by Ember Lane
“You’re about her size.” The woman huffed, looking me up and down. “Probably a bit smaller up top. Now, get out of those damp things. I’ll fish around for something that’ll fit you. Dump your stuff over there, and if you’ve got anything in that sack of yours that needs a scrub, pop it on top.”
I walked over to the window, and focused on the tops of the milky-white clouds and then closed my eyes and stripped.
“You’ll not see anything out of there today—tomorrow, maybe. The diviner says it’ll be sunny tomorrow, but they rarely get it right. Now, how about this?” I felt a soft shirt caress my back, and I slipped my arms into its sleeves. The woman grabbed my shoulders, spun me around, and I squeezed my eyes tighter while she dressed me.
Everything fitted perfectly, almost like it was made for me. While she sorted out my pants, my top, a coat and boots, the woman told me of Zybandian’s wife, of their love and its tragic end.
“Yep, too much wine. She was staggering around outside, and she fell clean off the parapet straight through the clouds, splat.”
“Is that it?” I asked, cheated by the brief story.
“What did you want? Some great tale of love? This is a castle, on the edge of a vast drop. It was far more likely than a broken heart, a tragic love tryst, or an account of wanton lust. A fine girl like you won’t make the same mistake. If you marry him, of course.”
“Marry him?”
“It’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“No.”
She glared at me. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing.”
“Then you might as well,” she insisted. “You get the castle too.”
“I don’t want a castle.”
The woman smirked. “Now I know you’re lying.” She pulled the door open. I bolted out into the corridor. “Everyone wants a castle,” she called after me.
I saw Zybandian standing in the entrance hall and rushed toward him. “Ah, Alexa, don’t mind Threadneedle, she’s always trying to marry me off.” He strode off toward the courtyard. “Why would I want another wife? Had to throw the last one over the wall just to get rid of her.”
I stopped in my tracks.
His booming laughter rang around.
Outside the sun was still shining, the clouds lurking below, and a chill was in the air. I failed to see how riding a horse around a hundred-foot-wide garden would give me enough experience to unlock the skill. Zybandian stood by two piebalds, both looked a little nervous.
“Have you ever ridden before?” he asked.
I had…in the real world, it was the only way to get around outside the cities, and I assumed it would transfer over to some degree. I’d certainly felt comfortable on the back of Flip’s horse.
“I have but not…”
“Here?”
“Here.”
“Well let me show you Castle Zybond,” he said, his grin infectious.
18
Castle Zybond
I’d expected a trot around the crescent-shaped gardens, but after one circuit, Zybandian clearly decided that I could ride and took off down the tunnel. I spurred my horse after him, the wind chafing the newly shorn part of my scalp, the horse cantering easily.
The pitch-black of the tunnel doused my vision, mere glimpses of Zybandian the best I could hope for given my levels of night vision. I felt my veins pulse, adrenaline flooding through them, and gave the horse his head. I noticed my stat board beeping red, but knew it was just a skill notification and ignored it. We burst out into the light and I reined the horse in, pulling him across the road and alongside Zybandian.
“So,” he said. “This is the fourth keep, the one up there is the fifth. Why on earth you would build five keeps is beyond me, but those who built this place are a mystery in themselves. A castle with five keeps, each one higher than the next, a marvel of architecture, that is all.”
“Who built it?” I asked, breathless.
“Barakdorians,” he answered. “The old, old ones. Are you ready?”
We were on a larger level. The road carried on, vanishing into another tunnel. The plateau marched away between the jutting rock that held the fifth keep, and another that spiked up about halfway. They looked much like craggy cones of rock, and Zybandian let his horse dawdle through them. It was a mix of pathways and gardens.
“There’s no military value in any but the first keep. If that’s taken, your only escape is a long plunge down, or a long rope, but I’ve yet to find a rope maker willing to take on the commission.”
