasonably sure the Captain had decided that Baker was going to become his chief scout.

As long as Baker was on natural ground, his Landsense recovered almost as quickly as it drained through the Active effect. Combine that with the stamina regeneration, and Baker could march for miles without becoming tired. This didn’t save him from the soreness from marching or the scrapes and pains from his tender feet. Mother Tin was called in for that. Baker would be forced to suffer her ministrations until his feet fully hardened to his new constant barefoot condition.

The camp had settled down for the night; most of the guards had fallen into their bedrolls after training. Baker had spent the last half an hour training with me, with only another hour left before he would have to settle in to get some sleep when he turned green and began retching as he stared into the forest. Stumbling away from the obstacle course, he grabbed my arm. He gestured to the Captain, using me as support as he stumbled toward the officer. When we reached him, Baker swayed for a moment before righting himself.

“Captain? Private Baker needs to speak to you,” I said while gently holding the Private up.

Baker sloppily saluted, his face slightly green as he wiggled his naked toes and swayed like he had drunk a gallon of mead.

The Captain gave me an aggrieved look then turned back to Baker with a questioning look.

“It’s coming towards us, sir,” Baker said while staring into the distance as he tried to access his Skill and parse what it was telling him.

Suddenly, the Captain was far more focused on Baker’s words, his eyes drilling into the man as he was staring into space.

Gagging a bit, Baker brought his focus back to the Captain before saying, “Sir, it’s getting closer. Whatever it is, it suddenly sped up. It’s coming right at us now.”

Looking in the direction Baker had been focused, Captain Terrod drummed his fingers on his sheathed sword, before coming to some decision with a nod. Turning back to Baker and me, he asked, “Can you estimate how long?”

Wiggling his head back and forth, Baker didn’t stare into the distance again. Instead, he seemed to be trying to estimate the feel from memory. With his vacant stare and green look, it was apparent to all of us when he was focusing on his Skill. Sergeant Baker, Private Baker’s Uncle, silently joined us. The young man chewed his lip as he tried to gauge the distances and timing involved with his Skill.

“Sir, uh, half an hour for the front-edge of whatever this is,” he said, his voice sounding half-questioning as he answered, but the Captain frowned from the answer.

“Front-edge, aye? So it feels like a group of people? Or monsters, or something like that?” he asked, his intense look causing the Private to hunch slightly under his superior’s interrogation.

“Um, I think so, sir?” Baker said with a shoulder shrug.

Baring his teeth in a frightening smile, the Captain turned to Sergeant Baker and started to call out commands as he gestured to his other Sergeants to approach. Sergeant Baker quickly roused the men from their tents and directed those relaxing near the fire. The guards on watch maintained their vigil facing away from the flame, preserving their night vision.

The camp was formed in a turn-off from the forest road that had been cleared many years ago. The clearing had a small rise where we made our camp, with the wagons pulled around the front of the hill and stationed at the backside from the road. Wide wooden planks, mounted to the wagons’ side, were helpful when moving through the grass and mud. Laying these down in front of the wheels, they kept the wagons from sinking into the mud of the grassy areas they covered. The later attempts by the untrained guards had been less successful than the veterans, but by now, it had become a common enough occurrence that even I had gained some practice pushing the wagons over muddy ruts.

We lacked earthworks and fortifications, but we had a high point. Attackers would be moving toward the light and ruining their night vision while we preserved our own. They would have to scramble up a rise of muddy grass while we had the benefit of hard-packed dirt on the top of the hill. The real worry was being highlighted against the light for ranged attackers. There was little we could do about that except stay down, so that was one of the first instructions given. That and the Captain directed me to get Lady Alexis.

When I reached Alexis’ carriage, I was surprised to see her already pulling her equipment out and strapping her armor on. At my look of surprise that she was gearing up without assistance, she silently smiled at me and gestured with her head to Sir Wincome. The Knight was staring out into the forest and watching for attackers.

Dropping to one knee, I helped Alexis strap on her greaves, tightening her bindings in an even pattern as I went. When I was finished, I realized I was running my hands along the inside of her leg where the straps tied. My body was leaning into her leg, bracing her as I tucked her thigh next to my cheek. Her arms rested on my shoulder as she pressed against me for balance. It had been a practiced position that my father taught me when I was a boy. It was one of the fastest ways to lace up. Still, I hadn’t considered the indelicate nature of my actions until I was done. Snowy’s red face was staring into my own.

Despite the blush, she was smiling as she leaned her leg against me and held onto my shoulders. Her dirty-blond hair seemed to shine from the fire-light. The cloak of the night behind her outlined her and was only interrupted by the stars. The sound of coughing from Sir Wincome, along with his pointed frown, made me duck my head then switch to the other side to continue lacing on her gear. When I regained my composure and glanced up, Snowy had returned to her stoic self, her eyes quickly dancing over her equipment as she prepared herself.

Once her lower body was equipped, I held steady the plates that were difficult to don without assistance. Once she had the more difficult parts laced on, I rushed over to my tent to grab my personal equipment. Quickly strapping on my belt and two short-swords, I grabbed my newest addition. A thick padded cap. It was ugly, crude, and clearly made by an amateur. However, it had still been something to do while riding the wagon instead of [Meditation]. Haggling with the quartermaster, and suddenly ‘losing’ a small pouch of my itching powder, allowed me to claim the raw materials - including the necessary needle and thread. Plopping the lumpy and lopsided accoutrement on my head, I tied the two long side strips under my chin. The hanging straps made me look like I suddenly gained cloth sideburns. Stylish I was not, but I had a bit more protection to my skull, which was all I could ask of something so half-badly constructed.

There was a tense wait as we watched the perimeter. There had been a few times where guards had begun to grumble in annoyance, but the Sergeants had quickly silenced the men. More than forty-five minutes passed before the gentle sounds of a forest at night cut out, and all that could be heard was the snaps of the low burning fire. The sudden silence of the night creatures brought a hush to even the minor whispering.

Snowy and Sir Wincome stood to each side of her carriage, only letting their heads duck around the corner to check the surrounding. The Captain was standing mostly in the open, a large shield on one arm and a sword in the other. Everyone was equipped and watching, but it was the Mage who first called out the sign of approach.

“There!” the old man said. His staff was suddenly again in his hands and pointing to the slow movements of the brush at the edge of the clearing. Blundering through the plants, a man without a shirt and splashed with blood and mud fell to his hands and knees then crawled forward for a pace until he could climb back to his feet. A horrible grunt of effort escaped the man as he levered himself back up.

Standing tall in the low light that reached him from the fire, between the shadows cast by the standing guards, was what was clearly no longer a man. The left side of the creature’s body was stained by mud, but it was the massive line of black congealed blood across the gaping throat wound that said that this thing was no longer living. A wheezing gasp was pulled from the creature’s throat, as it brought one hand to its mouth and tried to stuff the remains of an animal that it clutched in its grip. The hand wouldn’t open as the mindless thing repeatedly attempted to stuff the mangled fur into its mouth, the teeth-gnashing as much on its own knuckles as the fur.

One of the guards vomited, and the sound drew the creature’s attention. Without dropping its hand, it began to climb the hill as more of the things in a similar condition fumbled their way free of the forest.

With a loud grunt of effort, the Mage shoved his staff upward and repeated the spell he used before the Culling. This sudden release of magic seemed to rouse the slow-moving creatures who then began to climb the hill with vigor.

The Captain slammed the flat side of his sword against his shield, the noise loudly ringing out before he shouted his command, “Hold the line!”