by Ember Lane
“That’s him secured,” she muttered, inspecting the bath. “Good, now go to the well fill up the bucket and replenish the cauldron.”
Nodding, Lincoln strode toward the front door, dragging his limp foot behind him. It was a curiously comfortable way to walk, he decided. Outside, the wind still swirled around the vortex, the sky above was still black. He saw half a dozen vines had plunged into the earth near him, and followed their direction through the vortex to see they’d emerged where Swift had been. The apachalant was no more than a cocoon of woven strands. He tried to fight the zombie spell, tried to break free to help Swift, but all he achieved was a steady stream of drool and a twitch in his limp foot.
After ten trips to the well, Lincoln had refilled the cauldron. Belzarra then ordered him to strip and get into the bath. Again, he had no choice but to comply. She scooped up his clothes; boots and all, put his sack of holding to one side, and dumped them in the cauldron. “Fungi guts,” she muttered. “Makes for a good soup. Scrub the stench off yourself, Zombie.”
Lincoln did as he was told. When complete he sat perfectly still. Belzarra came over to the bath and stood at its end. “So...truth time.” A yellow ball of light appeared between them, growing into a pale sphere of pastel brilliance. She pushed it over toward him, and it settled around his head, leaching into his skull.
Belzarra has cast a truth spell on you. You will have no option but to tell her the truth. You cannot lie for ten minutes.
“So, who sent you?”
“No one.”
Belzarra furrowed her brow, a puzzled look fleetingly crossing her expression. “What is Pellevere up to?”
“I don’t know.”
“When is she going to invade?”
Lincoln felt the bathwater heat up a little. He saw her coaxing some gray magic into existence, and saw it stream toward the base of the tub.
“I don’t know.”
Her laughter rang out, but it was not born with any humor. The water heated a little more. “You do know, my little, feeble zombie, that I can eat you? You must also know, my little player, that I can read your stat board. Alter your respawn point to…there.” And she pointed to a spot just beside the cauldron. Lincoln complied. “So,” she continued. “Just so we understand ourselves. You are in a tub of water. If I want you to, I can get you to hop into the cauldron. Then, I can boil you up and eat you for my dinner.” She walked right up to the edge of the tub. “Again, and again, and again. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you come here?”
“To ask for your help.”
“Eh?” Belzarra took a step back. “Pellevere wants my help?”
“I don’t know.”
Belzarra retrieved a chair from under the table and sat at the bath’s end. The water heated a little more. She cupped her chin in her palm once more, a slender finger tapping at her lips again. Lincoln noticed her long, black nails for the first time.
“I wonder if she’s scrubbed your memory in case of just this scenario. Hmmm. What help does she need?”
“I don’t know.”
Shifting on her chair, Belzarra started to grin. The bath began to bubble. Lincoln began to cook.
“What help do you need?” she finally asked.
If he could have, Lincoln would have let out a huge sigh of relief, but all he could do was answer the question.
Damage, you have received 30 damage. You are being boiled alive. All the while you’re on low heat, you’ll lose 30 health per minute, and you’ll be done and done for in a few minutes. I’d suggest some seasoning, and perhaps a few potatoes, carrots and cabbage.
“I need you to join a group of seven, eight if you count Cronis, and help clear the legendary castle of Starellion of whatever banes lurk in its halls and chambers,” he eventually replied.
“Eh? How does Pellevere know about that place?”
“I don’t know.” Lincoln died a little inside, literally.
Belzarra leaned in.
Your health is 170/200.
“What are you to The House of Mandrake?” she asked, studying his stat board.
“I formed The House of Mandrake after killing the troll, Esmerelda.”
She tapped her lip again.
Your health is 140/200.
“Do you know, or have you ever met, been under the instruction of, or been in contact with the fallen god Pellevere, her servant Corsaka, or the witch Melinka?”
“No.”