The gardens had a few folk milling about, sitting, laying, or just wandering. We threaded our way along toward its end, and then Zybandian steered his horse around the smaller rock face and onto a pathway little more than a yard wide. My stomach churned at the sheer drop I was edging along. I checked my stats to take my mind off it, trusting the horse more than my shaking hands. Sure enough I’d opened up the horse riding skill, leveled it up and increased my night vision too, though by just a whisker.
“I let the soldiers live in the keeps,” Zybandian continued. “The longer you’ve served, the higher the keep. Trust me,” he turned. “Once you’ve fought underground, you want to be as far away from it as possible.”
I shuddered to think.
“This trail winds all the way down the mountain. It can take two days to get to the bottom, but it’s a grand ride. One day, maybe, you’ll get to complete it.” He pulled up. “Ah, here we are. Take care of this bit, the clouds mix with the gray of the stone—we’ll soon be through them.”
It was a very surreal moment, not to say scary. The track was so, so narrow, and it vanished into the clouds. Soon, the tips of the horse’s hooves dipped in, then my own legs, and I wondered if we wouldn’t just walk off the edge. My heart pounded.
Zybandian was finally swallowed up, and soon I was too. Then there were just tendrils of gray, and wisps of sparkling silver glinting with the sun and folding around me, and calm silence apart from the clip of shod-shoe on stone. I waited to be tipped out of the saddle, to fall an endless fall, but my heart unexpectedly settled, and I suddenly felt an immense peacefulness. I drifted through the next moments, my mind empty of thought, drifted down the mountains, trusting my mount.
It was strange emerging from the cloud, quite different from its steady immersion. One moment I was at peace, the next my head popped out and I was back in a dreary day, on the side of a cliff, trotting along a yard-wide path. Zybandian looked over his shoulder. “Part of learning the skill, horseback riding, is completely trusting the horse. Skills are as much ‘leave to be done’ as ‘do’. Do you want to level up fast?”
But he didn’t wait for an answer, he just let his horse have its head, and the horse bolted. I gulped, felt fearful, then whooped, and did it anyway. My horse hesitated, and I’m sure sent me a “really?” and before I could send him back a "take it easy on me," we lurched forward.
We careened after Zybandian. My stomach leapt into my mouth. We raced toward a sharp-looking curve; I knew we would fly right over. I opened my mouth and let slip a silent scream. The wind flew through my hair, and I shut my eyes, ready. But I couldn’t keep them closed, I had to see, and when we wheeled around the curve, the force of the turn threatening to unseat me, I cried with a mix of relief and excitement.
We straightened, galloped on, a one hundred yard straight burst, my horse picking up speed all the time. I saw Zybandian waving an arm around, heard his scream as it fled past me, and I realized I was alive, more alive than I’d ever been. The rock face on one side tore by, the drop on the other, daunting. Then the drop vanished, replaced by the swell of a mountain range, the green of Irydia sweeping by. I lost myself in the peace and exhilaration of it all. Ahead, Zybandian banked sharply and disappeared from my sight. My now-trusty horse followed.
I blinked when I saw the scene in front of me. A beautiful glade greeted me, a V of clover-grass edged by forests of deeper green sneaking under sheer, gray cliffs from which a misting, white water
fall fell. Zybandian was already sitting on the turf, his horse roaming free. I jumped off mine, and nearly tumbled to the ground next to him, my head spinning and my heart pumping. I yelled at the top of my voice. Zybandian laid back and looked at the cloudy sky.
Congratulations! You have placed your trust wholly in your horse, you have flown the trail, swam through the clouds. You have mastered horse riding levels 2 & 3. Not bad for an almost-Petreyen.
“Few, and I can count them on one hand, ever visit this place.” Zybandian’s voice pulled me away from my notifications. “This was Sakina’s retreat. It is called Sweet Haven, after wild moss that grows within the spray of the waterfall. Its pool is a sight to behold, and I wanted to show it to you.”
“Why?” I asked, my mouth impulsive as ever, and I settled next to him.
