Alexa Drey- the Veils of Lamerell

by Ember Lane

  “Aren’t you worried about…” I looked over my shoulder, hinting at the shadows and thinking about the person that had been following us.

  Flip bent near in two and ducked his head under the water. “Join me,” he said. “The rivers become streams and the streams become meager the closer we get to Castle Zybond.”

  I pulled my boots off, rolled my pants up too and jumped in. The water was freezing.

  “They have these baths in Zybond,” Flip told me. “Big baths filled with steaming water. Now that gets you clean, I can tell you. Old, they are very old, not sure how they were made, but then, a lot about Zybond is strange.”

  He stretched his arms wide and yawned. “The person that was following us was Thameerian, you can tell by their posture. Thameerians trade in a lot of things, wine being one of their top products, information being right up there with that. So, we are in no physical danger until the information is traded with less commerce-oriented souls. To their posture, for some reason Thameerians bend their backs ever so slightly when standing still. I’ve never worked out why. Valkyrians, on the other hand, they tend to stand with their shoulders back, chests out, but then most spend an awful lot of time on the parade ground. First lesson, watch out for traits in folk. Close your eyes,” he instructed.

  I was reluctant, especially knowing we were being spied on, but he urged me on with his golden eyes.

  “Now,” he said. “Describe me.”

  I thought it an odd question. “You’ve got golden eyes,” I said, expecting a torrent of words to spill from my lips. “Raggedy hair,” I added, and then strained to think of anything else. All I could picture was his hair and eyes.

  “My clothes?” he asked.

  I didn’t have a clue.

  “Complexion, nose, ears, teeth, lips? Am I broad, thin, muscle-bound, weak?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Now, open your eyes.”

  I did, and he was sitting on the steps, fully clothed, arms crossed on his knees, leaning toward me with a beaming smile adorning his face. “My hair and my eyes were all you noticed about me.” He pouted.

  “I…” But I had nothing to say.

  “Are you done?” he asked, but without waiting for an answer, Flip jumped up and skipped back up the steps. I pulled myself out of the river, eased my boots on and ran up after him.

  “The Dragon and Unicorn isn’t a bad inn, but it’s not where the locals go,” he said, and started back into the press of the village’s buildings. “There’s a little place just down here that serves the best breakfast. It’s just…” Flip Leaned forward, looking up and down an alley that crossed the one we were in. “Down here.”

  He marched down an even tighter alleyway, stopped outside a door that looked identical to the rest, and ducked inside. I looked up at a sign overhead. An evil-looking, gray face looked down at me, with sharp-angled eyes that glared, and its mouth set like it was about to eat me. Under it, the words "The Graveling" were scrawled. I followed Flip in.

  Rather than the large barroom of the Dragon And Unicorn, I found myself in a room no bigger than twenty feet square. Two sets of two tables were either side of the door, and a small counter stood at its opposite end. It was a dark and dingy place where even the wood of the tables, benches and all had lost their color in favor of aged black. An old man looked up from behind the counter.

  “Is King Muscat in town?” he asked Flip.

  “Not that I’m aware of, good sir.”

  “So, you’re not his jester?”

  Flip inclined his head, as if deciding whether to kill the man or kiss him. Instead, he pulled at his ranging hair, making it even more raggedy. “That, sir, I am not, a long time on the road has made me a little rough around the edges.”

  The man lifted his eyebrows. “Where do you travel to?”

  Flip shrugged. “Castle Zybond—it is no secret. Are you in need of sending any dispatches there?”

  “I have no business with lords,” said the man.

  Flip took a seat near the counter. I sat opposite him. Other than us, there were just two others seated at a table by the window.

  “What was that all about?” I whispered, leaning in.

  Flip shushed me by raising his hand. The man served us two decent-looking meals on wooden platters, and then dumped down two mugs of ale. He slipped Flip a folded note, which Flip pocketed.

  “Back to your earlier question—the one still running around your mind. How come I couldn’t describe Flip? A very valid thing to wonder, let me tell you.”

