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C58 : Akishen the Copper Fang

  Returning to the Shadow Prowlers’ encampment, Skelth and Akishen remained stern and quiet, and pointed us to an area for us to rest while Akishen prepared for the journey — first the optimistic diplomatic route to Ith-Korr, where she would discuss any possible amicable way forwards between the Shadow Prowlers and the Hanging City, then with Alator, Lenya and I to Uruk, where she would point us to the Crimson Crown.

  I lowered myself to a stump and checked my body. I felt a touch better getting the frustration out of my system, but still had a foul taste in my mouth after seeing the prisoners. The rest of the jungle-folk in the camp didn’t know what had occurred, but got enough of the vibe to shoot us ugly looks and a good few obscene gestures — at least, gestures which I presume are obscene. A lot of them tapped themselves on the head and then stamped their foot.

  Jove knows what that means. . . . I just smiled back, feeling belligerent.

  It had been a while since I’d looked at Alator’s stats, so I looked over to where he was sitting on the ground and fingered the Analysis Card.

  Another question mark down! Such a massive Mind Stat . . . He could stand to use that more often. I was sure all his Skills previously had been at Level 10 . . . SYS, has his [Influence] dropped due to underuse?

  // SYS : Correct. The same should be happening to you — especially so for the Skills that are yet unearned — however, I can’t see that any have decreased since you’ve been here. . . . The same goes for your Stats, as we discussed previously, but somehow your Mind remains at four. //

  Five, actually.

  // SYS : Might as well be minus six. //

  Good one. The Solar Flare is what we witnessed during the Voracious Vampyri fight, I know that. A small part of my upgraded Mind then tried unbidden and in vain to find ways to exploit his Weakness, but I pushed it away.

  // SYS : You gained 56 XP for defeating the Stranglethorn. You now have 118 and need 137 total for the next Level. //

  Fifty-six? So an assist three ways further splits it.

  // SYS : Yes, of course. And you took the remainder from the odd number for making the final blow. Further, your use of [Vigour] has upgraded the Skill to Level 3. //

  As I suspected, there’s no new ability on odd levels. I considered asking SYS for more spoilers — for more information on the higher levels, but I decided against it.

  I guess for all the danger and viscerality of this World, I still have the heart of a gamer!

  The familiar text boxes hovered around the rebels’ heads as I touched the Analysis Card, and with a dozen or so popping up at once, my vision tunnelled for a moment and my head fell forwards as a wave of exhaustion hit me.

  Got to be careful using this on a packed street! I’d probably pass out. Couldn’t you have found one that didn’t tire me out?

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  // SYS : The energy has to come from somewhere, Talbot. I can always take it out of your Experience, if you’d like. //

  No, thanks.

  I felt a light hand on my shoulder as Lenya stepped over the stump and sat beside me, her robes almost touching my hip. The breeze as she passed was momentarily sweet, like spiced vanilla and pine, with a very faint sweaty musk from tramping through the jungle.

  She looked like she was struggling to speak. She fussed over the placement of her jewellery; she set the tear-shaped black and gold chalcedony trinket to the centre of her brow and adjusted her carnelian earrings. She lightly bit her lip in thought, her sparkling grey eyes inspecting the damp ground at her feet.

  “Beautiful. . . .” I whispered, then hasted to add, “Your gold.”

  “They’re heirlooms,” she said with a very slight flush, and her consternation dissipated. “Passed down, mother to daughter, sage to sage.”

  “Isn’t it dangerous, or a bit . . . silly to wear them?”

  She leant back on the stump and looked to the noon sky, with her arms behind her back.

  “They focus my magic. But more than that . . . I considered for a moment hiding them, especially in Ith-Korr, but my pride would not allow it. You wouldn’t understand.”

  I just sighed. She’s opening up, little by little, I thought.

  Presently, Akishen appeared out of one of the log cabins. She shouldered a vine net sack tied about a spear a bit like a Roman legionnaire’s marching pole. I saw then the ornate hilt and crossguard of a short bronze sword was now slotted into the scabbard that swayed at her hip. Curious, I touched the Analysis Card.