“Ha!” Zybandian cried. “They may think I’m some dumb lord, those over-puffed wizards, but when you stray into my land and drink ale in my inn, run in my rain...” He touched his temple. “You should be prepared for me to know your business. I have the hardest ground to till, the grimmest life to offer, yet my mines are full, my halls resound to bawdy song. Ask yourself this, Alexa Drey, why did they not complete the journey last night?”
I regarded Zybandian with new intrigue, and tried to work through his thinking. “They…” but my words stuck. “You knew everyone, except me. In delaying, they made it clear that they were hiding something from you.”
He tilted his head one way then the other. “Maybe. I think they were clawing at every hour to keep you to themselves, and I can see why. Never before have I galloped that path, but something about you made me want to. You are fresh, Alexa, new, and there’s a raw power about you.”
I blushed from head to foot. All I managed was a “Thank you.”
He sprang up. “Come, I must show you something.” He held out his hand.
I took it, and he pulled me up. I don’t mind saying; he intrigued me.
We trod on the clover toward the cleft of the glade where I saw a stream vanish into a crack in its floor. I bent and took a handful of water. It’s vitality flooded through me. We walked upstream toward the waterfall, arm in arm.
The glade narrowed as we neared its end, and the trees crowded around us, the mist from the waterfall enchanting the air. Then we closed on the pool, its water rippling before spilling out. Zybandian drew to a halt. “This is as far as I go,” he said.
I nodded; somehow I knew he would stop there. I crept around the lake, taking each step like I was walking on thin ice. A small, rocky ledge, glistening with spray, ran between the waterfall’s drop and the sheer rock behind. I stepped along it and came upon a small cave. It was jagged, scruffy, with scree and shard scattered around. A sapphire glowsphere sprayed its light around, hovering in the cave’s center just above head height. Rocky ledges on the walls were dappled in a sweet-smelling moss, no doubt the one the glade was named after, soaking up the humid air. I scanned around searching out a clue as to what to do. A small, black fissure appeared before me, I tried to venture forward, but my legs were shaking. Somehow I knew there would be no turning back.
I took a breath. Slowly, I crept forward, the fissure no more than a couple of feet wide. Rock soon flanked either side of me, tearing at my shoulders, and from the dark of the fissure, I saw a glimmering light. I walked into it, and it opened up to a hollow with walls of sparkling diamond, just like a huge geode hewn in two. A woman stood before me. She wore her sable hair long and straight; her skin shimmered, radiating sheer power. Gray eyes pierced my soul.
“Sakina,” I whispered.
“Yes, my child.”
I reached out to touch her, but my hand passed through the vision.
“Your friend Billy, the scourge of Striker Bay...” and she smiled, “has granted me these few moments before I must depart the lands to walk the silver streams of Talayeh with my mother. Please listen to what I say; my time is short. I would ask you so much, but fear the greater task is heavy and fraught with peril. The land is in turmoil, they have forgotten the one true purpose. Yet that is so mixed up I can’t possible burden you with it. So I say this Alexa Drey, I have sown the seeds of a way. The way is in the form of a quest, and each leads to another until such a time as you can see your own way. There are seven quests as there are seven veils. Do you truly accept The Veils Of Lamerell, for now, and only now, can you refuse the quest and let the veils pass to another?”
Her light grew, and I knelt. Every sensible bone in my body wanted to refuse her. Every reasoned thought lent the same answer. But the loving eyes of Greman, Shylan’s snarky smile, and Cronis’s blistered face, and Petroo, Marista, and Flip all cascaded over my vision. And the fallen king of the dwarves, and the grouchy set of Gromolor’s lips, all combined, and I drew my shoulders square and straightened my back.
“I accept the quest of The Seven Veils of Lamerell.”
“Again.”
I looked her in the eye. “I accept the quest of The Seven Veils of Lamerell.”
She shimmered and faded a little.
“Again,” she whispered.
“I accept the quest of The Seven Veils of Lamerell.”
“Thrice said.”
“Hold on,” I cried as she began to fade.
“We will meet once more.” Her voice whirled around me, and the diamonds faded, and I was left standing in a dark, dank hollow.
