First Sorcerer Read online

  Maybe it’s about concentration, he decided. The first disc probably only lasts if I’m focusing on it; once I lose focus, it vanishes. This was a common thread in games, especially for illusion-type spells: they only lasted while the caster concentrated on them. Since that generally meant the caster needed line-of-sight to the spell, if you could banish the illusion, the caster ended up pretty vulnerable, which is one reason Jeff had never been big on playing illusionists.

  He recast the first disc and begin to cast the second, while still keeping a mental connection to the first. It was much harder than he thought it would be: he was used to throwing every ounce of imagination he had into his Forge Mana spell but doing so inevitably caused the first spell to fade. Still, he grimly persisted, until finally, he had two discs hanging before him, glowing faintly. He grinned and attempted to float the discs over the trench…and with a flicker, both disappeared at once.

  He sighed. Creating the discs took all his focus; moving both at once would be too much for him. He decided he only needed one at first: he could simply stand on it and fashion the second. Okay, this is a bit harder than I thought, he acknowledged, but I still got this. He fashioned a platform over the pit, placing it about 3 feet from the edge of the passage. That’s about as far as I’m good jumping, he admitted to himself. He took a deep breath, gathered himself, and jumped onto the first disc.

  As his weight shattered the disc, and he plunged down into the pit, he had just enough time to think, Son of a… He struck the spikes, shattering his Mana Armor, and felt burning spears of pain shoot through him before his head struck a spike and blackness swallowed him.

  When he awoke before the obelisk, he shook his head in frustration. “Freaking platform was too thin!” he cursed softly. Dammit, Veronica, I’m a Sorcerer, not an engineer!

  He gathered himself and cast a single shield a few inches above the ground in front of him. He stepped gingerly onto it, but the moment his weight came down, the platform vanished. “Yep,” he sighed. “Too thin. Okay, so this will be harder than I thought. I’m gonna have to make the platforms at least a half-inch thick to hold me up. That means each one can be…4 inches in radius, if I’m only making 2? That’s too small for jumping, though!”

  He ruminated on the problem for a few moments before reaching a conclusion. He could only make 2 platforms at once, but he could probably dismiss one and make a new one without much trouble. Instead of making the platforms far enough apart for jumping, he could make one, stand on it, and make the next within stepping distance. Once he did that, he could walk to it, release the first, and make a third one once his SP refilled. It would take a while, and it would probably leave him pretty tired, mentally, but he could do it.

  Back at the edge of the pit, he enacted his plan, creating an 8-inch wide circle a half-inch thick. He moved it out over the pit and carefully stepped on it. The platform accepted his weight…and immediately plunged to the floor, with him on top. He hadn’t even bothered to recast his armor this time, so the burst of pain was mercifully brief before he was sent for respawn.

  “What the hell?” he swore as he reformed in the main room. “I thought the stupid thing would move however I wanted? Hell, the original spell description said it would hold weight! What happened?”

  “Did you, indeed, will it to float, though?” Veronica’s voice spoke in the vault of his mind. “Or did you assume it would float when you stood on it?”

  “Well, I…” he trailed off, shamefaced. “Aw, dammit. Yeah, that was all on me. Thanks, Veronica.”

  “As I have said,” she replied calmly, “I am here to guide you.” Her voice went silent.

  Jeff concentrated and formed a disc in front of him, a few inches above the floor. When he stepped on it, it immediately sank to the ground. He concentrated on it, though, focusing on the image of the disc hovering above the ground with him on top. At first, nothing happened, but he pushed all of his focus at the disc, willing it to rise, and slowly it lifted from the floor.

  “Yes!” Jeff shouted, raising his hands, then yelped as his movement unbalanced the platform and it rocked, tipping him to the side and tumbling him to the floor. “Okay, so less celebration,” he muttered. “Got it.” He climbed back up onto the floating circle and tried to stand quietly, but it was no use. The circle was so small that even such a simple motion as turning his head or raising an arm would destabilize it. There was no way he’d be able to step on one over the pit: once he lifted his foot off it, it would spill him down onto the spikes.

