by Ember Lane
Barakdor
Book 1
The Legacy Builder -The Chronicles Of Lincoln Hart
Featuring Lincoln Hart
Book 2
Alexa Drey - The Veils Of Lamerell
Featuring Alexa Drey
Book 3
Alexa Drey - Hero Hunting
Featuring Alexa Drey. Guest Star Lincoln Hart
Book 4
The Secrets Of Starellion - The Court Of Lincoln Hart
Featuring Lincoln Hart
Book 5
Alexa Grey - The Prince Of A Cheated House
Featuring Alexa Drey. Cameo by Lincoln Hart
Book 6
Random - The Chaos Of Lincoln Hart
Featuring Lincoln Hart
Book 7
The Gates of Striker Bay
Featuring Alexa Drey
Due End of Oct 2019
Alexa Drey: Hero Hunting
Barakdor 3
Ember Lane
Copyright © 2018 by Ember Lane
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN: 9781983290459
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Ending Stats
About Barakdor
LitRPG in the real world?
LitRPG links
1
Magical Quicksand
A narrow split of angry clouds billowed black and gray. Rain pelted down, the press of the trees on the roadside lending us scant shelter. The Silver Road wound on through the forest’s thick shadows, Merrivale now a long forgotten oasis of luxury, even though we were only four days out. Shylan led, the tip of his staff glowing brightly, lighting up our way. Flip trailed just behind, like me, his hood up and chin tucked in. Cronis, Marista, Star, and Greman followed. Greman drove the cart while the other three huddled within its shelter.
I despised being in the cart. I hated staring at it.
It was a glowing, swirling, turquoise orb mounted upon a silver palm that sat on Marista’s chest, and it apparently contained Sakina’s legacy. It creeped the life out of me. It was like she was staring at me, judging me, and I knew I wasn’t worthy. Why? Every time I thought why, I laughed inside. There were a hundred reasons, a thousand, even a million.
Everyone revered her; everyone acknowledged her power, and everyone was sure her legacy would live on, that the power within the orb would be released, and the world would make sense again. Everyone trusted her, hypothesized that her death was merely a part of her grander plan, and then there was me—a mere novice to the game. One charged with unraveling her work through a series of quests.
I smiled to myself.
No longer quite the novice I was, though.
My skills had advanced nicely since we’d left Castle Zybond. I was midway through level 7 swords, and having dumped 6 attribute points into agility, I was weaving and dancing around like a seasoned veteran. My staff fighting was on the up, as were blades, archery, and close-quarter fighting. Sure, I had a way to go yet, but I was a hell of a lot stronger than I used to be. With Star’s help, I felt I actually had a handle on the whole progression thing, and if I leveled up again, I would be sure to allocate my points wisely.
Magic, that was my only bugbear. Cronis had tried; Shylan had tried, and even Marista had sat me down and explained it all, but nope, I just didn’t get it. Sure, I could do the tricks—fashion a glowsphere, lock a door; hell I’d even managed to blur a color or two, though I couldn’t make things vanish—but…nothing felt right.
They all knew it too. I’d suspected they were first confused by it all when Cronis had stopped teaching me on the way to Castle Zybond. Their recent lack of interest confirmed it. My magic skill had an infinite cap, but for some reason, it just didn’t do it for me. It was Shylan who was the most perplexed. He couldn’t understand why the land would favor me with limitless potential and then give me no affinity to use it. If he was worried at all, it was because I could turn it on…if I really had to.
So far, my magic had reared its head only when I’d been in danger, and its head was ugly—like a dragon that could swoop down and smite a village. Secretly, I think that was a larger part of the reason the wizards weren’t teaching me.
I furrowed my brow and twitched my nose.
Was that smoke I could smell?
The road straightened.
Shylan veered to its verge and fell off his horse.
For a moment, I just reined in my mount and watched. The wizard was scrabbling around in the undergrowth, appearing to fight something, yet my perception didn’t show any kind of creature. Flip had stopped too, but then galloped forward, and that spurred me into action.
I raced toward Shylan, jumping off my horse, my sword instinctively drawn, ready. Flip was crouched, poised to strike. Lifting my sword, I edged closer, closer to the shadows. Shylan was scrambling out, but as soon as he made the edge of the road, some unseen force pulled him back into the shadow’s maw. It was like a rubber band was attached to his foot.
“Don’t just stand there!” he screamed, as he clawed his way out of the tumble of brambles, but was instantly dragged straight back in.
Flip looked at me, shrugged his shoulders and signaled for me to circle around the back of the wizard.
“No! No! No! Just pull me out.”
Flip waved me on, so I ignored Shylan’s pleading. Doubling back a couple of yards, I dove into the sodden undergrowth. The forest smelled heavy with moss and mud. I let my perception roam, searching out our hidden foe, but sensed nothing more than a squirrel or two, a far-off bear, and the fleeting feeling a croxen was close by.