  From what I could tell, the Inventory section only included the contents of containers, not individual items worn or held. Her pouch was still likely unchanged, so the bag must hold the new travelling stuff.

  Can’t tell what the sword is.

  I felt the mental shrug of a non-response come from SYS, so assumed it was something I’d have to work out for myself.

  She didn’t meet our eye as she approached, then stamped her foot.

  “I have prepared myself, and have provisions for the journey to Ith-Korr and then to Uruk. I will not share. Do not burden me and we’ll not come to any difficulties.”

  Seems Akishen never learnt to share, either.

  A quiet chuckle came from my side. Lenya was still reading my mind. I shot her a glance and she turned away, red faced.

  Got to be more careful with my thoughts.

  ‘Worried I’ll hear something I shouldn’t?’

  Lenya, that’s enough.

  ‘You really should have more of a grasp over your own thoughts, anyway.’

  She huffed and, though I hadn’t felt the magic grow, I suddenly felt a slight change in the air as it dissipated.

  How much had she heard? Can she hear SYS in my mind as well? I’m going to assume not, so I’ll just try to make my own internal monologue more vague. . . .

  After a little more discussion, and Akishen bidding farewell to a few of her Shadow Prowler bandit friends, we set off under the woven vine blanket that hid their encampment, and through the silent valley, heading upwards towards the jungle proper.

  Akishen moved easily through over the undergrowth and past the trees, as Drya had done, touching the odd tree and moving whipping branches or matted hanging moss aside easily and silently. Her movement was fluid, she met the jungle’s ebb and flow,

  More often than once a branch snapped back and hit me in the chest or arm. She giggled each time at my complaints.

  “Keep up, outsider. This isn’t one of your cities of straight roads and stone walls. The jungle will chews up and spits out those who don’t respect her.”

  I swallowed my irritation and fell back a few paces to let her lead. Alator trudged on with a weary sigh behind me, and I heard Lenya, behind him, whisper something sharp in her native tongue, eyes narrowed, gaze buried into the back of Akishen’s head.

  Pausing by a tree with roots that twisted into the air like claws, Akishen gestured upwards. “See that resin? Yellow, dripping slow.” In a few bounds, using hands and feet, she gripped onto one of the higher branches and picked off a small amount with one fingernail, then dropped back down to the ground.

  “This is agara. Very rare, smells —” she held it to her thin red nose and breathed in deeply, “— lovely, and good for sealing wounds, but its real use is baiting Drakotha.”

  “Drakotha?” Lenya asked, frowning.

  Akishen turned, one brow arched. Her attitude seemed a bit more playful, definitely more at ease now we were deep under the canopy. “You haven’t heard? They’re new, born from some sort of corruption seeping into the jungle. From their look, they’re a mix of monitor lizard, hornbill, and something else infernal from the Breathing Sands. They hunt silently, climbing trees with talons that can shear bronze. If you’re lucky, you’ll hear the wet scrape of their tongues before they drop onto you. Like THIS.”

  And she leapt at Lenya, who gasped and fell onto her back foot. Akishen laughed a tinkling, if a little cruel, laugh. Acting her age the first time I’ve seen, I thought. Her age? She can’t be any older than 18. I wonder if she’s been living this hard bandit way in this jungle her whole life. . . .

  “Sounds delightful,” I muttered. Corruption in the jungle. . . .

  The mandrill-like smirk widened and she turned to me. “It’s no idle tale. A group of them brought down a whole warden patrol last season. We picked up the scraps. They survived, it seemed, though they left behind an arm or two.”

  “Why hasn’t anyone culled the Drakotha?” Alator asked, cracking his knuckles.

  She glanced at him, shuddered for a moment and his intensity.

  “They’re too clever,” she shrugged. “Don’t lair, hardly leave any tracks. They’re jungle-born predators; the purest form of survival.”

  Her tone carried a grim pride, then she caught herself and seemed to take stock of the situation she was in, and wore a scowl again. “So tread lightly, outsiders. The jungle’s not forgiving. And neither am I.”

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