Mage

by L. J. Swallow

  “Somebody told me these ingredients can make potions that are banned in the Kingdom. You wouldn’t be doing that, would you?”

  His already pale face turns a whiter shade. “No. Who accused me of that?”

  “Nobody. But you wanted the Tears and—”

  “Good day, adventurer.” He pushes the salves towards me.

  “But I—”

  “I said, ‘good day’, young lady.” His tone is low and harsh. “I will thank you not to share your accusations elsewhere.”

  Whoa. Talk about personality change. I take a surreptitious glance at my wristband. No pointers as to what’s happening here, but at least his aggression hasn’t changed him to ‘hostile’. “Whatever you do with the flowers is cool by me.”

  He frowns. “Cool? Do you need a Frost Protection potion?”

  I close my eyes and shake my head. “I’ll go. But I do want you to teach me potions. Legal ones, of course.”

  My trip to Jeremiah ends tensely but profitably, and I leave his small, back alley store with a pot of salve, two bottles of health-restoring potions, but not the gold I’d hoped for. Now for a night out with my friends—whatever that entails in Alaria.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The clinking mugs, the voices, the music from the guy with his lyre in the corner—even the customers. Everything is the same as last night in the tavern. I have to say, I’m impressed with the authenticity, right down to the stale sweat and spilled beer stench in the place. The barman asks if I 'travel these parts' often, then regales me with tales of adventurers who pass through. I push him for more details and ask if any other adventurers are here tonight. I’m disappointed with his answer: no.

  I sit alone at a table waiting for the barmaid to bring me my drink. No Red Bull and vodka here, but the mead is bloody strong. I know that from my last visit and don't want to use the table as a pillow again.

  I'm increasingly edgy as a guy sitting two tables away watches me, attempting to be subtle and failing. I study him in return. Human. In dark clothes similar to Dean's, but they’re a better cut and fit him better. He wears a hood too, and I only catch glimpses of the man's face and sullen mouth.

  The moment he looks at me, I turn my head sharply to the left. A dwarf from the raucous table beside me tips his mug at me.

  "Come join us, lass. Don't sit alone."

  This attracts the attention of his drinking mates, other dwarves, though none match the beard as splendid as his. A younger dwarf, whose blond beard is braided with wooden beads, takes an eyeful and I’m thankful for my plain, modest robe.

  Bronn

  Level 15

  Warrior

  Friendly

  "I'm waiting for a friend," I say and smile.

  "Ah, ye can invite them too when they arrive. I'm Bronn. And you?"

  "Eleanor." I glance back at the hooded guy, who sips from his mead and watches.

  "What tales do you have El a Nor? Great adventures?"

  An older dwarf with a bushy black beard and scars beneath his eyes whispers something to the group that ends in a raucous laugh. These three have filled the tavern with noise that attracts sour looks from a group of elves close by. I'd watched with curiosity as the disdain for their dwarven companions grew.

  It suddenly strikes me. Why am I and my new companions all human? I've seen three races in the game. Are any of these dwarves players? I take a surreptitious glance at those with exposed wrists.

  No.

  Bronn looks up as someone stands at the table behind me. I'm relieved to see it's Jay. The dwarf sweeps an unimpressed gaze the length of Jay then turns away, hunching over his ale mug.

  "I saw Dean. He's on his way," Jay says as he lowers his large frame into a chair.

  "Great. Have you seen Zara?"

  He shakes his head. "Not yet."

  "Do you worry where she might be?"

  Pulling out a chair, he sits and waves over a barmaid. The coy smile and examination of Jay's physique irks me when it shouldn't. I must show this, because she offers me an apologetic look before she ducks away.

  "Maybe she's dead." He leans back in his chair and stretches his legs out. The dwarves continue to watch us with curiosity.

  "Jay." My stomach and words fill with horror. "Don't say that."

  "What? We don't know what will happen. I refuse to believe we'll all survive."

  I take large gulps of my mead; numbing my thoughts is one solution. "Maybe that's why it's better to stick together."