  He experimented with the platform, decreasing the thickness and increasing the radius until he found a version that was both strong and stable. Unfortunately, it also took most of his SP: the disc was 15 inches wide and a bit more than a third of an inch thick, the thinnest he could make it and still have it hold his weight. It required most of his focus just to hold it stable, and if he moved too much, it still wobbled dangerously. However, there was no way he could make more than one of these.

  “So, what do I do now?” he said to the air, whining just a bit. “I need to make at least two platforms to walk across the pit, but if I do, they aren’t stable enough to hold me. Hell, I don’t even know if I can hold two of them up in any case: I never even tried that! Just making one move the way I want it is hard enough…”

  His voice trailed off as he processed his last sentence. It’s supposed to move the way I want it, he mused silently. So, why would I only be able to move it vertically? Shouldn’t I be able to float it across the pit – with me on top of it?

  Excited, Jeff formed a disc, his mind awash in images of him standing atop a glowing platform, swooping around in flight, the wind rushing through his hair. He could already see it: he would be able to fly into battle atop his mana shield, circling around his enemies, peppering them with Mana Barrages from afar. He would be winged death!

  The reality, sadly, was somewhat disappointing. Once Jeff has his disc stabilized, he focused on moving it forward, and it obligingly slid in the direction he intended. As it did, the change in motion rocked him backward, and he tumbled off the platform to land somewhat embarrassingly on his backside. He grumbled and rose to his feet, refusing to dust himself off – he’d seen that in a classic baseball movie he loved – and reformed the disc, which had vanished as soon as he fell.

  This time, he leaned forward as the circle started moving and managed to stay on his feet. To his dismay, though, it crept forward at a pace that was just a bit below his normal walking speed. Jeff concentrated, hurling all his will at the disc, urging it to speed up – to zero effect. The platform sedately floated away from the obelisk, with a defeated-looking Jeff perched atop it in a superhero pose that, he privately admitted, probably looked utterly ridiculous at the pace he was moving. With a sigh, he dismissed the platform, realizing a moment too late that it had floated out over the lava river at that point.

  When Jeff respawned, he immediately sat down and sank into his mindscape. That last bit of idiocy had been the last straw: he needed to do something to take out his frustrations. The moment his eyes opened in his dojo, and angrily snatched up a staff and began swinging wildly at the target dummy, his blows smashing into it with no control or intent except working out some anger. After a minute or so of this, he calmed down and put his frustration aside. He hefted the staff before a thought occurred to him: if he could train skills in his mindscape, could he also train spells? Curious, he put the staff back on its rack and concentrated, forming a glowing staff of mana.

  He assumed his first stance and fell into his exercises, swinging at the dummy and stumbling as his staff vanished from his grip. Jeff stared at his empty hand for a moment, blinking stupidly. Must have lost focus, he realized after several moments. So, if I’m going to use this as a weapon, I have to keep concentrating on it, or it’ll dissipate. But, I’ve also got to focus on the forms I’m doing, or I’ll screw them up. This…is probably gonna be great for training up my concentration, if nothing else!

  He reformed
his mana staff and began his forms slowly, splitting his concentration between the weapon in his hand and the movements he still hadn’t fully internalized. As he practiced, he noticed that holding the staff in place took less of his focus with every minute, until he realized he was barely concentrating to maintain its solidity. Curious, he dispersed the staff and replaced it with his mana blade. He again fell into a stance and began going through his exercises, but this time, it barely took any effort at all for him to maintain the construct.

  Eventually, he dispersed the weapon and noticed a blinking notification in his vision. When he pulled it up, he was pleasantly surprised:

  “Huh, my spell leveled up,” he noted. “Wait, why did my latest spell level up when my others have barely moved?”