  I picked up a slice of reddish-brown meat and began to chew on it. It wasn’t so bad. “Go on,” I said, realizing that my thoughts still lay with the folded note under Flip’s arm.

  “The reason you couldn’t describe anything about me was because your mind only picks up the unusual. Take my eyes, for instance, not many folk have golden eyes, nor hair that resembles…” He scowled at the old man behind the counter. “That resembles a jester. So they are the two things that the mind picks up on. If you ever need to find me again, look for the man with the ragged hair and golden eyes, and that’s the beauty of it.”

  “What is?” I asked.

  “Well, if I were to alter my hair, tamp it down, cut it off, tuck it into a hat. If I were to alter my eyes to brown, then you’d never see me. I’m a stranger to you, Alexa, apart from my hair and eyes. Now you—”

  He closed his eyes.

  “Mauve boots, pants, tunic. Gauntlet-type gloves that Cronis still hasn’t taught you to conceal. Shoulder-length hair, deep, piercing eyes above high cheekbones. Average stature, slighty taller than most women. Tiny ears—”

  “I haven’t got tiny ears,” I shouted, a little too loud, and immediately began an in-depth study of my food.

  He grinned. “I just threw that in. My point is, there is nothing remarkable about you, nothing flamboyant, so folk who look at you pick up a little of everything. Take Star, for instance, describe her.”

  “Blond, nice eyes, beautiful, and large…breasted.”

  He clapped his hands. “Exactly, you saw what was in front of you. Did you notice her tattoos, the knives tucked into her boots? Did you see the way she moved—like a dancer? That is because she is an expert with the rapier and light sword. Did you notice that she is plainly not Irydian? That she is so out of place in Merrivale that it can only lead to one supposition?”

  “Eh?” I said, confused.

  “The woman you saw as Star the tap wench, is quite plainly a spy of some description, and there is a problem.”

  “Eh?” I said, keen to add a new dimension to the discussion.

  “Why would a spy be stationed outside a cave’s entrance that leads to a wizard’s hidden retreat?”

  “But I thought you knew her?”

  “Star?” Flip said. “Merely thinks me a rich fool with too much gold. She has no interest in me. However, last night she steered the conversation around to both you and your companions on more than one occasion. That, Alexa, was where her interest lay, not me.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  Flip dribbled a sliver of meat into his mouth, gulping it down like a bird would a fish.

  “Everything a fool would. I told her that I was in the employ of Lady Marista to train some young wench in swordplay,” he said, and pocketed the note the barkeep had given him. “Not too far from the truth as to be difficult to maintain. Now, what does a Thameerian look like?”

  “Slightly bent over,” I answered, fairly proud of myself.

  “Would a decent Thameerian spy walk around all bent over?”

  The answer was quite obviously no. I shook my head, not willing to fall into his trap.

  “Exactly,” he smiled. “So who was the man following us?”

  I was at a loss and shrugged. While we finished off our breakfast, Flip proceeded to tell me all about the Thameerians. It appeared the politics of the so-called Lands of Mandrake was fairly complex.

  “Assuming you know n
othing, let me explain the divisions in this land. First off, you have the upper lands. You have the largest land, namely Atremeny, that is to the north. Southeast of Atremeny is Kobane, and west, Petreyer darts out. Central to all is Shyantium, with Irydia under, and The Five Isles between Irydia and Petreyer, but doesn’t count as a land in itself.”

  “Shyantium’s the wizard’s land,” I said, all proud.

  He shrugged. “Retreat would be a better word. Completing the six of the upper lands are the smaller ones of Apachalant and Beggle.” He lowered his voice. “Then you have the three lower lands; Tharameer, Carmeyour and Krakator. It is from these lands that conflict comes—they covet what places like Irydia hold, covet the light, the green forests—you see, a quirk with Barakdor is that the farther north you go, the longer the days, the farther south, the longer the night.”

  “And ShadowDancer comes from the night.”

  “That he does,” Flip said, as he polished his plate clean.

