Alexa Drey- the Gates of Striker Bay

by Ember Lane

  “Or close enough that a simple set of skips, steps, and jumps sees the tower owner out…or in.”

  “So as a thief—”

  “As a thief, yes.”

  “I should spend my first hours searching close to the entrance.”

  Faulk clicked his fingers. “Close, but you die again.”

  “So what should I do?” Pog nigh shouted in frustration.

  “You should spend your first hours watching to see what entrance is used. What if the tower has a secret exit?”

  “Got it,” said Pog, and we walked up in silence while Pog ruminated on his new information.

  As we climbed, I sensed their presence. It was familiar now, an overbearing soup of oneness—a thick conscious with a focused will, and that was focused in a single direction. I sensed they were searching for me, for us, but looking far away, perhaps to Rakesh or Speaker’s Isle, but certainly not here, not right underneath their noses.

  I wondered what to do—how to approach it. Everything here was too calm. The knock of a chisel, the bite of a saw, were the only things that broke the vast emptiness of the place. Faulk glanced at me, his gaze dropping to my palms. I realized I was wringing them together, that they were sweating as was I.

  “Worried about the trap? I won’t let it go off by mistake.” Faulk said those words, but the meaning behind them was entirely different. I didn’t understand why, but Faulk’s concern was reassuring. He knew I was up to no good but had decided to trust me and help anyway. That kind of trust was so precious to me.

  We reached the top, a disc of marble spreading away; empty, devoid of furnishings, just a sole flight of steps leading up to the tower’s crown. A young priest, perhaps a few years younger than me, guarded it.

  Upon seeing us, he immediately marched over, waving his hand, telling us to go.

  “Out, out, out!” he cried. “You can’t be up here. We have the furnishings due today. Out!”

  Faulk retreated to the stair’s head, taking Pog with him. “I’d suggest your time has come, Alexa. My silk tongue won’t turn this one in our favor.”

  The priest marched toward me, his head now as red as a tomato and threatening to burst. His shouts disturbed the quiet tranquility of the place. I sensed the tug of the combinium's focus wavering and straying back here. I couldn’t afford that to happen. I strolled up to the priest, confident, ready for him, releasing a jot of magic, a single bullet, and imagining a neat hole in his forehead. He dropped in midstride, scuffing his face on the marble before skidding to a halt. Stepping over his body, I pushed my hood back, equipped my black knight’s staff, and marched up the steps into the heart of the demon.

  Cool efficiency wafted through me. I was ready for this. I’d done it before. I felt their heat, the power of their confusion. Their combined consciousness understood that one part was missing, and distracted, they stopped their search for me and hunted him out.

  But as they looked for him, they found me, and their minds immediately recoiled. I tipped the black knight's staff forward and sent a stream of magic along their retreating thread. A flash of brilliant light exploded above me, followed by the screams of the blinded and blistered. I saw them all, some holding their burned eyes, backing away from their cauldron, others staring in horrified terror.

  I could have backed away there and then. The job was done, and so were they. But my power overflowed. It demanded sating.

  And I’d promised Mezzerain a sign.

  At the top of the stairs, chaos reigned. Of the dozen priests, all but three or four were writhing in pain, clawing flesh from their ruined faces. I sent some simple magical bolts into them, put them out of their misery, even though they probably didn’t deserve it.

  “You were looking for me?” I said, facing up to those who still stood, challenging them to come back with something.

  They began chanting, forming an open semicircle, trying to regroup, but having no faith in their magic in the face of mine. I poured my mana into their cauldron, making the flames leap high, letting them lick at the tower’s crown. Arched timbers caught, setting the roof ablaze—Mezzerain’s sign—surely he wouldn’t miss that!

  A crack of black magic reached toward me, but I countered it easily, forming a small, round, arcane shield of fizzing, blue magic. Ignoring the priests' feeble efforts, I bled more mana into the fire, sensing conjoined webs, other towers. I wanted those towers to feel true fear, and with a stamp of my staff, I sent my temper to them.