  “Spells and skills level faster when you use them creatively,” Veronica’s voice spoke in his mind. “You have been pushing the boundaries of the spell consistently and challenging yourself to master it, so it gained Skill XP at an accelerated rate. Whereas, since you have simply been using your other spells for their intended purpose – albeit effectively – they are leveling up much more slowly.”

  So, my Skills level faster when I basically try to abuse them? he thought quizzically. I mean, I’m not complaining, but it kind of feels like I’m being rewarded for cheating.

  “There is no such thing as cheating in Singularity Online,” she informed him a bit primly. “Every player is given the same opportunities and limitations. How you use your opportunities and work around those limits is an essential part of the game.”

  “So, wait, every player meets a specter that gives them Master-ranked Skills?” Jeff chuckled. “I find that hard to believe. That also kind of seems, well, like cheating, Veronica.”

  “Any player who undertook these Trials could have gotten those Skills, yes,” Veronica replied quietly. “However, the odds were, to be honest, vanishingly unlikely. There was a very specific set of conditions, including the speed one completed the Trials, the number of attempts it took to overcome each Trial, how the player treats Lythienne’s spirit and the power she imparts to them, and not least, a complete unwillingness to take the offered memories. We calculated that the chances of all of this happening were small enough to justify the exceptional award.”

  “Wait, the speed I’m completing the Trials?” he repeated. “The number of attempts? I feel like this is taking forever!”

  “So far, you have spent less than 24 hours in the Trials and have completed 3 of the 4, and you have a workable solution to the last,” Veronica’s voice said without inflection. “We estimated it would take approximately 4 days for a player to reach this point. It was assumed the player would leave the Trials and be returned to the elf stronghold at least once per day, for sleep, nourishment, and hints on hos to complete the Trials. You have been operating on a somewhat accelerated schedule, Jeff.”

  Huh, Jeff thought, perplexed. He suddenly realized that the reason he had found the Trials to be so frustrating and unfair was that this was exactly what they were intended to be. They were meant to force players to use their new spells over and over, perhaps discovering new skills in the process, and returning to the elves as needed. That way, the player would start to think of the elf village – stronghold? – as a kind of home base. Jeff honestly felt like the main room of the Trials was more of a home base than anywhere else at this point.

  Well, I’m doing things the way I like, he decided firmly. I’m not even planning to stay with the elves, anyway. Once I’m done with this, I’ll do a few quests around the stronghold to get some money, buy some decent equipment, maybe see if I can get some weapons training before I go meet up with Phil, wherever he’s at. Plus, I gained some awesome skills, so go me, I guess!

  He dismissed his mana blade and rose from his mindscape, filled with determination. He was going to complete the last Trial, no matter how many times he fell to his doom! In fact, he was going to get there in style!

  He formed his stable disc and stepped gingerly onto it. With his new Skill level allowing him to create 25% more volume of forged mana, he was able to make the disc about 18 inches across, increasing the stability. He also found that no longer having to focus to maintain the platform allowed him to concentrate more on keeping it stable and slightly increased the speed: now he was moving just a bit faster than his normal walking pace. He mentally guided the hovering circle across the lava river, ignoring the bridges, and down the last hallway.

  As the disc moved out over the pit, Jeff allowed himself a satisfied grin. So long as he didn’t lose focus, he was about to complete the last Trial. He wasn’t sure what that would mean, but he was hoping there would be a decent reward – although, after a moment’s thought, he realized that was being greedy. He was about to be given a fourth spell, he’d learned how to be a functioning Sorcerer, and he had already been granted skills that, considering how slowly his were growing, would probably have taken him years to develop. In fact, his real hope was that his completing the Trial wouldn’t mean the end of Lythienne’s memories: there was still so much for him to learn from the ancient Sorcerer.

