Alexa Drey- the Veils of Lamerell

by Ember Lane

  Later that night, when Cronis appeared quite drunk, I sidled up to him and asked him why I’d been taught no magic these last few days, barring a simple spell.

  He turned to me, looking me up and down with a strange look on his face. “You have dark mana now, as well as light. We have to decide how to deal with that.”

  “Why?”

  He looked down at his mug and scoffed. “Because the last person I knew to have both dark and light mana is laying on a slab beyond the battlements of a castle not so distant from here. You’ve read the Auguries, a couple of pages at least.” He pulled his sack out. “What do you make of it so far?” he asked.

  I thought on it for a moment before answering. “That these lands are the Lands of Mandrake, and that they are isolated from the rest of Barakdor by some mists because of something a woman called Poleyna did.”

  “And this Poleyna, what do you think of her?”

  “Aren’t you in love with her?”

  I saw tears swell in his old eyes. “Love,” he whispered, “is not for me, but to answer your question, yes—but not in a conventional manner.”

  “And you swore allegiance to her?”

  He nodded, as though the very admission made his heart split in two. “And I left my God, Scholl.”

  I reached forward and grasped Cronis’s hand. “And what did he say?”

  “He gave me his blessing.”

  “Why?” I pressed.

  “I believe that he thought Poleyna the only one capable of defeating Belved—ShadowDancer’s master.”

  “Why was Poleyna locked up?”

  “Because she cracked the world—we are on the very edge of one of those rents now.”

  I remembered the opening paragraph of the auguries, and mouthed the words.

  “A choice made and a magic unleashed, so powerful that the world cracked. Vast rents tore through its surface and the eight houses of the world separated. I will never forget the screams of the dying, nor should history forget their final breaths.”

  “But why did she crack the world?” I asked, and Cronis started sobbing.

  “So they couldn’t do it again.”

  “Do what?” I pleaded.

  “Destroy another planet.”

  “Like Pique?” I gasped.

  “Yes,” he said.

  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: 250/250 Energy: 120/120 Mana: 180/180 Shadow Mana: 0/180

  HP Regen: 22/Min EN Regen: 12/Min MA Regen: 5/Min SMA Regen: NA

  Attributes: (Level, Bonuses)

  Vitality: (12, 13), Stamina: (12, 0), Intelligence: (18, 0)

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

  Humility: (2, 0), Compassion: (3, 0), Strength: (3, 0)

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

  Running: (5, 16, 25, 12), Perception: (3, 78, 0, 15), Commerce: (1, 0, 0, 6), Magic: (5, 1, 0, ∞), Concealment: (5, 40, 0, 15), Night-vision: (3, 56, 0, 10), Blades: (4, 10, 0, 25), Spell Casting: (2, 5, 0, ∞), Close-Q-fighting: (3, 17, 0, 25), Archery: (4, 56, 0, 28), Swordsmanship: (4, 22, 0, 20), Staff-fighting: (5, 56, 0, 60)

  Talents:

  Tongues of Time. The Veils of Lamerell.

  Quests:

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

  17

  Lord Zybandian

  Cronis’s mood had played on my mind all the way to my bed, and sleep evaded me as I tried to figure it all out, tried to make sense of those couple of pages I’d read. I knew, deep down, that Cronis knew exactly what they were about, but his memory had holes in it, and those holes prevented him from understanding, yet Shylan deemed it so important.

  What perplexed me was what had happened to both of them that they were so unsure of their past. It made no sense. From the mere gist of it, Poleyna did something that "cracked the earth," fine, but what? She was punished for doing it and sent away, but where? They all talked about her like she still lived, but also like she was lost. I had no clue on that, but as I thought on…

  Hadn’t Poleyna asked them to form her lands—the so-called Lands Of Mandrake, so presumably, wherever she was she intended to return? Cronis had said that Scholl wanted him to help her so that she could defeat Belved.

  Okay, that was the gist of the first bit.

