Alexa Drey- the Gates of Striker Bay

by Ember Lane

  My gut jerked, my legs swept from under me, and I was hefted over Faulk’s shoulder as he carried me down the stairs, tossing me into the concealed lift, slamming its secret door shut and triggering our descent.

  “What part of stealth didn’t you get?” Faulk raged.

  I gasped, pulling out my water bottle and taking a long swig. He waited for an answer but then flipped the lever as the moonlit sky suddenly appeared over us, and the lift’s shaft caught fire.

  “Sorry, they left a priest up there.”

  Faulk screamed something back, pulling the lift to a stop, triggering another door and pulling us all out. We fell onto a marble landing just as the shaft behind us exploded in a ball of flame.

  “They’re still below us!” he cried. “Run, run for your lives.”

  We took to the stairs, leaping them two at a time. Lumps of tower fell from above, marble, sandstone, twisted effigies, some plummeting down the middle, others rolling down the stairs threatening to crush us. Pog stumbled and fell, slipping on a pool of blood. A priest lay twisted and broken, Pog landing by his side.

  “Throat cut,” Faulk told me as he swept Pog up and carried on down.

  A huge clap from above, and the whole tower groaned, vast cracks snaking down its sides. We swapped fast glances before hurdling on. As we came to another floor, we sped around more carnage: another priest, two dead civilians, pools of dust-covered blood. The central fire raged now, eating at the core of tower, but we had no option but to continue down.

  Another crack rippled toward us like a black snake intent on gobbling us up. I grabbed Pog, tossing him onto the stairwell, dragging Faulk with me. The side of the tower heaved and it fell, like a skin slipping off, and suddenly we were open to the night, to the moonlit night, and the fire was fanned by the seaward wind.

  I guessed at fifty feet, but it was just a guess—the plaza below shrouded in an eerie fog that I knew was just dust and rubble. Screams filled my ears from the mortally wounded and walking wounded. We carried on down, no longer as urgent as before. The fire on one side now raged, fanned by the wind, making the stairwell impassable.

  “Rope!” Faulk screamed at Pog. “A thief always has rope.”

  Pog hesitated but then produced a vast coil of sturdy rope. Faulk grabbed it, unwinding it, and secured one end to the remnants of the great banister. He tested it once, twice, and then tossed the end over. “Pog first then you.” Pog wasted no time, clambering over and sliding down.

  “No, you go. If they muster a fight, it’ll come at me.”

  Faulk appeared to understand it and slipped over the edge. I stood there as the tower collapsed around me. The screams had muted now. I searched the plaza for any sign of the priests but could sense nothing, just carnage and death.

  Behind me, the tower groaned, and I knew it was its final cry. I jumped onto the rope, spinning around, and scrambling down as fast as my hands would let me. Leaping the final fifteen feet, I swept Pog into my arms, screamed at Faulk to run, and I flew from that plaza. Behind us, the tower crashed down, a sliding grind of acceptance followed by a huge, rolling cloud of billowing, gray dust that extinguished the moon, the stars, and all.

  We ran, and we ran on, even after the danger had passed. We just needed to be free of the dust, its stain, its cloying reach that filled our lungs until they brimmed with its choking, dry taste.

  I ran, ran away from the death I’d caused, the reality of this fight, this rebellion, upward through Pangor’s twisting, narrow streets, cresting a brief hill and then stopping, wondering and then accepting.

  They hung limp, necks twisted, some with a black cross daubed on them, others dripping blood, their expressions empty, haunted, but they hung everywhere—those who had propped up Ruse’s governance. Not all were soldiers; some looked like bookkeepers, arbiters, street scamps, but wherever there was a sturdy crossbeam, one of them swung from it, and I was sickened, sickened to my core that this place had forced these choices on us, sickened that we accepted them so readily.

  “Get me out of here,” I whispered, and Faulk grabbed me, threading a way through the avenging crowds as Pangor embraced the limitless energy of revolution.

  Local knowledge, however, proved priceless as he led us down a dead-end alley and into a dead-end inn, a scruffy counter, a dozen stools, and a simple spread of tables, and a ruddy-cheeked barman closing up.

  “No liberation celebration, Will?” Faulk asked, poking his head around the door.

  Will eyed me up and down. “You can get washed up the stairs. Come down when you’re half decent.” He leaned over his counter, appraising Pog. “You, there’s a trough out back. Scrub yer face; take that cloak off, and I’m guessing you’ll be presentable.”

  Faulk dumped his tool bag on a table.

  “How the hell did you keep hold of that?” I said as I passed.

  Faulk shrugged. “Been collecting these tools all my life, not going to lose them now over a little fracas.”

  “And they’re not going to stay there,” Will growled. “Pass them over here. You know where the faucet is, Faulk—clean yourself up. Now, I suppose you all want food. Mary!”

  Mary slid past me on the stairs, apologizing as she did. I soon found a bathroom of sorts: a tin bath, a few pitchers of lukewarm water, and a slab of what I assumed was soap. A sheet of polished tin made for a mirror, and just one glance told me I looked like hell—again.