Brambles grabbed at my cloak, and rain dripped off its hood. My breaths came in funnels of billowing mist as I crept into the dark of the forest. I glanced at Flip. He waved his upturned finger around, and we circled, coming together behind the wizard.
“Just pull me out, you fools!” Shylan barked, still struggling against his invisible assailant.
Flip sheathed his sword and folded his arms. “It appears to be a problem beyond a blade and a strong arm.”
The set of his mouth was grim, but the corners of his lips twitched, and his golden eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Will you pull me out onto the road!” Shylan cried.
He was covered in mud, tangled in brambles and still fighting whatever was attacking him, but curiously appeared to be no worse for wear.
“I suppose we should,” Flip said, sighed, and headed off around the bramble bush.
Back on the road, Greman had pulled the cart to a halt and was sitting on its bench watching the commotion.
“I think the rain’s stopping,” he called, as if nothing was going on. He folded
his arms and crossed his legs. “Is he all right?”
“Some magical pull,” Flip said, offering Shylan his hand.
I grabbed the wizard’s other hand, and together we pulled. At first he came easily, and we’d soon dragged his body half onto the road, but then the thing—whatever it was—tugged back, and Shylan’s body snapped into the air, and lurched back toward the undergrowth. My boots slipped on the mud as I braced. Fortunately, Greman joined us, the beggle right in the middle of Flip and I. Though small, he was a powerhouse, and one heave saw Shylan lurch forward and into the middle of the road.
With a pop, he was free, and we all tumbled back, ending up in a pile on the opposite verge. Greman sat up, held his palm out and said, “There, I told you it was easing off.” As if by magic, the sun breeched the heavy clouds and turned the road into a magnificent shade of silver.
“Magical quicksand,” Shylan announced, fumbling inside his cloak for his pipe. “It would only snare the most powerful wizards in the land. Hardly a wonder that you common folk felt nothing.” He flicked back his muddy hair. “Is that smoke I can smell?”
“Alexa has magic, infinite magic,” Greman pointed out. “How come she was able to walk around it?”
“Maybe it can’t trap infinitely powerful sorcerers,” Flip offered.
Shylan groaned. “Alexa may have no magical cap, but an empty bottle of wine is just a bottle. It probably didn’t know she was even there.” He sideswiped me with a condescending look.
“Why have we stopped?” Cronis poked his head around the back of the wagon.
“Magical quicksand,” Greman told him.
“What?” he shouted back, cupping his ear.
His hair was finally growing back, and the bald patches were now covered with the short, white down. He jumped down from the wagon. “What?” he called again. Greman made to answer, but Shylan’s hand shot out and clamped around his mouth.
“Unicorn,” he shouted back. “There’s a unicorn over the trail. We didn’t want to scare it.”
“Unicorn?” Star’s head shot around the wagon, quickly followed by the rest of her as she darted around it, running past Cronis and staring into the forest. “Where?”
“What?” Marista shouted, emerging herself. “What’s all the fuss?”
“Unicorn,” Cronis barked back.
“Nonsense,” she said. “Unicorns only inhabit Cendryl.” She barged past Cronis and Star.
“Oh no!” Shylan cried, scrambling up. “Marista, no!” He dashed forward, but Marista was beyond the horses, staring into the forest.
All of a sudden her belly lurched forward. “Eh?” she said, then her feet slid out from under her, and she was dragged toward the roadside. “Shylan!” she growled.
Shylan dashed forward, but stopped in the middle of the road, teetering on the edge of some unseen line. I jumped up, surging past him, grabbing at Marista as she was pulled through the mud.
“Unicorn?” she cried, before the brambles swallowed her up.
Darting around the thorny bush, Star and I intercepted her body, grabbing her and stopping her sliding farther into the forest. Her teeth were gritted in rage. She looked like she was about to burst. Greman and Flip reached in through the bush, grabbing her outstretched hands.
“Heave!” they both cried together, and Marista jerked forward.
“Heave!” they shouted again, and Star and I shoved her forward.
“Heave!” And with a pop she was out, with the three of them tumbling toward…
I sprang out of the forest just in time to see Shylan galloping away.
“By Lamerell, I’m going to kill him,” Marista growled. She was sitting on the muddy road, covered in slurry and nettle. Her hair was plastered to her wet face. “I’m going to find him, and I’m going to kill him…slowly. And when I’ve killed him, I’m going to find a necromancer to raise him from the dead, and I’m going to kill him again, and again.” She stood, looking along the road.
“And again.”
“At least the sun’s come out,” Greman said, clearly reveling in the day.
