Path of Dragons

Book 6: Chapter 68: The Footfalls of Giants

Book 6: Chapter 68: The Footfalls of Giants

Kurik slammed the blade of his hatchet into the wraith’s skull, and the thing’s head exploded from the impact. He paid it no mind. Instead, he moved on to the next creature that had been subjected to one of his traps, dispatching it in the same manner. Then, he found the next. And the next after that. Over and over, he slaughtered the helpless things like the pests they were.

Before he’d come to the Trial of Primacy, he might’ve felt sorry for such pitiful creatures. In the intervening months, he’d killed so many of them that he’d grown inured to such emotions.

Mostly.

At times, all the killing still left him feeling nauseous. Despite his class – and the expectations that came with it – Kurik just wasn’t built for the slaughter. He had no issues trapping and killing game. That felt different. Nor did he have problems with defending himself, either. But wholesale butchery – like what he’d done in the City of Toh – was something else entirely.

“Is it so wrong that I just want a cabin in the woods, a good dwarven woman with a silky beard to keep me company, and a job that don’t include killin’ hundreds of these sorry creatures each day?” he groused. He answered himself, “Course it is. That damn Druid is to blame. He dragged me here, and now I’m stuck as a butcher.”

His axe fell again, and another head exploded.

“Bro. You don’t have to hit them so hard. They’re already trapped,” Dat said in his annoyingly affable way. Just once, Kurik wished the man would get drunk on bad beer and get in a fight. But no. He couldn’t even do that. He got drunk and made friends. As if that was something a proper dwarf would do!

“I know that!” Kurik growled, hitting the next one even harder. The results were the same, save that he got a bit more brain and skull on his good trousers. Why had he worn them, anyway? Oh – right. It was because all his others had been destroyed. Nobody even offered to reimburse him for the loss, either.

Finally, he killed the last wraith, then gazed out over the latest version of his killin’ field. He’d used less traps, but he’d gotten better results than ever, killing hundreds of wraiths. His skills were growing, and soon, he’d need to address a decision looming in his near future. By all rights, he should’ve already made it. It wasn’t as if the choices were going to change. But with level one hundred fast approaching, he’d still not made a choice as to his specialization.

Unlike his companions, he didn’t have some weird, rarely seen class. He was a Sapper, and as such, he knew what choices he would be offered. He’d memorized them the moment he took the class.

Tinkerer, Siegesmith, and Combat Engineer.

The long and short of it was that the Tinkerer specialization would enhance his temporary trapping skills. Usually, someone who took that option would focus on creating traps and weapons on the fly, steering into the versatility of the specialization so they were better in personal combat. It was a great option, especially considering his current needs, but Kurik didn’t like what that meant for his future.

After all, he’d only come to the Trial of Primacy because it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. In the beginning, he’d thought he would simply follow Elijah around and soak up excess experience. That hadn’t been the case, and he’d been pushed much harder than he could have ever imagined possible.

But that wasn’t necessarily the life he wanted to live. However, there was a distinct possibility that it was the best chance he had of ever making it through the Trial. So, it bore consideration.

Next came the Siegesmith specialization, which was the preferred route for those Sappers who wanted to make powerful weapons meant to knock down walls and sunder defenses. Considering that he didn’t intend on engaging in a war of conquest, Kurik didn’t think that was the best option.

Though if his time on Earth had taught him anything, it was that his intentions rarely affected the sorts of trouble he found himself in. So, Siegesmith could very well be a powerful addition to his already potent arsenal.

Finally, there was the Combat Engineer specialization, which focused on building permanent traps and other fortifications meant for defense. Often, Combat Engineers worked closely with Architects, Builders, and Ethereal Engineers to create truly terrifying bastions of defense.

That certainly appealed to Kurik. The notion of hunkering down and building his defenses was every proper dwarf’s dream. The only thing that would make it better was if it all took place in a mountain fortress.

The degree to which each of those specializations would affect his class varied based on one’s Legacy, but Kurik expected that he had enough Feats of Strength to get a decent result. If his younger self – even from five years before – could have seen how far he’d already climbed, he would have been aghast at his progress.

Yet, there was a cost for everything, and Kurik worried that his sanity might be the price he was forced to pay. Never was that clearer than when he gazed across the ghastly killin’ field and saw hundreds – if not close to a thousand – mutilated bodies. They all belonged to wraiths, but even those pitiful creatures deserved better than that fate.

He let out a sigh that sounded more like a grunt.

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“What’s up, bro?”

“Nothin’.”

“Something is wrong,” Ron said, wiping his own hands on his shirt. How he’d gotten them bloody was a mystery. He’d been in the back the whole time. Never in danger. And yet, he’d managed to get his hands dirty.

Kurik shrugged. “My cousins used to tell me stories about it,” he muttered. Those had terrified him for longer than he wanted to remember. The idea of someone in his life being replaced by a shapeshifter? Horrific. “So, that’s really her? It looks like her, but it don’t act like her. Are we sure it’s not –”

“I can hear you, you know,” said Sadie.

“Oh. Sorry. Unless you’re a shapeshifter,” he said, already rummaging in his pack. After only a second, he found what he was looking for – an iron rod. After pulling it out of his pack, he extended it toward “Sadie. “Touch it.”

“I’m not touching your rod.”

Dat giggled.

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” she chided.

“Sorry, bro.”

“It’s iron,” Kurik said. “To prove you’re not a shapeshifter. They can’t abide the touch of iron.”

“I thought that was fae,” Elijah said.

“No, it’s shapeshifters,” Kurik said. “My cousins were clear about that.”

“I am not a shapeshifter!” Sadie insisted.

“Just what a shapeshifter would say,” Elijah remarked with a smirk. At least he was taking it seriously. “Pointedly, while avoiding touching Kurik’s rod.”

Sadie once again rolled her eyes, then took the hunk of metal. “There. Happy? I’m not a shapeshifter!”

Kurik crossed his arms. “Hmm.”

“It’s not definitive,” Elijah said, mimicking Kurik’s posture. “I think we need more tests. I heard that –”

“Guys,” Ron chided. “That’s enough. She’s not a shapeshifter.”

“She might be,” Elijah persisted.

“You’ve been with me the whole time!” Sadie exclaimed.

“But shapeshifters are known for being tricky, right? Wily, one might say. Who knows what they might do?” Elijah wondered.

“I hate you,” Sadie groaned, throwing Kurik’s testing rod on the ground. She glanced around, adding, “I hate you all.”

“What’d I do, bro?”

“And I was on your side,” Ron said.

But by then, Sadie had already stalked off.

Elijah clapped his hands together and said, “That went well. I’ve had a long flight, and I’m starving. Anyone else hungry?”