Alexa Drey- the Veils of Lamerell

by Ember Lane

  Skills: (Level, % to next level, Boosts %, Level Cap)

  Running: (4, 8, 25, 12), Perception: (3, 32, 0, 15), Commerce: (1, 0, 0, 6), Magic: (3, 10, 0, ∞), Concealment: (2, 22, 0, 15)

  Talents:

  Tongues of Time. The Veils of Lamerell.

  Quests:

  Seek out the Legend of Billy Long Thumb. Status: Incomplete. Reward: Unknown.

  11

  Grim Valley Falls

  I woke up slumped on the table. A red, blinking light in my mind told me that something was wrong. Pulling down my stat board, I saw my mana was empty and my energy was at three and health just eight. Shylan was hovering over me. Marista was sitting opposite. She looked plain annoyed and somehow deeply worried at the same time. Her lips were set in a grim line, but boundless compassion graced her eyes. I didn’t know if I was going to get hugged or murdered.

  “My dear girl—” She made to say.

  “I’m twenty four,” I replied. My head pounded and I’d just woken up. I wasn’t quite in the mood to be pushed around…just yet.

  “What of it,” she said, dismissively. “Shylan, tell this girl how old you are.”

  “How on earth would I know?” he replied. “Look, let’s not make too much—”

  “Too much?” Marista’s temper showed all the signs of bursting. “Too much?” she shouted.

  “A little nap, that was—”

  “You were supposed to be looking after her,” Marista cried.

  “Look!” I screamed, and immediately wished I hadn’t. Pressing my palms to my head, I tried my hardest to stop my skull bursting. “Look,” I said, softly. “It’s not his fault, Marista, and it’s not yours. I would have found a way to keep practicing. Now I know, I know I have bounds. Now rage all you like.” I let my head drop to the table. “I have a pounding headache.”

  “A headache?” I heard Marista say, and then heard her shuffle closer, and I felt her hand on my head.

  “Where?” asked Shylan.

  “My head,” I let spill.

  “No, no, front, back or middle?”

  I tried to think through the pounding. “Temples, between the temples.”

  “Whose temples?” he asked. I heard a slap and a whelp. Then nothing, I heard nothing, until I heard Shylan whisper, “Marista.”

  “Oh my,” Marista said.

  “Leave this to me.” I felt Shylan’s presence behind me, his hands resting on my shoulders, drawing me back. “Now, Alexa. I want you to be very calm. Can you look up and open your eyes.”

  His hands moved from my shoulders to my head, and he tilted it up. I opened my eyes but at first I couldn’t see anything. Slowly, tucked right up against the top of the onion-shaped wagon’s roof, I spied a ball of dim, spinning light. It was about twice the size of the glowspheres in Shylan’s tower.

  “Is that yours?” Shylan asked.

  Although I didn’t have a clue how it got up there, or why it was hiding—and I got the distinct feeling it was hiding—I knew it was mine. “Yes,” I whispered.

  “Then you must let it go.”

  I was so tired. My head pounded. The glowsphere was beautiful, I didn’t want to destroy it. I sighed and let it pop. It was like cutting an invisible cord, and I felt incredibly sad. Shylan lowered my head back onto the table.

  “She needs some ale. You wouldn’t have that barrel handy, would you?”

  “Water will suffice. Why don’t you take in some fresh air and leave this to me.”

  “Why don’t I do just that,” I heard Shylan say.

  Congratulations! You have used Passive Magic. Passive magic allows you to cast more than one spell at a time, but each will continue to drain your mana. Beware of overextending. You now have magic level 4.

  “By Scholl, that’s incredible,” Shylan said, and I felt the air from outside rush in. “She’s leveling up even as she knocks on death’s door.” The door shut, and I sensed he was gone.

  Death’s door? I remember thinking.

  The next time I woke, I was lying on the cushions, my head on Marista’s lap. She was dribbling water into my mouth from a spoon.

  “Guess what,” she said.

  I looked up at her, trying a smile.

  “You’ve got some mana back, just a dozen, but it’s a start. It all takes a while to start up again when your energy drains.” She brushed my hair away from my forehead. “You don’t quite understand all of this, do you?”

