Natural Inclination

Chapter 41

Two days' ride from the dungeon, as sunset gave way to night, Elim ran through scrubs at the base of the mountains. In his arms was the surprisingly heavy form of the earth elemental hound, Marlow. In the air around them was the angry hum of a sandstorm.

Bolting into a crevice of stone, Elim fell to his knees, pulling his hood cloak up as soon as his arms were free. The raging stone-laden wind howled and descended as he sheltered the hound as best he could manage.

"Fuck!" Elim hissed, as his back was pelted by stray rocks. Since his call with 42, things had been interesting. Starting with a swarm of scorpions and escalating to some kind of gods-forsaken lynx porcupine hybrid thing. He had one of its barbs buried in his thigh, and it stung with an unholy acidic tingle.

Elim steadied his breath, pressing himself into the shade of the rock formation as deeply as he could. Marlow let out a little whine, his right flank had been torn open, and he had a half dozen barbs embed in him. Elim wasn't sure if the muted reaction was a testament to the creature's hardiness or the insensitivity of stone. What he did know was that earth elementals bled a rich black loam.

The sand cat, as he was calling it, had ambushed them just after a fight with an absurdly large snake. As the wind continued to rage, he drank a potion and felt the excruciating pain of the barb being forced out. Still better out than in, regardless.

"Just me, or was that bastard acting like it was personal?" Elim asked when the wind died down.

"It's an element like me. This place is rich enough to let us come to be, but not to nurture many or strong ones. It wishes to grow," Marlow explained.

"Seemed plenty strong to me," Elim growled irritably. He'd lost his spear and buckler in the initial assault and taken a painful pelting from a mini cyclone of sand and rocks. With everything going on, he'd been too preoccupied to contact 42 again, but it couldn't wait. Not with the hound in such a state. Elim fired off a quick text and, a few minutes later, had access to several potions through the inventory.

"Not enough to leave. It's not strong enough to survive without a leyline," Marlow said, whining slightly with every breath. Elim let out a hum of acknowledgment. He knew precious little about elementals or anything else magic. The hound could lie, and he'd have no idea, but he doubted Marlow would.

Elim took out a potion and poured it into his hand like a makeshift bowl. Marlow lapped it up and whined louder as the barbs were forced out. The wound began to heal, though, and finally closed.

"My spear was totally useless," Elim mentioned. He should have landed a hit, but the weapon had caught in the creature's sand-like flesh and been torn from his hand and ruined.

An enraged yowling reminded them they were not yet alone. The sand cat was still on the hunt.

"Am I right in assuming it will come after you foremost?" Elim asked as he ran back the encounter in his mind.

"Yes, though like earlier, it will use any means it can. It's aware I'm your guardian," Marlow explained. Elim nodded, the creature had gone at him, but when Marlow interceded, the feint was revealed. The sand cat would have happily gutted him too, though.

Outside the shelter of stones, the sand cat was on the prowl. Its attack with the desert winds had worked against it in the end, scattering the prey's scent. Unlike Marlow, it was a being of wind, sand, and anger.

It had begun as nothing and grown strong through the conquest of others. Then one day, its prey had run dry, leaving it without meaningful combat. To kill creatures of the flesh brought it no strength, and the novelty of their strange gurgling and wet deaths had quickly waned.

The hound of earth and water wasn't stronger than it, but more robust than any of its previous prey. It would not let the opportunity for growth slip by.

After nearly an hour of searching, it heard a baying call of challenge. The hound sounded enraged, and its fur-like exterior stood on end in sandy spikes in response. It would gladly come and meet the challenge.

Unlike a lesser creature of its kind, it didn't lose its wits. It found the side canyon where the hound waited and examined it from a distance. It was a creature of the earth, but the stone ground would be of no use to it. Much how the sand was of little utility to the hound.

Strangely the hound was sitting, calling out again after a little while. It was much more determined to face its demise than the cat was used to. But then, the two-legged wet thing was missing, likely dead.

Such beings did not last long if struck with one of its barbs. A matter of no consequence to the cat, but the hound had clearly cared to keep that thing alive. Even taken damage to try and forestall its death.

The cat didn't understand why that was, but didn't care either. It had used the way wet creatures protected small of their kind against them more than once. If the hound wished to lose its mind over such a thing, it would be happy to capitalize.

Slinking in the shadows where the pale moon's light failed to reach, the cat moved forward to ambush the hound. Its shifting sandy hide let it blend in easily, and soon it was within striking range. There would be nothing left to chance this time. The hound was trapped on three sides, and it had nestled in its blind spot.