  Under my cloak, though, the rest of me hadn’t fared too badly, so I washed up, soaping all the dust from my hair, ears, eyebrows, and nostrils, and did my best to make myself presentable with those few pitchers. Stowing my cloak into my bag of holding, I made my way back downstairs, amazed by the transformation of the place.

  A fire now raged in the hearth. Will himself had shed his dour expression and seemed almost jovial. Pog and Faulk sat at a table, three streaming bowls of broth, a huge slab of meat, and a basket of loaves taking up its center. We had wine. We had water, and we had ale.

  My stomach grumbled as I sat.

  Will walked past. “Much better,” he said and proceeded to put his Open sign out and light his wall lanterns.

  I grabbed at a slice of meat: beef, salted but warm, soaked in garlic too, and then a bread roll. I tried to pick up my spoon at the same time.

  “Slow down,” said Faulk. “We have the rest of the night. Pog laid a gold coin on the counter and that swayed Will’s mood. We’re celebrating liberation this night.”

  As I bit into my beef sandwich dipped in broth, my mistake reared its head.

  “I’m sorry about the way things turned out. I’m sorry. I got…”

  “What happened?” Faulk reached out. “And take your time.”

  Between mouthfuls, I relayed my brief tale, about how they’d been waiting, ready, strong minds, much stronger than before. “And that’s when I suddenly knew I couldn’t beat them. You see the concealment eats away at my reserves, and though I have so much more than before, it just wouldn’t have been enough.”

  “So…”

  “So I extinguished their cauldron—the focus of their power. I brought the roof down on them. Snuffed it out like a vast candle.”

  “Except that spread the fire,” Faulk said softly.

  While I’d been talking, the inn had begun to fill up. It was an even spread of men, women, and children, all enthused, overjoyed, that their suppression had ended—all raising a mug for fallen friends.

  “Folks die in war, Alexa, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. We set out to liberate this city and beat the combinium without you as its sole destroyer. Look at them—this day, we put the power of destiny back in their own hands, not yours. You are just a rumor. Some will say they saw you, fought alongside you, watched you destroy the tower, but the only thing they will truly be sure of was that they were there: their brothers, wives, girlfriends, and children. That is what you did this night.”

  “What we did,” I said, hushed, reverent.

  “What we did,” Faulk
agreed.

  “You owe me a rope,” Pog grouched then stuffed his mouth again.

  We stayed at Will’s that night, and we danced when the musician finally showed, and we drank, and we heard tales of Joss the Nine battling Ruse’s hordes, of Mezzerain battering the stronghold’s gate with a tree trunk, and of Melinka raining her fiery magic down on their priests.

  I received more XP, gained another level, and pumped the points into agility. Welcomed, but it was mana I needed—lots of it.

  Some folks even told tale of Alexa Drey standing on the ruined tower and rappelling down as it collapsed around her, but no one believed that, and why would they? Valkyrie had risen on its own. It had reclaimed Pangor and taken it back to its bosom, and if it was possible in Pangor, then it could happen in Dragnor, Horn’s Isle, anywhere, everywhere.

  So we danced, we ate. We ate like we’d never eaten, and we drank like we’d never drunk, raising our mugs time and again with toast after toast to fair Valkyrie. And when the moon had drunk enough, and it sloped away along with the musician, the crowds, some now lovers, all now friends, Will showed us upstairs, and he gave Pog and Faulk one room, and me another, and just as he shut the door, he hesitated.

  “Thank you, Alexa Drey. Thank you for everything.”

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

  Age: 24. Alignment: The House of Mandrake. XP: 97,064.

  Level: 24. 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: (31, 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 Fourteen

  Nine Tree Stumps

  The bells woke me. They flowed over me and ebbed back in a tidal ripple. Their liberation song announced Pangor’s freedom just in case anyone had missed it. My little room had a slanted ceiling with a skylight over the bed. There was only just enough room for a small table and a little half wardrobe, built to shape so it would fit the curious room.

  I’d slept in castles, under hedgerows, in burrows deep in the earth, and I’d thought fondly of a few of them in their own way, but this room, this small thirty or so square feet, was perfect. It was mine. Jumping up, standing on the bed, I looked out over Pangor, and from my vantage point the spread of its numerous dwellings rolled out like an artisan’s painting, resplendent with a fiery river, a backdrop of fields and farms, and deep green forests.

  Valkyrie was beautiful, its climate so close to where I was born—before the sun boiled. Sitting back on my bed, I decided I could stay here forever. Learn to paint? Tend the bar for my board and lodgings? Perhaps lead a normal life.

  Surely ShadowDancer couldn’t fight on so many fronts? If Valkyrie had risen, and with Mandrake yet untamed, how could he prevail? If he couldn’t, why not stay here? Wander the close alleys, the little precincts, skip down small flights of steps to discover secret, vine-clad courtyards. Drink wine while a lute was struck and pipes were blown.

  That little dream ended with a soft tap on my door.

  “Hold on,” I called, pulling my boots and top on. “Okay.” I stood waiting as Joss the Nine’s head poked around the door. He appraised the room, his nose in the air, and then bade me out.