  “So, if there’s conflict, why are Thameerians allowed in Irydia?”

  “Because it is not the Thameerians themselves that wage the war,” Flip said, and got up. He made to pay, but the innkeep would hear nothing of it. It appeared delivery of the message was payment enough. So, we thanked him and went on our way—our way being back to the Dragon And Unicorn. Marista, Shylan, and Cronis were milling around outside. Greman was looking over a covered wagon, kicking its iron-shod wheels and muttering under his breath about the price. Petroo and Gromolor were walking up the road from the direction of the town gates. They strolled straight past the inn and greeted us over the other side of the crossroads.

  “Alexa Drey,” Gromolor said, stiffly.

  “Gromolor,” I replied, trying to remember if he’d ever spoken to me directly.

  “Me and my fellow dwarves have treated you badly, and yet you have shown nothing but good intent toward us. Your compassion for Ishitar did not go unnoticed, we are in your debt.”

  He knelt on the muddy road and held out a wooden staff. I turned a bright shade of red as I noticed folk milling around us, looking at the strange scene of a dwarf on his knees, arms outstretched. I grabbed the staff with one hand and pulled him up with the other. “Thank you, Gromolor, but really there was no need.”

  Gromolor has awarded you a Fibrestone Staff.

  Fibrestone is a rare and much sought-after stone made when beds of fibrous fungus are crushed by the Earth itself. It is stronger than hardwood, lighter than softwood, and conducts Magic half as fast again with 30% more intensity.

  Fibrestone Staff: +10% Magic Attack +20% speed of casting.

  Congratulations! Your humility is on the up. You have been awarded 1 humility point.

  Congratulations! You showed great compassion for Gromolor and the dwarves, you have been awarded 2x compassion points.

  Gromolor pulled me close and gave me a big, bear hug, then stepped back and looked at me.

  “There,” he said. “The road to Zybond is a cold and bleak one. The pirate prince will teach you to use it well. I have things to sort out below ground, else I would travel with you and keep harm from your doorstep. Alas, though, even were it possible, I fear your harsh sunlight would make me next to useless. Even now my head pounds. If I may, Alexa Drey?”

  I couldn’t be sure, but I thought he was asking my permission to leave. “Of course,” I said, more than a little bemused.

  Gromolor spun around and marched off. Flip was fingering my staff.

  “Brown with a golden sheen—not bad, might actually blend in as a normal staff. Now...” He looked around. “Where were we?”

  Petroo was grinning from ear to ear. “You looked so awkward, and I’m not surprised. The dwarf hated every minute of that exchange. They are more suited to bashing rocks, heads, and ales into submission.”

  “Then why did he do it?” I asked.

  Petroo scoffed. “Because you might just have saved their race from extinction. Think about it, if the demon had carried on hiding in Aragnoor, and it was in league with the paladin or goblins, surely it would eventually lead them to destruction.”

  “But I don’t get it,” I pleaded. “If Ishitar suspected something was wrong with his father, why did he put up with it for so long?”

  “Have you never seen a person change—become grouchy, nasty, something like that—and yet those who are closest to him or her remain silent and just put up with it?”

  “I guess,” I said.

  Flip was grinning from ear to ear. “I’ll tell you of an example. There was once a female apachalant called Varianne—”

  “Shut up, pirate,” Petroo shouted, his face dark with threat.

  Flip shrugged. “I prefer sea trader.”

  “You prefer a lot of things, Prince of The Five Isles, but some things should not be made light of.”

  They both started walking toward the wagon. “And doesn’t that make you grouchy?”

  “Do you take nothing seriously?”

  Flip’s laugh rang around the crossroads. “My neck, Prince of Doom, just my neck.”

  I wondered what they were talking about. Wondered what doom Petroo had. Thinking about it, he did rarely, if ever laugh. He rarely seemed to get excited, enthused. In fact, if one thing summed him up it was work, work, work. It did, though, appear that he was an old member of this group, as he just fitted right in.

