by Ember Lane
Eh? I thought, and looked down at the belt. All the green tubes were still intact, just a single tube gone—one with a half-silver, half-black top—my mixed-mana solution.
“What happened?” I asked.
Glenwyth fell to her knees and gently took the sword away from me. “Your aura changed, it became like roiling quicksilver. Each of your strikes tore chunks out of the beast. It didn’t stand a chance. What are you, Alexa Drey?”
I looked at the remnants of the slaughtered animal. It looked like a maniac had rained endless anger on it, like a psychopath had been let loose.
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
“Awesome!” Sedge shouted, breaking the still mood. “That was freaking awesome!” I looked up at him as he strutted over. Behind him, I saw Mezzerain staring at me. I couldn’t tell if he was angry, impressed, or disgusted with me.
Congratulations! You and your group have slain a Level 16 Bakeneko. You are rewarded with 5000/5 XP.
Well, that was something, 1750 XP to the next level. I wondered what type of killing machine I would turn into then.
“Your loot,” Star said, reaching down and pulling me up. “You went full murder-monster—Sedge is right—awesome sums it up. The beast might have killed us all, save your compassion for something with an ounce of good running through its veins.”
She gave me a leather necklace, a single curved tooth hanging from it. The leather was inlaid with spirals of silver, and the fang glistened like mother of pearl. She pulled it back and then looped it over my head, adjusting the fang so it sat between my breasts. “Now you look like a badass,” she muttered, and kissed me on my bloodied cheek. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
I saw Mezzerain try to get up, using his sword as a crutch, saw Sedge was bleeding from a great gash across his handsome face, and saw Glenwyth was now lying in a ball holding her gut. Casting Group Heal, I stumbled along with Star until we dropped down on the rocky riverbank.
“I drank the wrong tube,” I told Star and then told her about the crafting, about infusing the mana mixture with both types.
“I wonder if it would work on me?” she said, looking out over the silver, chattering water.
“You’d want that?” I asked.
“Fury in a tube?” she said. “You bet. You might just have saved Glenwyth’s life. Although the beast was only level 16, when it spawned its little helpers, it tied up me and Mezz, and that left you three lower levels exposed. While we dispatched our tormentors fairly quickly, it only takes a few seconds for someone to die. After level 15, there are no easy beasts, just degrees of difficult, dire, and dangerous.”
“I can craft more,” I said.
“Can you bottle it?” Mezzerain’s voice boomed out, and he sat on the other side of me.
“Or make a barrel out of it,” Glenwyth said, handing me back the empty tube and stopper, and then wading out into the river to scrub the blood and guts from her.
“I’m quite happy to sit back and watch you do all the work,” Sedge said, and he bent down to the water, cupping his hands and taking a huge gulp of it.
I cleaned myself up, and we all sat back. Mezzerain lit his pipe, puffing on its mellow leaf, and Sedge divided up some more rations, somehow now our impromptu food provider.
“Of course,” Mezzerain said. “It ruins my battle structure. My healer just became my best damage dealer. I’m not sure what to do about that.”
Looking over my stat board, I saw that my magic, spell casting, healing, and the subskills I’d used, had all grown.
“Let’s keep it how it is,” I said in a whisper. “I want to keep improving my healing tree.”
Mezzerain puffed a plume of smoke into the air. “As you wish,” he said, and shifted around so his head rested on a rock and his big-booted feet were right by me. “It will truly muddle the mind of any enemy you come up against. They’ll see a healer and get a killer. You should change your Type from Chancer to Paradox.”
I shifted forward and then slumped back, resting my head on his greaves. “Probably fits better,” I said.
“Nope,” Star butted in. “Chancer suits just fine. You just got to learn to accept your…gifts…and take the chance they give.”
“So, what’s next?” Sedge asked.
“Well,” Glenwyth said. “We’ve killed the children, slaughtered the husband, chopped up the cat, so I’m guessing there’s one angry woman left up that valley.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Name: Alexa Drey. Race: Human. Type: Chancer.
Age: 24. Alignment: None. XP: 18,250.
Level: 8. Profession: None. Un/Al pts: 0.
Reputation: Known.