  “All of what?”

  “The levels, the clothes, the mana. It’s our fault. We think we know best, think we can force you along, but it’s not quite the case. The clothes the jaspur gave you, while they can save your life, they can also make you careless. I’m not sure what to do.”

  “Do?”

  Her laughter tinkled around the room. “Trust me, it’s been a while since I encountered a level three that didn’t sweep a floor or plough a field—that’s how most folk level up—simple tasks. Dig a well, kill a rat, shoot an arrow at an apple—that sort of thing. Not run like an Apachalant or make Petreyen glowspheres. Do you know, it’s normally about level six, maybe seven, that folk usually get level two magic?”

  “Maybe it’s the veils?” I muttered. My energy was back—I could see that on my stat board, and I’d gained a stamina point while I’d been unconscious. “Maybe they’re making me better than I am.”

  “Oh my,” said Marista.

  Congratulations! You have shown great humility, and have opened up its attribute. Humility is the foundation of good leadership and politics. You have one humility point.

  “What?” I said.

  “It appears you have more humility points than Shylan,” she said, and that made me smile. “Can you keep a secret?” Marista asked me.

  I nodded, though I knew it wasn’t quite true.

  “Can you sit up?”

  Shuffling around, I plumped up the cushions and made a little seat.

  “How’s your head?”

  “Better now, thanks. What’s the secret?”

  “Well,” Marista said, getting up. “As I said earlier, last night I was dining with Carter Green. Green and I go way back. Now, Petreyens, they are wonderful folk, bawdy, raucous, hilarious, serious, and would fight to their last drop of blood for you, but those are not their best points. They ferment the finest whiskey in the land, and they also grow the most delicious mushrooms—on account of them all living underground. Now, what I failed to let slip at lunch was that I had to rush away from Carter Green, and of course, he wouldn’t let me go empty-handed. So, I happen to have a pot of garlic mushrooms all the way from the Lordslaner Salatay. You fancy?”

  My mouth was watering already. Marista opened her strange hamper and leaned in, head, shoulders, arms and all. “They’re in here somewhere,” her voice echoed out. “Ahh, here they are.” She emerged with a small, enameled pot in one hand, and two spoons in the other. She sat back with me, the pot between us, and gave me a spoon. “Try one.”

  They were absolutely gorgeous and so…garlicky. “Lordslaner is in Cronis’s book. Is it a nice place?” I asked.

  “Was,” Marista replied, absently, as if the mushrooms had transported her away from the wagon.

  “Was?”

  She patted my knee. “There is so much to tell you, but your mind would just not be able to cope. Imagine trying to know everything about every land, it’s just impossible. But, Lordslaner is no more. ShadowDancer destroyed it before the mists fell, a long, long, time ago.” She perked. “But you can’t keep a good Petreyen down.”

  “Where is Petreyer?” I asked. I knew from the newt that we were in Irydia, so Petreyer must be close.

  “A few hundred miles away, and over the Petreyen Sea.”

  “Then how did you get here so fast?”

  “Like I said, ‘There is so much to tell you,’ but let’s concentrate on the job at hand. These mushrooms and your ongoing health.”

  I sighed, a little frustrated, but tucked back into the mushrooms nonetheless. “I want to
visit Petreyer,” I announced.

  “You’ll want to visit a lot of places. This land is beautiful.”

  “What’s Castle Zybond like?”

  “A dung heap. Don’t get me wrong; it’s a fantastical place, but a dung heap. Now, I’ve been thinking about your items—specifically your boots. You need them because they’ll help you level up quickly, but they should be exactly what they are—a bonus. So, here’s what we’re going to do,” and she reached back into the hamper, pulling out a tunic, pants and a pair of boots. “I had these flown in from Merrivale. The boots; you’ll wear these ones when you’re running with Petroo—that way you’ll be running at your true speed and stamina, and with the Lamerell’s tunic, her belt and pants, you’ll still have the vitality bonus you so clearly need. When you’re learning magic, or any fighting, you’ll wear the rest, and know that your life depends on you being careful. That way, if you get into a fight or some such thing when you’re wearing the jaspur’s gift, you’ll have the extra bonus. How does that sound?”