  As his floating platform slowly approached the orb, he remembered that creating the last spell had caused his armor to fail; creating a new one would likely do the same thing for the disc. In other words, the moment he left his mindscape, he would likely fall to his death. His concern, though, was whether it would happen before he got to finish his spell. Would he be able to try again afterwards? Would he lose the chance to learn that spell forever? He doubted the last would be true: while the game might be difficult, he couldn’t see the AI’s setting it up so that the only way to succeed also guaranteed failure.

  His platform drew next to the orb, ending that line of questioning. There was no point in stalling: he had to trust that the game was designed to be played and assume that something would keep him from falling – at least, until after he left his mindscape. By this time, he was resigned to the fact that completing the Trial would result in his death. This really is a Traveler’s-only Trial, he thought grimly.

  He reached forth and placed his hand on the violet globe, plunging into his mindscape. He opened his eyes and saw Lythienne staring at him a little grimly. “So, you have completed the fourth Trial, Sorcerer,” she said flatly. “As always, you have earned a new spell and a single question. Which shall it be?”

  “Are you upset with me?” he asked cautiously. “Did I do something wrong?”

  Lythienne sighed, and the discontented look flew from her face. “No, child, I’m not upset with you,” she replied heavily. “I am…concerned. The last part of the Trial is the most difficult, and it would pain me to see you turn aside from it when you are so close.”

  “The last part?” he repeated. “I thought I had completed the last part. The last lock on that big door will be open, and I’ll be able to head out, right?”

  “No, my foolish young elf,” she denied, shaking her head. “You have merely opened the door that contains the true Trial. This one, you will not be able to try endlessly, either: if you die, you fail.”

  Jeff swallowed at her words and opened his mouth, but she halted him with an upraised hand. “No, do not waste your question on something you will discover shortly without my assistance, child,” she scolded gently. “Instead, let us start with your spell, so you have time to recover your wits and ask a meaningful question.”

  The ancient specter tilted her head back, and for a moment, Jeff saw her body glow faintly white. “This spell is called Empowerment,” she informed him. “It is subtle, but powerful.” As she spoke, she suddenly vanished.

  Jeff felt a rush of air swirl past him and spun to see that Lythienne was now standing behind him. “With this spell,” she explained, vanishing once more and appearing beside his weapon rack, “a Sorcerer can empower their bodies with mana, boosting their physical stats beyond what would normally be possible.” She picked up his wooden bo staff and slammed it into the side of his dome with a crack that soun
ded like thunder, forcing him to wince and cover his ears.

  “While powerful,” she went on, “Empowerment is a dangerous spell. The body was not meant to use mana in this fashion and doing so causes continual damage. The feeling of power can also be intoxicating, even addictive, and there have been Sorcerers who indulged in this spell to the point of death. Yet, when you are facing a foe beyond your ability to defeat, this spell can be the difference between life and death.”

  Jeff nodded, thinking through the ramifications. Empowerment seemed like a sort of last-ditch spell, something you used when you were low on options. “Okay,” he said slowly, “so, how do I cast it?”

  Lythienne began to patiently talk him through the process of fashioning the spell. It was far more complex than he imagined: it wasn’t just a matter of shoving energy into his muscles. He had to focus the energy on what he wanted it to do: he could reinforce his muscles and bones to give him greater strength, energize his fast-twitch muscles to grant him extra Agility, suffuse his flesh with power to improve his Endurance, or concentrate the energy in his hands and fingers to improve his Dexterity. He felt the energy gathering in his muscles, could taste the coppery tang of it in his mouth.

  He fashioned the spell again and again, pouring SP into it, but as his mana turned into a trickle, the spell had not coalesced. He opened his eyes to see that his mana spirals were all but vanished, and his mind felt heavy and fuzzy. “I couldn’t do it,” he gasped, collapsing in his chair. “It just took too much mana…”

  “Nonsense,” Lythienne waved at him dismissively. “You simply need to let your SP regenerate and continue, child. The spell will wait for you.”

  Jeff blinked, stunned. “Wait,” he replied slowly. “I don’t have to create the spell all at once?”