  Another fizz of black magic crackled toward me. I quickly sank to one knee, holding my shield over me, taking the hit, accepting their pathetic power, and harvesting their dark mana at the same time, before I sent it back to them in a scathing sheet of silver power.

  It cut through the fire’s top then each of their bodies in turn. They stared down for a moment not quite believing they could be undone this easily, but then their torsos sprayed crimson, and their bodies slid apart, one toppling through an open window. But rather than revel in my simple victory, I stared into the fire, taunting him to come, like he’d taunted me all that time ago in Castle Zybond.

  “Show yourself!” I demanded. “Fight me now.”

  But no answer came, no taunts from ShadowDancer, and for a moment, I wondered if I were of such small consequence. I checked my mana levels, surprised to see them recharging, amazed to see how those levels had grown, my power now much larger than it had been in Kyrie. I poured even more into the cauldron, letting the fire rage, and then retreated down the stairs to see Pog and Faulk backing toward me. A group of Ruse’s guards stood warily at the top. Faulk was talking softly to Pog.

  “You see the beauty of a trap when it’s known to be there?”

  The soldiers inched carefully forward, tapping at the tiles with their spears, searching for Faulk’s handiwork.

  “But it’s not primed,” Pog said way too loudly.

  That small slipup gave the soldiers the confidence they needed, and they raced forward as one. A wall panel dropped, and a dozen spears fizzed toward them, skewering them to each other and then picking them up and pinning them to the opposite wall. More barks, more cries, and a fresh flood of soldiers appeared.

  Faulk retreated to the fallen wall panel, dragging Pog with him. “This way,” he cried, and so I darted toward him, sending a few magic bolts toward the soldiers, a flash and a bang, enough to make then cower.

  “Can you do a thunderclap and plenty of smoke?” Faulk asked, and I immediately conjured a glowsphere, sending it floating toward the soldiers. They backed away, wary of the mesmerizing orb. I let it get close then filled it with shadowmana until the glowsphere exploded with a flash and a tumultuous bang, plumes of billowing smoke engulfing all.

  Faulk grabbed me, pulling me with him, and he stepped into the wall, the trapdoor closing, and silence briefly falling around us.

  “I’m fairly sure you could have blasted your way down those steps, but I think this will keep them confused while we circumvent them.”

  I heard a lever pulled, and we began dropping.

  “Alexa, some light please,” Pog asked, strangely polite for the situation.

  I let the black knight's staff conjure it for me. We descended steadily, the shaft was a uniform mess of cogs and wires, levers, and secret doors. Pog’s wide eyes searched out Faulk’s every secret. The trapmaster, though, only had eyes for me.

  “Can you finish what you just started?”

  “No,” I replied. “I can’t win on my own.”

  He accepted my answer. “But you can set them on their way to freedom?”

  “That is our intent. I am not alone, though. Things should be afoot in Douglas.”

  Faulk nodded, and we clunked to a halt. “After you,” he said with a mischievous grin, and he flicked a latch, and the door opened up to confusion and chaos.

  A few priests strutted around like fattened turkeys, directing a stream of soldiers up the spiral steps. I emerged, standing my ground, planting my feet. I smashed the black knight’s sta
ff on the floor, letting its thunder crack out again.

  “It’s time to fight, Valkyrians. Fight for your land; take back what is yours.” As soon as my words were done, I sent my magic forward in a blistering attack, blowing the priests to smithereens, sending a tower of flame up the stairs, and finally turning, composing, and dispatching a great gout of flames into Faulk’s secret shaft.

  They had no answer to my power, none of them, and as Faulk and Pog led the workers out, I completed my destruction, setting the tower ablaze and ending the combinium's stranglehold on Douglas.

  I backed out of there, not happy until every timber was lit, and then I turned and saw the boats departing the small island, and I jumped in the last, with Pog and Faulk, and I crouched down and took a breath.

  “What’s your name?” a man asked, his face blackened like he’d washed in coal.

  “Alexa Drey,” I told him, and he grinned, reached out, and offered me his hand.

  “You did good work this day, Alexa Drey, very good work.” He began to laugh, the type where relief floods through. It rippled around the boat as if the war was already won.