  My eyes strayed to Flip. Mysterious Flip suited him. I wondered if he was the same Flip as in the auguries. He had to be. How many others could there be? Deciding to ask Cronis about it later, I forged forward and caught up with them.

  Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a man standing in the shadows on the road across from us. He had that hunched-over look that Flip had described. His face was partially hidden by an overflowing hood, but I could make out a scruffy, black beard, and felt like his eyes were boring right through me. His dark, bony hands were clasped around a black staff, shod silver on either end. He began to nod, ever so slowly, and grinned, revealing a yellowing-toothed smile. I looked away fast, happy to draw alongside Petroo.

  Marista was waiting impatiently. Her whole manner was one of a coiled spring. She faked a smile as I neared.

  “Alexa, how nice of you to join us. Did Flip teach you anything?”

  I thought about it. “Yes, yes he did. Quite a lot, actually,” and I winked at him.

  Marista rolled her eyes.

  “Well, we must be going.” She turned to Flip. “Tell me,” she said. “Do we really need to take your companion?”

  Flip tilted his head. “How else am I to keep warm in Zybond?”

  Marista harrumphed and walked toward the wagon. Her hand shot out, grabbing mine and pulling me with her. She drew the wagon’s cover back. “Nowhere near as comfortable as the jaspur, but it’ll do.” She bid me in.

  Star was sitting in the back. She looked up.

  “Oh good. The Pixie’s coming. Thought I was saddled with her all the way.” She pouted at Marista, and then she beamed at me.

  Wasn’t she the spy? I thought.

  “Eh?” I said out loud.

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

  Age: 24. Alignment: None. XP: 7500. Level: 6.

  Profession: None. Un/Al pts: 0. Reputation: Named.

  Health Points: 220/220 Energy: 80/80 Mana: 180/180 Shadow Mana: 0/180

  HP Regen: 22/Min EN Regen: 8/Min MA Regen: 5/Min SMA Regen: NA

  Attributes: (Level, Bonuses)

  Vitality: (9, 13), Stamina: (8, 0), Intelligence: (18, 0)

  Charisma: (6, 0), Wisdom: (5, 0), Luck: (7, 5)

  Humility: (2, 0), Compassion: (3, 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: (5, 0, 0, ∞), Concealment: (2, 22, 0, 15), Night-vision: (3, 11, 0, 10), Blades (3, 0, 0, 25), Spell Casting (2, 0, 0, ∞)

  Talents:

  Tongues of Time. The Veils of Lamerell.

  Quest
s:

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

  16

  The Road To Zybond

  The wagon was nothing like the spacious jaspur one. It was just a wagon with two bench seats each side, a planked floor, and a heavy canopy stretched over a rib-frame of fashioned wood. Marista’s bottomless chest balanced across both benches, and she informed me this was for essentials. Star seemed to wilt under Marista’s heavy gaze, and her earlier chirpiness faded. My own vanished with every stone and pothole the iron-shod wagon wheels found. I sat opposite Marista, next to Star.

  “So, what did Flip teach you?” Marista asked.

  I was watching Merrivale disappear over the brow of a hill and wondering how far it was to Zybond. Looking back at her, I forced a smile. “That I need something to take away my ordinariness.”

  “You are far from ordinary, Alexa,” Marista said, her smile coming a little later. “But I think I know what he means. Perhaps we could do something with your hair.”

  “What, like have it stick out everywhere?”

  “I was thinking more a dash of color, maybe add a bit of… a bit of something…”

  Star suddenly came alive. “How about...” and she shuffled over, grabbing my head. “We cut this bit here, shave under here, spike this up. Dye this bit mauve, and pull this down over her forehead like a wave crashing down on her eyes.”

  I was horrified.

  Marista shrugged. “Mauve is her color.”

  “Surely the point is that I can… If you shave bits off, how can I just smooth it down…? If you…?”

  Star beamed at me. “You’ll look badass—like a warrior from a fantastical adventure. What with your all-mauve get up, your cloak, and we could pierce your ears all around.”