  “Hardly room for two in there,” he said, taking the narrow stairs down.

  “You could with a squeeze,” I said cheekily.

  “Plenty of squeezing going on last night. There’s nothing like victory to fire the loins.” He reached the stair’s bottom. “And I hear congratulations are in order. You took down a tower with just the hint of your presence.”

  Joss vanished through a doorway, and I followed him into the bar. Will was already pulling ale. Breakfast was already being served, with a remarkable similarity to the night before’s dinner.

  And then I spied Melinka, Mezzerain, and Sutech Charm, sitting at a table with Pog and Faulk. I took a seat between Sutech and Pog.

  “I saved it for you,” Pog said with a wink.

  “So,” said Joss, “this is where you hid yourself last night.”

  “Hardly hid, but yes. Will was good enough to open for us. We ate. We drank some…”

  “And danced the night away,” Faulk said wistfully.

  “Befitting your clandestine victory and maintaining the illusion that you could have been here.”

  “As per our plan,” I said, sensing a catch.

  “It has, though, put us in a little bit of a position—the plan ran perfectly. The word on the street is that Alexa Drey wasn’t there. Some say she was; some say it was a ghost. Translocation—I’ve heard that too—but overwhelmingly, you weren’t there.” Joss made a steeple with his fingers, tapping them on his chin.

  I looked up, a spoonful of stew primed and waiting impatiently. “That’s a good thing, yes? That’s what we all wanted? Liberate and move on.”

  “Yes,” Joss said, “but it leads us into a delicate situation. We appointed a new governor this morning—the old one’s legs were a little short when they strung him up.”

  “Get to the point,” Melinka snapped.

  “The point is this,” Joss said. “There’s a reception tonight, and Mezzerain, Sutech, and Melinka, are all guests of honor.”

  “And you, Joss,” Melinka said, her tone more reassuring now.

  “So…”

  “So we can’t suddenly present you and Pog and Faulk as the heroes who brought down the tower.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” Melinka rolled her eyes. “You’re not invited. There, it’s said.”

  “Really? I’m not invited?”

  “Look—” Mezzerain interjected, but I waved him down.

  “Really? I’ve got the night off?” My excitement grew.

  “We thought you’d be…” Mezzerain said, his rippling forehead telling of his confusion.

  But I couldn’t contain my smile. “A whole night of doing nothing?”

  “You can come with us,” Pog suddenly said. “Faulk says there’s a dungeon close by. We’re going exploring.”

  “No, no, that’s your thing. I tried a dungeon once—didn’t like it much.” I glanced at my armband. “A whole night off.” It was a dream come true.

  “So what will you do, dear?” Melinka asked, with genuine concern.

  “Nothing, anything, exactly what I want, and I can’t wait to get started.”

  They all seemed a little put out by my easy acceptance, like they’d spent the trip over trying come up with gentle ways to break it to me, but I couldn’t imagine anything better. I was fairly sure that Lincoln’s was the last place I’d relaxed, chilled, and had a day to myself, and even then I’d felt the demon’s rage, and it had shattered my serenity.

  A whole day off.

  Love them all as I did, I just wanted to be rid of them.

  We finished up our breakfast and said our goodbyes. Pog and Faul
k went upstairs, but soon came back down. Faulk had his trusty tool bag in hand, Pog back in his cloak. They invited me along again, making pained eyes when I refused, but their conversation on the way out the door told a different tale, talk of ghostly chambers, slimes, and trapdoors.

  And so I sat on my own, a day and a night in front of me, and mused and realized I didn’t have a bloody clue what to do. Will suddenly slid in front of me. “Got no friends, Alexa?”

  “Nope.” I grinned. “They’re all off to the reception tonight, and I’m not invited.”

  He looked like his head was going to explode. “Not…”

  I reached out, touching his hairy forearms. “Don’t worry. It’s a good thing. I haven’t had nothing to do since…since forever. The only problem is, I think I’ve forgotten how.”

  Will’s face lit up. “Are you sure?”

  “Sure what?”

  “That my city isn’t doing you a great disservice.”

  “Positive.”

  “Then I know just the young man to accompany you today, if you’ll have him.”

  “You?”

  Will brushed my compliment away. “It’s been a long while since I’ve been young. Me, no, but if I can get him out of bed, my son Kaleb is well practiced in the art of doing nothing. In fact, I once heard a rumor that he was the best in the business in the art of frivolity and laziness in the whole of Pangor. I’m sure you could learn a thing or two from him.”

  “No, thank you, really. Thank you, but I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  Will got up. “No trouble. I’ll go ask him; if he says no, it’s a no.”

  I was torn, but a guide would be good. Though I was also quite happy just going for a wander. I grabbed a couple of gold coins from my bag of holding, and when Will came back down I asked if he’d change them for smaller. Sliding one back to me, he told me one would be plenty and that Kaleb had jumped at the chance of showing me around.

  I somehow doubted that.

  Kaleb, when he did finally surface, was familiar. He emerged into the bar ruffling his strawberry-blonde hair, yawning, and carrying a lute. Kaleb was the musician from the night before, and he didn’t look like he’d jumped at anything for a while.