Congratulations! You have accepted the quest trail, The Veils of Lamerell.
I blinked and nothing changed. I confess it was a vague hope. I wanted Sakina to be alive again; I wanted to walk the glade with her. Sakina, the power of the apparition, had left me stunned. What force could kill her, and how was I to better her efforts? How was I to defeat what she could not?
Fear ran rampant through me. I felt faint. Surely I would be swatted away like an annoying fly, stamped on like an insignificant ant. No matter how hard I stared at the rock before me, it was now just a rock. I turned and with unsteady steps staggered away, and I left that hollowed-out room. As I walked through the fissure, I began to make out a spear of light, at least, that is what it looked like. It grew from the cave’s rocky floor and into the glowsphere, and another crossed it about two feet off the floor. An arc of glowing white then appeared on the ground before it, and I stopped on the fissure’s edge.
Within the light, standing on the stone, was a spinning, glowing sword, the arc on the floor clearly its scabbard. Inching toward it, its spin slowed, until, when I reached for it, it stopped and accepted my grip. The scabbard vanished, appearing at my side, strapped itself around my waist, and its glow dulled.
I lifted the sword and saw it was the color silver, though I did not know what it was actually made of. Its grip seemed to mold to my own. A diamond was looped within its pommel, and that was the extent of its decoration, the cross guard being a simple design, and its blade, exactly that. Touching it to my nose, I mouthed the words “Thank you” and closed my eyes, holding the moment.
But moments must pass, and I sheathed the sword and marched out to the waterfall, the ledge, the glade, and made toward the lord of that place. I hesitated, and ran back in, the seed of a thought passing through me. I pulled out my sack and opened its neck. The glowsphere spun above me, but steadily dropped into it. I drew the string and slung it over my shoulder. I had plans for that glowsphere.
Congratulations! You have been given The Sword Of Light.
The Sword Of Light, Strike 25/30, Lethal Blow +2% Chance, Item = Precious
Congratulations! You have been given The Scabbard Of Light
The Scabbard Of Light, Vitality +25, Item=Precious
Nodding to myself, I let a little grin slip. By my reckoning there was one more attribute I had to level up fast—Strength—for surely I’d need more of that to wield such a beast of a weapon. My days would certainly be full. But what of the quest? What of The Seven Veils of Lamerell? I checked my stat board, and there was just the overall quest—not the first Sakina had talked of. I
gulped at its reward.
Lord Zybandian was waiting, standing in the glade’s center, like he was master of all. I strode toward him.
“I want to see her body,” I said.
“Why?”
“Because she said I would see her one more time.”
“Then,” he said, his deep voice reverberating through me. “We are at an impasse.”
“Why?”
He led me over to a small bench that I had not noticed before, and I saw that it was edging the leaves of a stout jaspur tree—how I’d not seen that either, when I entered the glade, I could not believe, though the trees did have a habit of just popping up. He swept his hand out, and I sat.
“Nice sword,” he muttered, slumped, his hands outstretched and clasped, knuckles white.
“This old thing,” I said, and tried to laugh.
“You cannot see her body, because she made me promise her that.”
“But why?”
I could see every word pained him. His eyes were screwed up in sorrow, like he was a mighty dam of emotion. He sighed, as though to ease its pressure. “Because she did not want you to see her ruined.”
“She knew?”
“That you were coming, or her death was, or both? I think both. It was obvious something was up. War is a costly hobby, even for one such as ShadowDancer. You cannot sustain an army and let it knock on a closed gate forever. Troops need feeding, clothing, arming, burying. The land around them is usually ruined, the land behind them sacked and deserted. Yet he still maintains. Sometimes no more than a hundred, and they keep well away.
“Other times, it is as many as five hundred, and they may skirmish. I have a theory that the build-ups coincide with pilgrimages, testings, or some such thing—a new religion is gaining sure footing in the Lowlands. Or I may be wrong—it could be a way for exiles to kill themselves, or punishment for thieves, adulterers and dissidents.”