After a still moment that felt like it stretched into an eternity, the cat sprang out to attack.

"Marlow!" Elim shouted as the cat attacked. Its claws passed through the open air where Marlow had once been. Instead of the hound, the cat found itself sailing toward the human, and the last thing it knew was a flash of moon-lit silver and the scent of ancient earth and iron.

Sand exploded from where the cat's body had been as Elim's sword severed its neck. Sputtering, he cleared it from his mouth and nose but kept a careful hold on his blade.

"Ugh!" Elim said, spitting and wiping at his eyes.

"Is it dead?" Elim asked. He hadn't been sure the trap would work. He assumed now that it did since the cat hadn't taken advantage of his blindness to attack him again but still needed reassurance.

"No," Marlow said placidly.

"Did it escape?" Elim asked. Finally able to see again, he found the hound sitting in front of him, nudging something amber and faintly glowing toward him.

"What's that?" Elim asked.

"The elemental core of the cat. It won't die until you destroy it," Marlow explained, then nudged the crystal toward Elim again.

"What happens if I don't?" Elim asked. He knew precisely nothing about cores other than stronger monsters had them, and they were worth money. If you knew where to sell them anyway, which he did not.

"It will feed on the ambient mana of the ley line and eventually respawn in its original form. If it's removed from here, it will lie dormant until it is taken somewhere suitable," Marlow explained.

"Original form? It didn't start out looking half porcupine?" Elim asked archly.

"No, merely as a cat, much as I am a hound. We become like that if we eat the core of others," Marlow offered.

"Do you want to eat it?" Elim asked. He felt like Marlow was fine as he was, but that didn't mean the hound would agree.

"No," Marlow replied flatly.

"I'll keep it then. We'll camp here tonight, and I'll get the horse back out in the morning," Elim said and pocketed the crystal-looking core. On some level, he'd known the moment his blade connected that he'd won. Asking had simply been to confirm, since he didn't trust the new instinct.

Like much of his new class abilities and the occasional pop-up, they felt natural but unfamiliar. He glanced at the experience notice for the sand cat's partial demise before casting it aside. He'd check his total later, but for the moment, focused on bedding down for the night; he'd had a long day.

Not so long he didn't take his sword out to clean it, however. The cat had been made of sand, but that didn't excuse negligence. He'd never used the sword in combat before, but had been meticulous about its care.

It had always looked fragile to him, too thin and pitted, like something had eaten away at it. It was good enough for practice, but he only kept it at his side as a training weight. When he could afford a new one, it would be hung up on the cottage wall as a family heirloom. Like it always should have been.

Once camp was set and Elim seated comfortably on his bedroll, he drew the blade. He found himself momentarily dazzled—moonlight reflecting unexpectedly in his eyes.

Instead of a dull lace of what had once been a sword, he was faced with a whole blade—one with a mirror-like finish and a touch of rainbow sheen to the metal.

"Elim?" Mistress 42's voice inquired. Elim didn't remember starting a call, but the link was open.

"Mistress, did you give me a new sword?" Elim asked, touched and a little sad. He appreciated the new weapon but wanted the old one back if possible. It was a keepsake of his time training with his father, on top of being an heirloom. He didn't want it discarded just because it wasn't valuable.

"No? Oh, shit. I forgot to mention, I fixed your sword. Reforged it to get rid of the corrosion while you were unconscious. Is there a problem with it?" Mistress 42 said, as if it really had just slipped her mind. Elim looked at the blade and had to wonder just how long he'd been unconscious for such a feat to be accomplished.

"No, Mistress, it's performed beautifully," Elim said and chuckled.

"Good. I was shocked you were toting around a half-ruined stick of legendary metal," 42 replied. The sword had been blunt enough to be considered a stick, but Elim winced at that.

"Wait, legendary metal?" Elim asked.

"Yeah, Gilnamar. It probably came to your family by way of the mage kingdom. Makes sense given that special trait of yours," 42 added.

"Mistress, I'll call you back soon," Elim said before disconnecting the call. Wide-eyed, Elim flopped on his back with his resheathed sword laid on his stomach. His mind was spiraling as he took in everything he'd learned. Whatever else came to pass, he wasn't going to be getting a wink of sleep after all that.

Sensing something amiss, Marlow came over and gave Elim a lick on the cheek and curled beside his charge. The affectionate lick left a streak of mud in its wake. Elim didn't bother wiping it off.

He’d wanted to hang a legendary blade from the mythical mages kingdom on his cottage wall. He didn’t know how to process his life anymore.