  The barmaid reappears with Jay's drink and sets it in front of him before wiping her hands on a filthy apron. She's pretty but not beautiful, with a familiar face. I double-take. Familiar, not because many girls with a fair-haired European look appear similar, but because something about her digs into my mind.

  The girl turns away, beckoned over by the dwarves, and I flinch when one grabs her ass. If anybody grabs mine, they'll regret they did—and they’ll need treatment for third-degree burns.

  Zara... I turn my attention back to Jay. “She’s probably out questing alone. Some people prefer to do that.”

  He shakes his head at my pointed comment. “Perhaps.”

  “Was your priestess happy with the flower?” I ask and can't hide a smile at the ridiculousness.

  "Apparently the fact I can perform mundane tasks makes me ‘humble’ and that is a great quality.”

  "Well, I'd be the most respected person alive in the real world if that were true, and I assure you, I’m not.”

  “I imagine you with a well-respected job.” Jay taps his lips with two fingers. “Can I guess?”

  “Sure. Try.”

  He scrutinises my face and looks at my hands. “No nail polish and you don’t fuss about not wearing make-up so you can’t be that kind of girl.”

  “What kind of girl?” Dean drags a chair out and sits between us, pushing half-chewed animal ribs to one side. They fall to the floor. A scrawny dog doing the rounds of tables eagerly grabs them and slinks under a vacant one.

  The barmaid rushes over, clapping her hands together, and the dog bolts through the doorway. The dwarves laugh—their laughter is really grating now. A group at a nearby table call out to them to be quiet. The beard-plaited dwarf makes to stand but the red-haired leader places his hand on his arm, muttering stern words.

  "I'm trying to guess what Eleanor is in her real life."

  "El," I interrupt. "And you're correct; I don’t care about makeup.”

  "You're cute. You don't need makeup." Dean's words both impress and set my guard up. "Hey, just a compliment. I'm not hitting on you."

  Jay taps his lips. “I reckon she's a cop."

  I splutter with laughter. "Totally wrong."

  "Something in the justice system." Jay nods as if saying the words would make them true.

  "Totally wrong. I'm a cleaner."

  Both guys stare at me in disbelief. "You?"

  "I like to hide in the background, you've seen that. I mostly work nights or early mornings."

  "But there's more to you than that." Jay nods. "You're a smart chick. That's a waste of talent."

  Jay reminds me of Aidan and his nagging—and the life I'm desperate to return to. "I shoot fire from my hands now to kill the bad guys. I guess I found myself a justice role." Both guys laugh, and the relaxed air surrounds us. But there's a vacant chair. Zara. "I think we need to forget about our other lives and focus on finding our way out."

  "I like to remember, though," says Dean. "Hold onto who I am when I'm not slicing and dicing wolves."

  “I have a quest that sounds like a dungeon crawl.” I take a drink of my mead and grimace at the tart taste. “Reuben told me to find a group to go with.”

  “The catacombs on Leyland Moor, by any chance?” asks Dean.

  “Yes. Do you have a quest to go too?”

  He scratches his head. “I have a quest to kill a dude—Terwyn.”

  “He has what Reuben wants,” I say. “I need to kill him too.”

  “Usefu
l.” He smiles at me.

  “Jay?” I ask.

  “I was told by the High Priestess to report to her in the morning for a ‘special task’. I bet it involves Terwyn.”

  “So, we just need Zara,” I say. “I hope she has the quest and finds us.”

  Dean chews his lip and wipes away spilled ale with a hand. “If not, we’ll have to go alone.”

  “Reuben told me to find a group of five.”

  “Five? Even with her, that’s only four,” says Jay. “That sounds like too much work for a healer. We need someone who can take more damage than you two. If this is a dungeon run, we’re screwed without someone with defensive skills.”

  Shit. He’s right. In the game, there’s no way I’d attempt difficult enemies in a weak group. How high level will Terwyn and his protectors be?

  A tall, robed man appears in the doorway and lifts his head to examine each patron here. His eyes come to rest on me and I groan. “Great,” I say as Damon strides over.

  “Who’s that?” whispers Dean.