Marista turned. Greman scooted for the wagon. We soon set off in pursuit of the fleeing wizard.
“Is that smoke I can smell?” Star asked, and we all picked up our pace, the road bending east and south.
“We should be closing on Thickwick soon,” Greman called out. Little appeared to be able to upset the beggle today.
Thickwick was truly a welcome sight when it came; though riding with Marista was like accompanying a primed trebuchet, with an ax falling toward its straining rope. Her mood hadn’t lightened…at all.
Even the sight of Thickwick’s tavern didn’t lift her spirits. Set back in a crescent of green grass, the homey tavern appeared to be singlehandedly holding back the surge of the tall trees around it. Smoke puffed from a brick chimney that poked out of its thatched roof, and upstairs balconies jutted from its plastered front, the white paint long yellowed by the sun. The clearing looked quite heavenly, with three or four buildings opposite making up a tiny hamlet. Shylan was supping ale, straddling a picnic table out front, not far from the tavern’s little green door. Yes, homey would describe Thickwick’s tavern.
Marista jumped down from the cart’s bench, bounding toward the seated wizard.
“This should be interesting,” Flip mused, ever the one to enjoy other folk in trouble.
As she closed, Marista appeared to rear up in height, as though her power was gathering, readying. But just as she reached him, the door to the tavern opened, and the largest man I’d ever seen ducked out from under it. He stood behind Shylan.
“Is this her?” the giant asked the wizard.
“It is,” Shylan said, imperiously.
“You can’t be hurting my friend, lady. Not here; not now.”
“Stay out of it, Giant,” Marista hissed.
“Pete,” the giant said. “My name’s Pete, and this place is half mine. Half a tavern for half a giant.”
“This is none of your business,” she growled, glaring at the seated wizard.
Shylan merely supped his ale, then said, “Really, Marista, why would you wish to bring confrontation to Pete’s threshold?”
Marista started to pace up and down.
“You! You are the most annoying wizard in the nine lands. You! You just—”
“Had a bath filled with boiled water just for you?” Shylan interrupted.
“You run around causing bloody chaos—everywhere you go. You and that old man who professes to be mythical—”
“Mystical,” Cronis corrected, nervously.
Marista stopped. Cronis shrank back behind the wagon.
“Did you say bath?” she muttered.
“Indeed,” Shylan said. “A bath in the nicest room that Hunter’s Lodge has to offer.”
“Hunter’s…”
“Hunter’s Lodge,” said Pete, the giant, well, half-giant. “Half a tavern for—”
“For half a giant,” Marista said, dismissively. “Bath, you have a full bath or just half a one?”
Pete rested his huge hand on Shylan’s shoulder. “I’m not sure I like her too much. She’s mean. Reminds me of the folk in Brokenford.”
“Trouble, Pete?” another voice rang out. I looked toward the tavern’s front door. A woman was leaning on its frame. She looked to be elfish, not that I’d ever seen an elf. “Only some travelers, well, they’re welcome to keep traveling. We can live without their gold, can’t we, Pete?”
“Sure can. We’ve got our crops out back, and ale inside. We’ve got goats, and a forest full of meat. We’ve got beds packed with dried leaves and two baths—one currently steaming. You might as well take that, Allaise.”
Marista stopped strutting, holding still for just a moment. “You’re not off the hook yet, Wizard.” She marched toward Allaise. “Now,” she said, steering the woman into the tavern. “Let’s not make any hasty choices.”
2
Westward
A fragile truce
reigned the next day, and no more than that. The tavern had been homey, welcoming in the end, and pleasant, but the night had been one for aching bones, empty stomachs, and sleep. Even the magnificence of the ale hadn’t propped our weary eyes open, and it was a truly precious thing. I’d never tasted ale like it, so smooth, so fruity. We’d all wanted to stay another day or so, but Beggle beckoned, and Brokenford was a mere week or more away. And so, with heavy hearts, we bid farewell to Allaise, the half-elf, and to Pete, the half-giant, and we set off south along the Silver Road toward Irydia’s capital city.
Later that morning, the road bent west, and Flip slowed his mount, waiting for me to catch up. “Now,” he said, his expression one of overflowing mischief. “If my thoughts are correct, any moment now and…”
Shylan fell off his horse, dragged once more toward the western verge.
“Insufferable!” he shouted, as he scrambled away, seeking refuge on the other side of the road.
Greman steered the cart toward him. “Can’t be two spots of magical quicksand,” he said gaily. “Must be something else. Something that only affects—”
“Powerful wizards,” Shylan muttered, getting up and picking his way along the road’s edge and jumping back on his horse.
“Is it?” Cronis barked from the back of the wagon.
“Another spot? No,” Shylan replied, emphatically. “I’m beginning to think some deeper devilry is at work.”