  “But that’ll slow me down?”

  Marista gave me a waning smile. “A level twenty fool, is still a fool,” she said. “Now, finish up your mushrooms. Your energy is back where it should be, you should go running with Petroo.” A cloud of confusion appeared to settle over her. “Do you like running?”

  “Not especially.”

  “Then why?”

  “Greman told me to. He said it was an easy skill to learn.”

  “Running? Not Archery, Sword Fighting, or farming, forestry, just running…”

  “Yes, why? Is that odd?”

  She thought on it a while. “Not if you’re training someone to fetch stuff from Merrivale it isn’t. Not if an old beggle told you to practice running so you could do just that. And certainly not if two wizards knew exactly what he was up to and actively encouraged it. The sneaky sods.”

  Her mood seemed to cloud over, so I grabbed the boots, changed quickly, left the wagon with a jump, and ran in search of Petroo. When I caught up with him he looked down at my boots.

  “Stripped the bonus boots away did she?”

  I told him yes.

  “Bummer. I’ll slow down a bit,” and he darted off.

  I took a breath. The wagon forged on. Shylan must have been somewhere in front, and I found myself alone on the trail. The valley had widened, the mountain ridges less imposing. A blustery breeze gusted, one minute from behind, the next in my face. The day had soured with clouds overhead, gray wisps, white billows and thunderheads—black, ominous, foreboding. A sprinkling of raindrops soaked my cheeks, the way only light rain can.

  Alone, I began to dart glances at grassy hollows, scree-covered slopes, and along the rock-strewn river as it raged on down. The distinct feeling that I was being watched passed over me, though what was watching me and where from, I could not tell. Overhead, a broad-winged bird circled, buffeted by the winds, but somehow unconcerned. The feeling intensified. I gulped a breath and ran.

  I hadn’t realized how much of a difference the bonus boots made. Yeah, they made a hell of a difference. It felt like I was running through Petroo’s pea soup.

  I was clearly on my own now. I began to look around, not once but constantly, the ominous feeling I was being watched, even followed, refused to go away through distance alone. Gritting my teeth, I ground out the yards. Where the hell were they? Panic began to get hold of me, the stiff type that holds your spine rigid, the type that grips everything from your head down.

  A glimpse of them, just ahead, just vanishing over the next fold in the valley, and my heart leapt in hope. A few trees scattered on the slopes—the valley’s sides neared now, steeper. The river’s roar echoing like I was in a cave. I had no clue how far I’d run, nor how they’d gotten so far ahead, I just knew I had to run, to catch up. The rain had turned from misty sheets to fat drops that were crashing to the ground from the clouded sky. The shadow of the bird passed over me, then again, and again, stealing what was left of the sun’s weak rays. Trees now held dominion over the grassy slopes, their ranks pressed together by the now-closing valley’s sides.

  I thought I caught sight of the wagon again, just rounding a bend in the steep trail ahead, and my heart leapt in hope, the trees now near leaning over the trail itself. I heard a roar ahead, not the roar of the river but a cacophony that filled the narrow cut in the land. And then I saw Shylan atop his horse, across the trail, like a general mounted on a charger, and he held his hand out, grabbing my own, and pulled me onto the horse.

  He turned and shouted something, but I couldn’t hear his words; the surrounding clamor deafening. I grasped his waist hard, trying to control my breath, and Petroo appeared alongside us, jogging at an easy rate. He called up to me too, sending his words with a grin, but I couldn’t make them out either, and now I saw why. I saw why Shylan had positioned his horse across the trail.

  It curved sharply away from the river and around the end of the trees. As we approached the bend, I saw the land fell away, the valley floor now distant, the roar quite clearly the falls they’d talked about earlier. Shylan turned and shouted more words that I couldn’t hear, and pulled the horse up. I could see little more than the drop on one side and the falls on the other, except overhead, a gray-and-craggy cliff face loomed.

  We passed into it, and the roar of the waterfall dimmed, the grim of the outside vanished, and the warm glow of a fire, its barky smell, its crackle, replaced it.

  “Well?” said Shylan.