  The tower was done, no more than a chimney funneling its own destruction. Halfway to the shore, and we saw its crown topple, falling into the shallow sea.

  Battle raged on the wharf: Mezzerain, Sutech, and Melinka had been busy spreading the word. I stood, pulling my hood back up and holding the black knight's staff out. I let its orb glow crimson, and everyone cowered into the boat’s hull.

  Picking out a soldier here and a soldier there, I began my sniping, thinning Ruse’s numbers before I’d even set foot on the wharf. When I did, I truly let loose, marching forward like a one-woman army, clearing them all—killing Ruse’s piecemeal militia, setting light to their every pennant as I marched upward to the fort.

  By the time I got there, its gates were open, and its battle was done. Ruse’s banner lowered, and Valkyrie’s flew again, so I turned, and I marched back to The Pickled Trout, sitting at the bar and demanding ale, my thirst suddenly unquenchable.

  “Let me get that,” said Faulk, and he dumped his tool bag on the counter and pulled up a stool. “Just a few, mind.” He winked at me. “I have to be frugal with my coin; I appear to have lost my job.”

  Congratulations! You have liberated Douglas. The land awards you 2000 XP.

  Congratulations! You have destroyed an enemy tower. The land awards you 1500 XP.

  Congratulations! You have exceeded 90,000 XP. You have leveled up. You are now level 23. You have 6 unallocated attribute points.

  I allocated my points to agility. I had the feeling that it would come in handy. It seemed my mana no longer needed my intelligence’s influence to grow. Long term, a mistake? Who knew? But there was fighting to be done, angles that needed opening up, and agility appeared to be the attribute that suited my needs to a tee.

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

  Age: 24. Alignment: The House of Mandrake. XP: 91,064.

  Level: 23. Profession: Chooser. Un/Al pts: 0. Reputation: Known.

  Health Points: 550/550 Energy: 510/510 Mana: 12,967 Shadow Mana: 11,776

  HP Regen: 55/Min EN Regen: 51/Min MA Regen: N/A SMA Regen: NA

  Attributes: (Level, Bonuses)

  Vitality: (12, 38), Stamina: (12, 5)*3, Intelligence: (98, 0)*4

  Charisma: (6, 6), Wisdom: (23, 8)*3, Luck: (7, 5)

  Humility: (2, 0), Compassion: (3, 0), Strength: (3, 20), Agility: (25, 0)

  XXXXXXXXXXX

  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.

  Sub Quest: The master is now the slave, his command now his prisoner. Free the gambler; end his torment, and confront one of five. Status: Complete.

  Sub Quest: Catch a thief. Status: Complete.

  Sub Quest: Seek the Prince of a Cheated House. Canelo James lives and holds the answers. Status: Complete.

  Sub Quest: Seek Sutech Charm and tell him his daughter’s wish. Status: Complete.

  Sub Quest: Release the Witches of Speaker’s Isle that they might spread the word. Status: Complete.

  Sub Quest: Yet to be given. Status: Incomplete.

  Chapter Twelve

  Faulk’s Plan

  I couldn’t tell quite when it happened or why. Whether it was at the bar as we sat and drank, I didn't know. Or whether it was when Pog joined us, having sated his rogue-like need for mischief, I couldn’t tell you, but by the time Mezzerain came in, his eyes afire with bloodlust, and by the time Sutech Charm entered, wiping blood from his steel, Faulk had become one of us. Melinka barely registered his presence at first, merely calling us to a table in one corner, and sitting us down while other weary patrons filed in.

  It was a riot outside but one of joy tempered with fear of what was to come. Their battle was won, maybe Kyrie’s too, but there were many more yet to be fought, and not all would be in such an ill-manned backwater as this.

  “Faulk?” Melinka inquired. “Faulk what?”

  Faulk shrugged. “Don’t rightly know. Been Faulk for as long as I can remember.”

  “And you’re in the trap business?”

  “Until today, yes. Now I have a new direction.”

  Melinka lofted an eyebrow. “What would that be?”

  Faulk took a slow sip of his ale. “Teacher, I think, more a private tutor.” He shrugged. “It apparently pays quite well.”