Belzarra stood and walked around the bath. Lincoln felt his buttocks getting tender and wondered if he didn’t need turning over, or stirring, or something; perhaps seasoning? He began to sweat. The water started to boil. Gray magic still spilled from her, falling toward the base, heating the water. A dull pain started to infiltrate the curious numb feeling he’d had since the truth spell had been placed on him. He began to feel the heat of the water on his skin.
Something’s wearing off.
“Who is your friend?”
“The apachalant, Swift.”
Belzarra dumped herself back on the seat.
Your health is 110/200.
“Has she outfoxed me, with you?” She held her hand up. “No! Don’t answer that. I need to figure out these lies and get to the truth. Something’s not quite right here…”
Apart from me being cooked in my own bathwater!
“How many workers do you get if you complete a level-1 cottage?”
“Twenty,” Lincoln said, through gritted teeth. The pain was becoming far too real.
Your health is 80/200
“Where were you spawned?”
“Brokenford.”
“Have you ever been to Kataspay?”
“No.”
Your health is 50/200
“Who’s in charge of the Orc ‘n Goblin tavern?”
“I don’t know.”
Goddammit, I’m doomed. She’s going to eat me!
Your health is 40/200
“What happened to Allaise?”
“She took over Hunter’s Cross.”
Belzarra clicked her fingers. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Hang on…”
Your health is 30/200
She leaned in, smiling. “Are you the Lincoln Hart? The builder? Of course. Sorry, my mind’s not what it was. Not since…you know…” Belzarra rolled her eyes. “Been trapped in this vortex for a couple of weeks or so. I’ll tell you. It’s driving me crackers.”
Your health is 20/200
The spell! Stop the damn spell!
“She speaks so highly of you—says you’re all hidden away. Is that where Starellion is?”
“Yes…” Lincoln said, his teeth clamped shut. The pain was getting horrendous now. His head was becoming light. He knew he was on the very edge of life.
“Well, this calls for a celebration,” Belzarra said, and she turned away from him.
Your health is 10/200
“Why don’t you get out of the bath, and join me for some wine? After all, a friend of Allaise’s is a friend of mine.”
“Because I am compelled to only do what you tell me,” Lincoln replied, with the last of his breath.
Belzarra spun around. “Get out of the tub!”
Lincoln sprang out and collapsed on the floor. He began to shiver uncontrollably. Belzarra looked down at him, a green ball of magic in her hand. She let it drop onto him just as he closed his eyes.
He saw a familiar slab, his candle lit and waiting. His ethereal self closed on it, falling down, but then felt a gentle pull on his back, and started to hover. Gradually, the slab began to recede.
Belzarra has cast a healing enchantment on you. You will recover your health at your usual rate, but will have no lingering effects from your recent cooking. May your buttocks remain tender, and your ribs, crispy.
Waking on the bed, Lincoln looked around the cottage, and saw it was deserted. His clothes were draped on the foot of the bed, and so he swung his legs off and got dressed. The cauldron was bub
bling away, whatever was in it smelled delicious, but for obvious reasons, Lincoln was wary of giving it a taster. He was still unsure about Swift. He really didn’t want to eat him. The front door was open, and so he wandered toward it.
Still in her long coat and boots, Belzarra was fighting to reel in the vines. The cocoon, with Swift inside, was flying up in the air, a little like a kite in a hurricane. Lincoln rallied his energy, jumping alongside Belzarra and grabbing hold of the vine. Together, they reeled Swift in until, suddenly free of the vortex, the apachalant dropped onto the mud in front of them. Lincoln cut him free. A very wide-eyed Swift emerged from the sticky cocoon.
“I wouldn’t have a bath, if I were you,” Lincoln told him.
6
A Game For Gods
Nothing seemed to faze Belzarra Mistprowler. Lincoln had explained their reasons for coming, without having to be under her charm, and Belzarra had agreed that Starellion needed to be readied for war, but not for the same reasons. She had her theories about the vortex.