  The next part was mostly about Sakina. From what I could gather, Shylan and Cronis had sailed in on a ship from Sharreff—the land near the end of Petreyer—sensed her presence in Lordslaner, met up with Flip and traveled into Petreyer. So that told me this all happened before Canelo James was betrayed. Hmmm.

  Ironically, the easiest bit was the magic. Scholl’s magic was based on colors, and looking into them. Separate the colors and you rearrange them to your liking—I supposed that was why Cronis also bent toward alchemy—the two appeared to go hand in hand.

  My last thought before I finally drifted off was “Clear as mud.”

  The next day I woke in a sour mood. The grime-crusted window lent me scant idea on the weather, but the constant pounding on the roof told me that the rain was still lashing down. I slapped my feet on the floor, pulled my boots on, and went off in search of life. True to form, Marista was still snoring away, and Star hadn’t even made it back to the room. I wondered how I’d find "upstream" in this village.

  Flip was in the taproom, in much the same place he’d been the night before. He wasn’t slumped and drunk, but alert and gesticulating, and deep in conversation with Petroo. My mood bounced up a bit upon seeing Petroo, somehow the balance of the group wasn’t quite right when he wasn’t around.

  I hovered in the doorway until I caught Flip’s eye and he bid me over. Petroo’s expression was a picture, and I guessed he’d not gotten used to my new "Petreyen look," yet. It soon settled back to the mask he carried so well.

  “Alexa Drey,” he said, a sketchy smile flitting over his lips. “Has Flip been treating you well?”

  “I’ve leveled up my running,” I said as I sat.

  Petroo tried to look through the taproom’s window. “Maybe we’ll get to run in a while. If nothing, it’ll clear our minds.”

  I grimaced at the thought. The barkeep shoved a plate of meat and bread under my nose, then dumped it on the table, followed by a mug of morning ale. Morning ale appeared to be exactly the same as any other ale, but I decided there were more pressing things that I needed explaining than that.

  Picking at my food, I noticed that both Petroo and Flip had stopped talking.

  “Don’t mind me,” I said, and looked at each in turn.

  Flip shrugged. “Grim news from Irydia,” he said, as if those words were all that was needed.

  “Rumors are rife,” Petroo muttered, “that The Assassin of Petreyer is on the move.”

  “In Petreyer?” I asked, almost shocked. I’d kinda adopted it as my land.

  “Petreyer was always a land of treachery. Marista sees it through nostalgic eyes. I actually think she was in love with Canelo James. I assume that she omitted to tell you that prior to their downfall, their number one export was assassins.”

  “No, she never mentioned that.”

  Petroo grunted. “She wouldn’t, but it was, and in many ways it still is. The Assassin of Petreyer is, put quite simply, death. If he receives a contract, the target is dead. If that contract isn’t paid, then the issuer is dead. So you see, he is death and his name is Cutter.”

  “And news that he has another contract is somehow worrying?” I asked.

  Flip looked up from his breakfast, and pushed his drooping fringe back so that I could see the fire in his eyes.

  “The man is a master. What you cannot understand—and you must if you are to pass off as a Petreyen—is the feat he has achieved to be given the title "The Assassin." That means one of two things, either every other assassin in Petreyer is so scared of
him, they haven’t tried to kill him, or…they’ve already died trying.”

  I could tell Flip was truly in awe of him.

  “It gets better,” Petroo said. “It appears he now has an apprentice.”

  “Now?” I asked.

  Flip sat back. “Why in Lamerell’s name would he want one of those. Oh!” he said, as though something had just dawned on him. “That’s a twist.”

  “A twist?” I was more than a little confused—as usual.

  “Well, Cutter—in fact no assassin would ever take on an apprentice. It’s too easy for the worm to turn.” They both took a breath, and I saw they were both grinning.

  “What?” I asked.

  “They think it has to be a player—like you,” Cronis’s voice rang out from over us. “I don’t want it discussed further. Rumor is the downfall of constructive discourse. Even if it were a player, there is no reason to think it’s anything more than a coincidence. It affects nothing.” Cronis dumped himself down. “Now, young lady, did you think anymore about what we talked about last night?”