  “Well what?”

  “What I asked outside. Marista said we should give you some room to breathe, not constantly crowd you with our help. Did you enjoy your run?”

  “Don’t ever leave me again,” I said, as Petroo helped me off the horse. Standing, I took a deep breath and shook my head. “Strike that,” I said. “I’m a level three badass, I’ll be fine, just so long as I get a bit of notice.” I made as good a job of trying to look brave as I could, but all they did was stare at me like I was from another planet.

  Marista, Greman and Cronis were sitting a few yards away, half circling the open fire. We were in a cave, a large cavernous one, the smoke from the fire pluming up as though a hidden flue was drawing it away. They all looked bemused.

  Shylan dismounted, and patted his horse’s rump, which promptly reared and bolted back outside. “Now,” he said, but stopped and started sniffing the air. “Is that garlic?”

  Marista glared at me, shaking her head, her lips tight. Rather than answer the question, I walked over and sat with them. Petroo joined me. Shylan marched up and down.

  “Garlic,” he announced. “I smelled it outside, and Alexa refused to answer. So, who’s got it?” His eyes swept around. “Garlic rarely flourishes in Irydia—though the climate appears to suit it, the bassilisk root it out before it seeds and gobble it up. Nor does it grow in Petreyer, Kobane, Shyantium, nor the Isles of the Apachalant. In fact, it grows bountifully in no land within the mists.” He squatted by the fire, and looked at each of us in turn. “No, you have to go farther afield to Kataspay, Cendruillia, Zang Zhou—there you’ll find garlic. So, I ask again, can I smell garlic?”

  Marista huffed. “I had to revive her somehow.”

  “Water, Marista, water. Or ale—you’ve got a barrel. Tell me, tell me they weren’t mushrooms from the markets of Partic Fair, tell me, tell me please.” He turned to me. “What were they like?”

  When I told him, I swear I saw a tear in his eye.

  “What spooked you, Alexa?” Marista asked, matter-of-factly, turning away from the wizard.

  “I just…” I realized I didn’t have a clue. It had been cold, wet, exposed, but… “A bird, a great big bird was circling, and I felt like someone was watching me.”

  She seemed to accept what I was saying. “Cronis?”

  “It is as we thought. Did you say you were going to get the ale out?”

  Marista huffed, swiveled around and dipped into the hamper. Once the ales had been passed around, all eyes fell b
ack on Shylan.

  “Well, it’s settled. We have to keep an eye on her night and day.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “You were never alone,” Petroo said, resting his hand on my shoulder. “I was watching, but we had to make you think you were alone.”

  “But…” I was all sorts of confused.

  Petroo pursed his lips, and then said, “We wanted to see if they knew of your existence—if your magic called to them. It seems they were on the lookout already. It is good news—in a way.”

  “How?” I asked.

  Shylan finally sat down. He was across the fire from me, his emerald eyes flickering in the flames. “Because now we know we have to protect you. We know they are watching. We know they will come for you.”

  “ShadowDancer?” I whispered.

  “All of them.”

  Name: Alexa Drey. Race: Human. Type: Chancer.

  Age: 24. Alignment: None. XP: 500. Level: 3.

  Profession: None. Un/Al pts: 6. Reputation: Nobody.

  Health Points: 160/160 Energy: 80/80 Mana: 60/60

  HP Regen: 16/Min EN Regen: 8/Min MA Regen: 5/Min

  Attributes: (Level, Bonuses)

  Vitality: (3, 13), Stamina: (8, 0), Intelligence: (6, 0)

  Charisma: (3, 0), Wisdom: (5, 0), Luck: (1, 5)

  Humility: (1, 0)

  Skills: (Level, % to next level, Boosts %, Level Cap)

  Running: (4, 33, 25, 12) Perception: (3, 32, 0, 15), Commerce (1, 0, 0, 6), Magic: (4, 0, 0, ∞), Concealment: (2, 22, 0, 15)

  Talents:

  Tongues of Time. The Veils of Lamerell.

  Quests:

  Seek out the Legend of Billy Long Thumb. Status: Incomplete. Reward: Unknown.

  12

  Gromolor