They’d crawled along the rope and through it, one at a time. Lincoln had gone first, then Belzarra, while the other two held the rope, and finally, Swift brought up the rear. Lincoln wasn’t overly sure whether Swift had forgiven the witch for trussing him up in the vines, in fact, Lincoln wasn’t overly sure if Swift was bothered about it, or anything for that matter.
After the fight with the bloodsucking mushrooms, the battle with the zombie ogre, being boiled alive, and having his body riddled with compulsion spells, Lincoln was looking forward to a nice pint of ale in the Hunter’s Cross tavern, a destination that they were just arriving at. He’d decided to tell Allaise and Pete about their imminent move in the morning, decided to see the lay of the land first and then break the news gently afterwards. After all, they’d probably toiled hard to get the place shipshape. It was a plan he’d shared with both Swift and Belzarra. So, as they traveled the last few hundred yards along the Silver Road, he was surprised to see Allaise marching toward him. He’d never seen a truly annoyed half-elf before, but sure thought she resembled one.
“What in Lamerell’s name is going on?” she shouted, fists tight, body taut and in full launch mode.
Lincoln realized his plans had been thwarted. Belzarra moved a little bit farther away from him, and Swift actually started chuckling. So this he thinks is funny?
Lincoln held his hands up. “Hold on, hold on,” he pleaded.
She looked like she was going to explode. “Hold on! I’ve got Apachalant rogues appearing out of thin air—here, there, and everywhere. I’ve got more scouts than Brokenford. Twenty mounted Kobane spent a very raucous night here last night and offered me eternal protection in exchange for my heart—my real heart—and a bloke called Merryweather has decided he’s the new innkeeper, as he’s a trained spy whose real name is Sloper!”
Lincoln was lost for words, but Allaise suddenly burst forward and threw her arms around him. “By Lamerrel, I’ve missed you.” Her shoulders heaved briefly, then she settled, then she gasped a deep breath and pushed him away. “Sorry.” She glanced at Belzarra, daggers in her eyes. “Belzarra, what brings you here?”
“Oh nothing, darling, just been called upon to help save the world. Come, Lincoln, let’s get a room.” The witch marched down the road, but quickly stopped, appearing to realize Lincoln wasn’t accompanying her. Her hand shot out, palm up, and a violet sphere of light appeared and hovered over it.
Lincoln grabbed Allaise’s hand, pulling her forward. “That’s the zombie one,” he hissed, but Belzarra just winked at him, let out a delighted laugh and walked on.
Soon sitting at a table in the tavern, Lincoln explained to Allaise and Pete exactly what was going on. Even after that though, they still appeared a little more than slightly angry, so he pointed out that it was all Swift’s idea, and sat back, enjoying watching Swift squirm. Both Allaise and Pete glared at the apachalant. A rogue appeared right by Swift and demanded a word. Swift smirked at Lincoln and left. Pete and Allaise glared at Lincoln.
“Look,” Lincoln said. “It’s like this. Swift thinks Muscat will come. The king knows I know you, and so he could take you, torture you, and force me to give myself up to rescue you. I know, I know, Muscat doesn’t even know about Sanctuary or Joan’s Creek yet, but he will, and when he does—”
“Is Belzarra going?” Allaise asked, innocently.
“Of course I’m going, what part of save the world didn’t you get? I shall stay in Sanctuary, or Joan’s Creek, whichever is…more snuggly.” Belzarra leaned into Lincoln. “Whatever one’s got the warmest bed.” And she fluttered her flame-red eyebrows.
“Pete?” Allaise barked.
For the most part, Pete had been quiet, letting everything wash over his head. Allaise calling his name seemed to rouse him from whatever daydream he was enjoying. “Yes?”
“Pack our things. We’re moving.” Allaise stared at Belzarra, a smirk of victory plastered over her face. She stood and marched off behind a lumbering Pete.
Belzarra let out a quiet laugh, and Lincoln fished into his pocket, pulling out a single gold coin. “You win,” he said.