  I nodded. “I think I understand roughly what’s going on,” I said, and I actually thought I did. I just had to ignore the confusing and take the plain facts before me.

  Cronis regarded me for a long while, smacking his lips together in contemplation. “Good,” he said, “then we shall press on at the next opportunity afforded.” He signaled the barkeep for his ale. “Now,” he said, turning to Petroo. “Tell me what you actually know.”

  “To the point, as usual, Cronis.” Petroo drew a long breath. “I have it on good authority that a skiff docked for the night in the cursed city, Estorelll. I’m told that the two occupants of the skiff stayed the night in Estorelll and then sailed the boat up the Astral River toward the Forest of Ledges, where it vanished.”

  “And you’re sure this skiff originated from Petreyer?”

  “It came from Lordslaner, there is no other place. The boat was Petreyen, and they’re as rare as a wizard’s truth,” Petroo replied, challenge in his eyes.

  Cronis grunted. “There are some apachalant’s in this land whose fingers are sunk into poisoned pies.”

  Petroo didn’t reply at first, and when he did, his voice was measured. “It is not Scareb’s fault he has to meddle in the land of men,” he muttered.

  Flip broke the silence that ensued.

  “Are we ready for a run, Alexa? I think these two have much to discuss. Politics! Yawn.” He sprang up, as was his way. “I shall escort you. Change out of those pretty, mauve things—you’ll need them for later.”

  I ran back upstairs and changed in an instant. To be honest, though it was raining outside, I couldn’t wait to get out of there. Something about the exchange had blackened the mood at the table. The minute I was outside with Flip, I changed my mind. The rain was driving down, the road running gray and black, and Flip just barely visible. He beckoned me on, and we ran. We ran up toward Castle Zybond.

  Even through the lashing rain, I soon saw it. At first I thought it was the clouds, thought they’d taken on a shape, like a mimic. One looked like a turret, except it couldn’t have—it was way too high. Then a string of crenellations draped from one white cloud to a looming thunderhead, and as we closed, the rain eased off, the sheer mass before us lending its shelter. When we stopped running, I saw its wall, and I looked up, and saw it had no end.

  “You should,” Flip said. “No, you must see the castle in its glory, and this is not it.”

  Flip looked strange, his wet hair plastered against his cheeks. Even in the gloom of the battlement’s shadow, his eyes glinted with mischief.

  “Don’t let the talk of wizard and Apachalant muddle your course. Good and evil, that is all you need to worry about.” He leaned back against the wall.

  “And ShadowDancer is evil, and Poleyna is good?”

  He blurted a laugh. “That’s for you to decide. That’s what makes it interesting.”

  I pressed my lips together and accepted what he said. Maybe that was what it was all about. He kicked himself off the wall and we raced back toward the inn. Somehow, his explanation had made things simpler in my mind. I had to decide what was good and what was bad and follow my course. Nothing else.

  The wagon picked us up before we were halfway back. I got the feeling everyone was now anxious to get to Castle Zybond. Flip and I bundled into the back of it like drowned rats, much to Marista’s displeasure. We were soon back at the castle wall, this time, its gates opened and we passed into shadows.

  I pulled the canvas back and looked out. The gates receded, and I saw that we were traveling up a covered roadway, soon completely dark. Even though my night vision had advanced in the dwarven caves, I could see little more than a few yards.

  We burst into the light after a long while, and I screwed up my eyes. When I opened them, I was nearly sick. We appeared to be traveling on air, though I knew from the clatter of the iron-shod wheels that this couldn’t be true. Either it had stopped raining, or we were above the clouds. I welcomed the sun’s warmth.

  The dark of another tunnel came too soon, and we trundled up in the dark for an age, eventually the slope evened, and we burst into light once more. Greman drew the wagon to a halt, and, nervously, I clambered out of its back. It felt like we were on top of the world. I stretched in the sun, my fingertips reaching for its golden glow.