Health Points: 550/550 Energy: 170/170
Mana: 260/260 Shadow Mana: 0/750
HP Regen: 55/Min EN Regen: 17/Min
MA Regen: 19/Min SMA Regen: NA
Attributes: (Level, Bonuses)
Vitality: (12, 38), Stamina: (12, 5), Intelligence: (26, 0), Charisma: (6, 6), Wisdom: (11, 8), Luck: (7, 5),
Humility: (2, 0), Compassion: (3, 0), Strength: (3, 20), Agility: (7, 0)
Skills: (Level, % to next level, Boosts %, Level Cap)
Running: (6, 22, 25, 12), Perception: (5, 44, 0, 15), Commerce: (1, 0, 0, 6), Magic: (7, 86, 0, ∞), Concealment: (7, 12, 0, 15), Night vision: (4, 71, 0, 10), Blades: (8, 51, 0, 25), Spell Casting: (6, 95, 0, ∞), Close-Q-fighting: (5, 86, 0, 25), Archery: (7, 78, 0, 28), Swordsmanship: (7, 87, 28, 20), Staff fighting: (7, 91, 0, 60), Horseriding: (4, 20, 0, 8), Climbing: (3,8,0,14), Stealth: (4,18,0,22), Rope law: (3,28,0,4), Crafting: (5,0,0,5), Navigation: (3,15,0,14), Pickpocketing: (2, 45, 0, 5), Herbalism: (2, 22, 0, 12), Alchemy: (1, 0, 0, 8)
Healing tree: Level 5
Subskill – Poultices and potions: (6, 44, 24)
Subskill – Heal over Time: (5,86,10)
Subskill – Group Heal: (5,85,10)
Subskill – Solid soul: (4,0,10)
Subskill – Mana Drain: (5,23,10)
Subskill – Mana Transfer: (4,0,10)
Subskill – Stitch and Stem: (6,10,10)
Talents:
Tongues of Time, The Veils of Lamerell.
Quests:
Seek out the Legend of Billy Long Thumb. Status: Incomplete. Reward: Unknown.
The Veils of Lamerell. Status: Incomplete. Reward: Death.
Subquest: The master is now the slave, his command now his prisoner. Free the gambler, end his torment and confront one of five. Status: Complete.
Subquest: Catch a thief. Status: Incomplete. Reward: Unknown.
19
A Bleak Farmstead
It was headed toward dusk by the time we first saw it. The land around us was still cursed with its soulless black, and we’d probably have missed the farmstead, had it not been glowing with a coat of bone-chilling blue fog.
At first we thought it was our next test in the endless vale, the luminous blue spilling over a step in the valley itself, over a small waterfall that had first alerted us that there was indeed a ridge there. We followed a path that wound up the steep rise, and when we topped it, we saw that the whole area was clad in the same eerie luminescence.
“I think we’ve found the origin of The Thief’s curse,” Star muttered.
“Or the old hag, Grandma Lumin. Don't forget about her,” Sedge said ominously.
“I don’t sense any evil in the blue.” Glenwyth bent down, running her hand along the dead ground. “Just regret.”
“We’re stuck one way or the other,” Mezzerain grumbled. “It’ll be dark soon, and dark is evil’s playground. Dead, haunted, dangerous or not, that farmstead’s our only hope.” He strode off toward it, so we all filed along behind.
The farm consisted of a fair-sized dwelling with a thatched roof and a porch. Logs were stacked either side of the door, and a hitching rail ran along half its frontage. A sole upper window told of an attic room, and long-dead hanging baskets gave the impression it was once a happy place. Opposite the farmhouse, a
half-walled building with a sloping roof had its front gate swinging in the light breeze that flowed down from the fang-like mountain. Next to that, a good-sized warehouse blocked off most of the rest of our view. Between the house and the warehouse, a courtyard led to a corralled, but empty, field.
We stopped at the edge of the grounds, all of us hesitating to venture farther in, but we had nowhere else to go.
“Split up and search the lot at once?” Star asked.
“Stick together,” Mezzerain said, leaving no room in his tone for argument.