  “A rude mage initiate.” I point at Dean’s wristband. “Character.”

  Damon barely glances at my two friends. “I thought I’d find you here, mage. I’m coming with you tomorrow. Do you have a group?”

  “Pardon?”

  “To the Catacombs. Reuben told me to go.”

  “Oh. Uh.” What do I say? That I don’t want him with us because he’s not part of our team? His scowling face isn’t encouraging. “Right.”

  “Is this your group?” He studies Jay and Dean. “Don’t you have a warrior or paladin who can join us?”

  Us?

  “We hope to.” Dean’s displeasure is thick in his voice. “We might not need another person, but thanks.”

  “I don’t have a choice. Neither do you,” he retorts. “Show me your weapons.”

  I blink at his superior attitude.

  “Why?” snaps Dean.

  “You don’t look very experienced. I need to join with adventurers who won’t die.”

  “We have a healer,” puts in Jay. “Me.”

  I straighten as suspicion crawls across my skin. “Are you on a quest? Are you a player?”

  “Am I what?”

  “In the game,” mutters Jay.

  “An initiate carrying out tasks for a High Mage isn’t a game.” He peers at us. “I hope the rest of you don’t take your roles lightly.”

  There’s something not right about Damon. He doesn’t have a wristband and claims to know nothing about a “game”, but his attitude doesn’t match that of other game characters. I shake my head to dislodge the thought. He’s from a high-ranking mage family and that’s where his attitude is from—he complained about Low Borns. Stay focused on the game and getting out.

  The barmaid heads towards us with meals, and a guy at a table close to the dwarves sticks his foot in her path. She almost trips and steadies the bowls in her hands, a move she seems to have perfected. One that fails this time.

  A steaming bowl of stew lands in the lap of the red-haired dwarf, joined by bread from a wooden platter in her other hand. As the dwarf bellows and the girl apologises, the guy whose foot caused the incident chortles.

  “Yeh think that’s funny?” he bellows at the man in black. “Yeh tripped her.”

  The man lifts his ale mug in a toast and drinks deeply. Wiping the back of his mouth with one hand, he holds the mug out to the girl in his other. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

  The girl stands watching in horror, oblivious to his mug, as the dwarf vainly wipes at the stain on his brown leather trousers. His eyes flash as he looks to the smirking guy again.

  “What?” he asks. “It was an accident.”

  The dwarf’s chair slams backwards to the floor and he lunges at the man. The man jumps to his feet and deftly sidesteps the dwarf, who swings a fist. A second dwarf stands behind and knocks the red-haired one as he does, sending him sprawling across a table and knocking over bottles. Wine splashes across the table and soaks a nearby elf’s robe.

  “Holy shit,” mutters Jay as the tavern erupts into chaos.

  “I’m leaving.” Damon’s words are barely out of his mouth before he’s out of the door.

  I stare at the brawl unfolding in front of me, holding the edge of the table as I’m knocked into by a dwarf and human tussling nearby. Bronn calls to his friends and their attacks strike me as coordinated. They’re enjoying this.

  “What do we do?” I ask. Someone rams into my chair and I topple to the floor, landing awkwardly amongst the dirt and glass.

  “El!” Dean grabs my hand and pulls me upright, as Jay stands and spins to confront the person who knocked me.

  “Don’t get involved,” I say and seize Jay’s arm.

  “Apologise to my friend.”

  The dwarf looks back to him in challenge. He may be shorter than Jay, but he’s as broad and I’d lay bets a better fighter. “Yeh think yeh can take me?” he asks.

  “Jay,” I urge, attempting to pull him closer.

  “Apologise,” he repeats.

  The dwarf sneers and strokes his beard. “Yeh lass should keep out of the tavern if she can’t cope with a little fisticuffs.”

  Fisticuffs? An elf with a blood-nose and fury in his green eyes faces off a human, both with daggers drawn.

  “We get out of here.” I push at Dean and tug at Jay. We need to get out before one of us gets hurt—or worse.