  I was standing on a crescent of cobbles, one taper vanishing into the tunnel, the other petering out in favor of a lush green lawn. A crenellated parapet bordered all, running around us until it reached a stone keep that rose up in front of me. It was like we were atop a great spire, with another one from the keep in front of me. Shylan and Cronis dismounted and strode toward it. I reveled in the sunlight, though my breath misted and told me it was anything but warm. So this was where the mighty Lord Zybandian dwelled, in a tower, with a roof garden, in the clouds above Barakdor. It was truly a feat of great wonder.

  Inside, the lord greeted us with open arms. He was a great man, broad shoulders, wide grin, with a long, drooping mustache, and bushy, black eyebrows that shadowed arching eyes. His hair was thick, long, black, and curly and cascaded over a black, leather breastplate that was half unstrapped.

  “Shylan,” he boomed, and embraced the wizard. “Cronis,” he cried, casting Shylan away and embracing Cronis instead, and then his gaze fell on Marista, and if possible, his whole face smiled. “The wanderer? Do my eyes deceive me? Marista Fenwalker, the flower of Lamerell in my humble abode.” He knelt before her, reaching for her hand and brushing his lips against it. “If only the occasion weren’t so dire.”

  I swear Marista blushed. Zybandian jumped back up, his face clouding over.

  “Petroo, your speed, as always, has rescued the day. I hope we can, in part, reduce Rioan’s grief. And you’ve brought the thief, how…inappropriate.”

  “Thief?” Flip asked. “Surely any man who covets a stone so much that he hides it at the top of the world is merely challenging someone such as myself to take it?”

  Zybandian rested his gaze on Flip, and then broke into a smile. He held out his hand. Flip sighed, reached into his pocket and brought out a fat, purple gem, nearly the size of his fist. Flip dropped it into Zybandian’s palm.

  “Well doesn’t that little gesture prevent some ugliness,” Zybandian muttered, and then his eyes fell on Greman, and if possible, more joy burst from him. “My day is truly complete. How long must it be, Greman Ramjook? Muscat’s coronation?”

  “I think that was the last time,” he said, beaming. “May I introduce to you Alexa Drey? She is currently my charge, but I fear she will outgrow that title fairly soon.”

  “A Petreyen?” Zybandian said, inclining his head. “And yet not.” I saw Marista’s jaw drop. “My dear Marista, if you want to pass this girl for Petreyen, then you will need more than a haircut. Surely any Petreyen—and I have only had need to meet one—would have the skill, Horseback Riding leveled and improving. Not even listed? Tut tut.” He took my ha
nd, brought it to his lips and winked at me. “I’ll play along though, and you, my dear, can tell me your business if you see fit.”

  He turned to Star. “And then there is you and what a guise. It often befuddles me as to why I get so many guests at Castle Zybond—most quite literally dying to get in. I’ve heard that it is the most direct route to Shyantium—but—meh, no, I think not. Others say they were drawn to Sakina, that they thirsted her power, and I hold some measure of agreement with that—things have calmed since she fell. Tell me, Star—it is Star isn’t it? What does the Court of Sutech Charm think?”

  Zybandian drew back, his final words dropping like nails.

  Star hesitated just for a moment. “His priests tell him that a great bane lies in these parts, they focus their power on you.”

  “And what do you think?” Zybandian said smoothly as though her words meant nothing to him.

  “The more I roam, the more I think it is away from this castle. Irydia is a vast land, the bane is small, and the wizard’s city muddles its cries.”

  Zybandian nodded. “We must talk some more.” He backed away. “So, I have rooms readied, baths drawn, and if you require, I can have your clothes washed and beaten. No doubt the inn lacked luxury. Treat this keep as your own. Rest and recoup.” And then his eyes fell on me. “Alas, apart from you.”

  “Me?”

  “You, Alexa, will learn to ride. If your disguise is work, it is the least you need to do.” He clicked his fingers and a woman appeared, grabbed my hand and led me away. My protests stuck in my throat.

  She bundled me down a passageway and into a small room with a sole window and clothes hanging everywhere.