“Why not get a fire going first—right in the center?” Sedge was clearly eager to seek the comfort of flame and heat, to have something to ward off any evil we might wake.
Mezzerain reluctantly grunted. “Can’t harm. Sedge, Glenwyth, build the fire. You—with us.”
I’d graduated to the distrusted one…again. I didn’t bother arguing.
We aimed for the homestead. Glenwyth and Sedge taking the logs and kindling, Mezzerain booting the front door open. Star and I following him into the home.
We came upon a single room. There were three mattresses in one corner, all in a line, all with a wool sheet laid neatly over them. Opposite, a stone hearth sat central within the home’s sole drystone wall, and a fire lay ready for lighting in its grate. A single chair faced it, and a sole mug had been placed by the chair with a toppled flagon lying close. In the center of the room, a ladder led up to a hole in the ceiling. Mezzerain raised his finger to his lips and drew his sword ever so silently out. He moved toward the ladder. Star held the big man back, answering his confused look by drawing out her dagger, placing it between her teeth, and then scurrying up the ladder as quietly as a mouse would.
“Just an empty bed up here,” she called down, quietly. Her face appeared in the hatchway. “So, father and mother up here, two kids downstairs—who’s the spare bed for?”
“The thief?” I offered.
Star shook her head. “No, The Thief has to be passing through. My best guess is that he fled Brokenford or some such place after stealing…” She scratched her head. “We really don’t know a lot about him or her.”
“We don’t need to,” Mezzerain said. “It’s a good bet he was fleeing something—likely the wizards, and holed up in the farmhouse after slaughtering its folk. We know he cursed the valley and fled.”
“So, what happened to the other wizards?”
We looked at each other. Star shrugged and slid down the ladder.
Then Sedge screamed.
Star dove for the door first, Mezzerain hot on her heels, his sword at the ready. I snapped out of it fast, unslinging my bow, ready to start firing and healing—to keep my psycho under control, to do my job.
The scene outside was a muddle of confusion. Sedge was backing out of the warehouse toward their fledgling fire, pointing back inside the building. Glenwyth was by his side, but just looking curiously in while bidding us over. There didn’t seem to be any immediate threat, no huge taloned monster lashing out with its deadly claws. I noticed both Star and Mezzerain kept their swords ready for action, and so I nocked an arrow and jogged up behind them. The strange blue luminescence swirled around my feet like heavy fog. Glenwyth crept toward the warehouse’s open door, her bow primed.
Mezzerain and Star broke into a run, soon flanking the elf, but appeared to relax once they’d looked into the building. I drew Sedge aside and gasped at what I saw.
“I think we found our wizards,” I whispered.
They were hanging from a central beam, three of them dressed in black cloaks with red flashes on their sleeves—the same as Graydor’s. The blue mist fell from the central one—the tallest by far and definitely the oldest. It billowed out like heavy smoke. I cast my perception over him, but got nothing back. His head was lolling to the side, and I saw that he was twitching.
“He’s alive,” I shouted and made to burst forward, but Mezzerain’s arm shot out, blocking my way.
“He’s a wizard, and he might have enchanted his body.”
“But he’s dying!” I screamed, trying to get past.
“Better him than us,” Mezzerain growled.
Glenwyth took a step back, nocked an arrow and imbued it with some kind of charm. She shot at the noose’s rope and nicked it. It unraveled, spinning the wizard around and then dumping him on the ground. The blue mist billowed up in a cloud.
Mezzerain edged forward. The wizard’s wizened head reared above the cloud of blue. “Run!” he shouted, but barely managed a hissed whisper. “Save yourself before she comes back.” His head was engulfed again. The blue fog began to dissipate, fleeing the wizard’s now still body. Star cut the other two down and backed away.
“Something has drained their essence. That mist was their XP, their skills and their attributes draining away. Whatever spell was used leached their very experience away.”
“And strung them up?” Mezzerain grunted, but a single stool lay on the straw-strewn ground.
“They killed themselves,” Glenwyth whispered. “Rather than start over as mere peasants, they killed themselves. That’s why I could sense no evil. They had given up. They knew they no longer mattered.”
I shivered at that. It was a grim despair-filled ending no matter what their intent.