“Allaise: she’s always been easy to trick. Careful, that one’s got the hots for you…” Winking at Lincoln, the witch leaned in, her crimson lips nearly touching his ear. “I wasn’t lying about the bed.”
Lincoln’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped.
What is it about this land?
Belzarra pushed herself away, got up, and walked off, swinging her hips enticingly. Just as she vanished through the door that led out back, she blurted a deep throated, evil laugh.
Pete returned. He was grinning from ear to ear. “I think you’re in for a very interesting time. Those two have a history. Doubt you’re going to be in for a smooth ride.” He dumped a small sack on the table and sat. “I’m ready.”
“Not sure I was even interested in winning—surviving, yes, winning—not so much.”
“They’ll make a competition of it. Us half-giants, we can see what goes on. We watch.”
Swift burst through the door and dumped himself back down. “She wasn’t wrong about the rogues; there’s a whole squad here, fresh from Apachalant. Must be expecting the worst.”
“Who?”
Stiffening, Swift held his hand up. “Hold on… Do you hear that?”
“No.” Lincoln then heard a faint but steady humming. The hum grew slightly louder, like a swarm of wasps approaching. Lincoln’s keen sense of coincidence was tweaked. They’d just arrived, and something or someone was on its way too. Swift seemed a mix of anxiousness and relief, a combination that could only mean someone was coming, and for those two emotions to be present at the same time, it meant it must be his boss.
“Your commander coming?”
Swift regarded Lincoln strangely, just for a moment. He seemed to instantly remember something.
“You’ve never met my father, have you?” Swift asked.
“Heard of him from Shrimp and Alexa.”
“Well, you’re about to meet him. It was him that put all this together.”
The thrumming sound grew louder, but then stopped, and a tall, lanky apachalant walked into the bar. He looked like an older version of Swift, except that his brown hair was stuck to his face, regimentalish rather than scruffy. “Swift? What gives?”
“News, Father.”
“Petroo.”
“News, Petroo.”
Petroo offered his hand to Lincoln. “At last we meet, Lincoln the Builder. What is this news?”
Lincoln jumped up, asked Merryweather for four ales and then returned. Sitting back next to Pete, he began to relay the story of Tanglewood.
“So, the vortex…where does it lead?” Petroo asked.
“Well,” Lincoln replied. “According to Belzarra, it’s still being built. She says it’s no coincidence that it started in her little grove. It seems a witch called Melinka contacted her around the time a sorceress called Sakina was killed. According to
Belzarra, the two things have to be linked.”
“So, how does she know it isn’t complete?”
“Oh, you don’t need a witch to tell you that. It’s a bridge, clearly a bridge, and its being built bit by bit—solid foundations. Belzarra reckons the first rings took a week to appear, then it grew to a few feet high in a couple of days. A couple more saw it ten feet tall. My guess is that it’s accelerating because the framework’s complete.
Petroo looked confused. “Framework?”
Lincoln took a slurp of his ale. “The storm is just the cladding—the straw on a thatched roof. They’ve made the frame. Wherever this Pellevere’s from—Irydia, or Tanglewood—and it are linked. If I’m right, once the storm lines it—like the mists that isolate this place—whoever they are, they’ll come.”
Swift nodded—he’d seen it. Petroo stared through Lincoln, clearly trying to decide what to do. “That messes up the information we have. Sakina set the banes under Zybond to last 7 times four seasons. Surely this bridge can’t take that long to—”
“How far is Kataspay?” Lincoln asked, butting in.
“How far? Too far, it cannot lead there. That would make no sense. If the purpose of the bridge is to span the mists, Tanglewood is not the place to do it. If it is a portal, then that is new—that technology was lost when the gnomes were trapped within their own chaos.”
“So if it’s a portal…”
“Then an vast army could travel through as soon as it’s complete,” Petroo muttered. “Though it's my understanding that is only possible with vast mana pools—no ordinary person could do it.”