  I'm squished between the two guys on my way out, both with their arms around me in protection. The last time I found myself in a guy sandwich was at a Foo Fighters concert when I threw myself into the mosh pit at the front. Jay ducks as a plate flies over his head and he wraps his arms further around me. My arms tingle in response to each person or thing that knocks or hits me, but I fight the reaction. We burst through the narrow doorway and into the small square.

  People hover around outside, watching the scene unfold. Many are curious onlookers, some are other patrons. A tall elf in an expensive-looking robe nurses a broken nose, holding ring-covered fingers against the bloody mess. His companions urge him not to return to the fray as he calls out in a language I can’t understand.

  I lean against the rough brick wall and slide my hands down my legs, leaning over to catch my breath. More yelling, along with the clank of metal armour. I tip my head up. Guards. They push through the assembled audience and march into the tavern.

  Jay places a hand on my shoulder. "You okay, El?"

  I nod and look back to the floor. He touches the side of my head and I swear. "Did the cup hit you?"

  "Yeah."

  "The fucking—" I catch sight of Dean unsheathing a dagger and dart my hand out to stop him.

  "Don't be bloody stupid, Dean."

  "Nobody will notice. I'll walk in there and—"

  "She's right," puts in Jay. "If something happens to you, we lose another team member."

  I slide to the floor and rest my head against the rough bricks, eyes closed, relieved Jay saw sense. I've found myself in the middle of bar brawls before, usually with female friends, but never like this. The mead and shock disconnect me but my wristband pings.

  The bar showing my health points is orange, not green.

  "I think I need to sleep," I tell the pair and heave in a breath. "Let's leave before we get dragged back into something."

  I wobble slightly and grip Jay’s and Dean’s arms to steady myself. Jay pushes hair from my face and smiles. “I think that’s a good idea.”

  Boars. Wolves. Fairy tales and flower picking. Now pub brawls. Today has been one hell of a ride. However, I think the weirdest, hardest thing to grasp today is how friendly Jay has become.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I step from the portal and wind whips hair across my face, biting through my thin robe. The silence on the flat moors contrast to the overwhelming town, no sound here and only heather and rocks between us and the horizon.

  Leyland Moors

  Disputed Territory

  (Wrap up warm
, it's bloody cold here)

  I returned from the tavern last night to discover a grey woollen cloak in my room. The material hangs to my knees and offers +10 Protection. We haven’t found Zara so I’m going to need it. The Mythical bonnet covers my ears, but the wind still blasts through my thin clothes.

  I woke this morning to an annoying and insistent ping to my band. The bloody thing flashed on and off and I couldn't switch it off to try to get some sleep. The next thing I know, I'm hauled from my bed by a maid and marched into the building's dining hall.

  A sour-faced Damon argued in a corner with someone and when he saw me, he practically frogmarched me from the building. His only words were, “We’ve an important task to perform and we don’t have all day.”

  And that was the sum total of my explanation and he proceeded to conjure a portal.

  Colour me impressed. Or I was, until I set foot through.

  I tuck my cold hands beneath my arms and look at Damon. "Is this the wrong place? My friends aren’t here." I ask. "Did your portal screw up?"

  "No." Damon sets off walking across the moors. "This way."

  I struggle to match his strides. "My quest told me to find a rogue mage and retrieve something he’s stolen. What do you need to do?"

  Damon wrinkles his nose at me. "The same. Where are your team?"

  The purple-covered ground and low rocks lessen my fear that enemies will ambush us, though I stick by Damon's side. Not all enemies are human or animal, for all I know a foul creature covered in heather could grab my leg at any moment or materialise from nowhere. The uneventful journey continues for a mile, until a rocky outcrop appears in front.

  Damon halts and pulls a parchment map from his bag. Map? I crane my neck. A complete map without blacked-out areas. I resolve he'll share that with me—or I'll take it.

  "We're here."

  Underwatch Catacombs

  Kingdom

  Contested Territory

  We round a corner of the six-foot-high outcrop and I stumble backwards as I spot two figures on the dirt near a dark entrance leading underground.

  I don't need the alert on my watch to identify them.