  Pog leveled his gaze, focusing on Melinka with the intensity only children can truly muster—children and hungry dogs. “I have enough gold.”

  “Your gold is your guilds,” Melinka pointed out.

  “In your world it might be, in mine it most certainly isn’t. Besides, I’m cut off from my guild at the moment.”

  “Nonsense,” Melinka snapped. “You just have to call at the correct time, like with Star. The mists confuse, but communication is possible.”

  “I’ll wait,” said Pog, his tone offering no leeway. “When I’m back in Mandrake, I’ll ask Lincoln what I owe. In the meantime, I have a teacher.”

  “Faulk,” Melinka repeated. “Just Faulk.”

  “That’s me, ma’am.”

  Melinka gave up, not that any of us knew what she was aiming for in the first place. Sutech put his feet on the table, sitting back, and supping his ale. “I think that I technically switched sides today. My blade is stained with Ruse’s blood. Is there no end to my daughter’s meddling?”

  “Rubbish,” Mezzerain spat but without venom. “You fought with more enthusiasm than me, and I was fighting for my country.”

  “Ah, no, not quite.” Sutech swung his feet back down, sitting erect and proud. “It might have looked like more enthusiasm, but I merely lacked your clumsiness. Do they not teach the sword as an art form here? Is it merely, here’s a head, chop it off? Brutality over ballet?”

  Mezzerain reddened. “Clumsiness? Brutality? A sword’s for chopping.”

  Sutech pursed his lips, holding up his hands. “Perhaps clumsy isn’t the right word. How about rusty, then? Look at it this way, from where I stood it seemed as though you were fighting in the wrong body.”

  “Ah!” Mezzerain waved Sutech away, grabbing his ale, and sitting back with a contented look. “I’ll agree to that. I find this body a little youthful for my liking. Where I want to take things easy, pick my parries and strokes, my new, youthful self demands to be in the thick of the action. I suppose it could have looked quite…jerky.”

  Sutech clicked his fingers. “I knew something was wrong. Roland Caine looks twice the age you do, yet you boast the same history. What happened?”

  Mezzerain grinned, mischief filling him. “Ah, long story told swiftly—Alexa asked me to house a stone: part of the original Prism of Light, and in doing so, I became a younger version of what I once was.” He tousled his long hair. “Do you kno
w the worst thing about it?”

  Sutech held his hands up. “Tell me. All those young ladies again?”

  Mezzerain shook out his long hair. “Ah, but the stone was a double-edged sword in that direction. There are few young ladies on the roads we travel. No, the true downside—I’m going to suffer the pain of losing all my hair again. So would you, if you could? Would the infamous Sutech Charm tackle his youth again?”

  Sutech grunted. “Regain my adolescence? It was painful enough first time. Once is enough for me. To go through those trials, those rituals, all that learning… No, I prefer the measure of older age. Its caution suits me.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re lying to yourself?” Mezzerain challenged.

  “Lately...” Sutech said, more musing out loud than a statement, “lately, I’m not sure if the line between truth and lie has been blurred by what I can or can’t believe.” He threw his head back, grunting a laugh. “So, Faulk, you planning on sticking around?”

  Faulk considered his reply. Sutech’s question had placed a crossroads in front of him. It had stripped the banter and joke from the idea and presented it as a real option. “I’m no fighter,” the trapmaster replied cautiously.

  “For a group, we’re a little top heavy on fighters, anyway,” Mezzerain pitched in.

  “And I need my tuition.” Pog beamed. “Though if you don’t want to, that’s cool too. You just have to show me how to disarm all those traps.”

  “Perhaps,” Melinka added, “you ought to know where we are destined. Your willingness to throw your hat in with strangers troubles me. Is rebellion thick in your blood?”

  Faulk matched her stare. “Trust me, you are no stranger to me nor hundreds like me. And rebellion, no, it doesn’t color my blood, but this day, this fine hour, hope does, and that is a more powerful drug than hate.”

  Melinka mulled his words. “But tell me, Trapmaster, do you even know what dark worlds these ones are destined for?”