“But who made them lose hope?” I asked.
“I did,” a dread voice rang out from the warehouse door, and we all turned slowly. She was no hag, no bent-over witch, but she did have a weathered look, and long, black hair streaked gray and white. “Do not waste your compassion on them, Alexa Drey. In life, they were evil—driven only by their contempt for all others. They could have lived a much simpler life, but chose to die rather than lose their power and give up their pathetic influence.”
“Who are you?” I asked, wondering how she knew my name, but instantly realized that she’d probably tracked us all the way from White Water, more than likely knew all our names.
“Who do you think?”
“Grandma Lumin,” Sedge spat.
“I’m not your enemy,” she said, and turned, her black skirt swirling, kicking up the receding mists as she left the warehouse.
We followed her out, and she turned toward the corralled field, leaning on its fence. She looked around quickly and beckoned me forward. I edged closer, then rested on the rail.
“See that old burned pyre,” she said, her voice raspy, hoarse. In the gloom, the last of the blue haze swirled around a blackened pile of ash. “That there’s what’s left of Grandma Lumin.”
“So, who are you?”
The woman ran her fingers through her long, black hair. “Me? I’m the one who should be hanging in that warehouse, not them. I’m the one who should be driven by despair.” She pushed herself off the rail and walked back toward the farmhouse. “Why’d you start a fire in the yard when there’s one set in the hearth?”
Walking behind her, I passed a very confused-looking Mezzerain, Star who was obviously on edge, and Glenwyth, who had her mouth wide open. Sedge was still in the warehouse, I somehow knew he’d be rifling the wizards' corpses. Once in the home, the woman bid us to sit on the beds, and she turned the sole chair around and sat opposite.
“It seems your elfin friend has recognized me or at least the power I carry. My name is Cathelina, and I am—”
“A Lorekeeper,” Glenwyth muttered.
Cathelina inclined her head. “They would probably understand the term Druid better. Lorekeeper or Druid, whichever pleases you.”
“Why did you curse the valley? Why keep us from this thief we are tracking?” Sedge asked upon returning.
Her laughter rang out then. “Not my curse. Had you waited for the last wizard to die, you probably would've only had to face the troll. He’s had his eye on moving into The Thumb for a while. Apparently, folk weren’t bothering with his valley anymore, and his pickings were meager. Not my curse, Sedgewick Prentice.” She shifted slightly on her seat. Her attention fell on Mezzerain. “Tell me, Valkyrian, how is Melinka?�
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“Last I saw, she was smiling down at my dying body. She finds humor in the strangest places.”
“And Corsaka?”
Mezzerain grunted. “Still in Pellevere’s pocket and aligned to Slaughtower and the boy, Zender.”
“She treads a dangerous path.”
Mezzerain didn’t reply, just grunted and took out his pipe. Cathelina’s inquiries appeared to have settled him.
“So, whose curse was it?” Sedge asked, seemingly unwilling to wait for her to answer.
She stiffened. “The wizards slaughtered this family when they refused to give up The Thief. He has a pretty price on his head in Shyantium. Merran himself is willing to pay a small fortune for what he has stolen.”
“So, the family were loyal to this thief?”
She laughed at that. “Never has there been such a vile collection of humans in one place than that family. The eldest, Tunpeg, was nothing more than a deranged bully. The daughter was a devious thing that tried to gain magic for the blackest purpose, and the father was little else but a drunk and a wife-beater. No, they were no loss, and they didn’t protect The Thief for any chivalrous motives; they simply didn’t know where he’d gone nor what he’d stolen.”
“So you killed the wizards—” Sedge made to say.
“I didn’t kill them. I stripped them of the power they misused. They killed this whole valley just to stop any who would follow them. They tried to raise Grandma Lumin from the soot of her ashes. I couldn’t stand by and let that happen.” Her voice tapered off to a whisper. “They attempted to resurrect Tunpeg’s mother, so they swung where she swung. They killed themselves where she did.”
“Can you help us catch this thief?” I asked.
“Why do you want to?” Cathelina asked.
“I—”
“Enough talk,” Mezzerain said. “Keep your motives close,” he told me.