by Ember Lane
Flip was chuckling away. “The question is,” he said. “What do you, Marista, and Cronis have in common?”
“We are all—” Shylan made to say.
“Yes,” Flip interrupted. “You are all powerful wizards, sorcerers, whatever. Doesn’t Greman have degrees of magic? Don’t I?”
“No one knows quite what you’ve got,” Shylan grumbled.
Flip leaned forward on his mount. Never before had I seen someone so packed with mischief and glee. He was hiding something. He knew exactly what was happening.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you three registered heroes of the land?”
It was as though his words were bait cast upon the shimmering, silvery water of a broad, fast-running brook. They hung in midair, like glimmering feathers, before kissing the water’s surface. Shylan’s head tilted upward, his lips widened, and he swallowed, hook and all.
“Heroes?” he said, with a twist upon his saddle.
His eyes widened, smoldering behind his draping hair, and his lips curled back. At first I thought I saw the beginnings of a smile hatching, but then I saw it for what it was, a grimace, one that soon turned to a scowl of rage.
“Heroes?” he said, again. “You think that someone is hero hunting?”
Greman laughed coarsely and pulled the cart up. “It would explain a lot. I pondered the idea of magical quicksand, but all I could come up with were ley lines, and god knows they haven’t existed since Poleyna ruptured the lot of them.”
Marista poked her head through the cart’s canvas. “Hero hunting explains everything. It explains why Greman was curiously unaffected, and your own allegiances are so flighty that you could never be regarded as a hero,” she told Flip.
He sniggered. “I have my allegiances, wanderer, but I don’t choose to put my mark on a scroll for any king or queen.”
“This new land needed validation.”
Raking his raggedy hair, Flip’s grin grew bigger. “And yet with three heroes such as you all, it still fell into wrack and ruin.”
I sensed the air growing heavy with tension, and saw Star emerge from the wagon then instantly slink back into it.
“We were otherwise occupied,” Marista said, stiffly.
“We were trying to find her,” Shylan muttered.
“We were seeking the truth,” Cronis added.
“Some heroes,” Flip said. “But my point stands. This pull is the pull of a crafted script. One of you will have to answer now it’s tasted your presence.”
The crackle of fevered thought filled the road.
“It can’t be me,” Shylan muttered. “I have business with the king.”
“Nor me,” said Cronis. “I must replenish my potions and recharge my spells at Spillwhistle’s. It’s not often a chance comes along to visit her establishment.”
“Poppycock,” Marista said. “You’re both going, and you’ll give the caster of this script a piece of my mind for me.”
“We are?” Shylan and Cronis both said.
“Don’t you want vengeance?” she asked Shylan.
“I want to grind his bones to dust,” the wizard growled.
“And don’t you want to study the script that was so powerful it dragged us off a road?” she asked Cronis.
“I want to tear it down, reduce it to its sum and see if I can recraft it. It is surely a script to be learned from.”
“Good,” Marista said. “Greman, drive on, we’ll meet them in Brokenford.”
“Hold on,” I shouted. “I’ll go with them. I should see more of the land, and this road’s kinda boring.”
“I shall accompany them too. We need strong hands in case the script pulls them through the mountains themselves,” Flip announced.
Star jumped out of the back of the wagon, unhitched her horse and mounted it. “I shall come too. I’ve hogged your precious time too much of late, Marista.”
Marista’s eyes darted from Star to me, and back.
“Very well,” she said and then started nodding. “No, that works for me, Flip, and I can’t believe I’m saying this; you appear to be the sensible one of the group. I shall hold you responsible for a timely journey. Deal with this hero hunter, then meet Greman and me at the Fiddler’s Riddle on Keep Street as soon as you’re done.”
Greman beamed. “We won’t drink all the ale,” he crowed.
I could have tripped over Shylan’s bottom lip, but he turned and headed his horse west and in among the trees. Star drew alongside me as I watched the cart clatter along the road and away.
“Thank Lamerell for that,” she whispered. “The woman was boring me senseless.”
“What have you been up to?” I asked. I’d hardly talked to her since Merrivale—she’d been in Poleyna’s shadow the whole time.
“She’s been teaching me about the worlds beyond the mists; about Sharreff, Kataspay, Zhang Zhou, and Trappas Shyl—all of them.” Star grunted. “Like I’ll ever get to venture beyond the mists.”
“But you can’t travel through them, can you?” I asked, and felt foolish right away. I’d been told more than once that this land was cut off.
“There are smuggling routes. I’ve heard whispers of one stretching from Quislaine to Horn’s Isle—a rope that pulls a boat through the mists—but it is just that, a rumor. If someone were to try, their minds would be crisped and they’d be no more than a walking husk.”
I pursed my lips and said no more, following Star into the thick of the trees. The air was instantly heavy, laden with moisture. Coniferous trees burst upward, some like the great redwoods from my home, from Earth, their trunks so large that they almost became a massive bark wall, and they humbled me, making me feel small, insignificant, and ant-like. Around them, fallen bark made it look like the forest floor was carpeted in rich walnut, and where any light managed to break through, its magical beams sprayed down on an oasis of green that resembled emerald barrows.
The land was sheared, constantly sloping up or down, heading for a brook, or stream, or reaching for a crest, or ridge. Down and up we went, our line straight, guided by the pull from the west. Flip started whistling a tune, its melody echoing around us, trapped within the press of the forest. We rested on jutting rocks, drank from gurgling brooks, and on we forged, until Shylan raised his hand, then pointed.
At first I saw nothing apart from the forest, but then I saw Flip tense, and Star unsling her bow, and Cronis bring out his hideous, black staff. I drew my sword, silently. Shylan coaxed his mount forward.
I smelled the corpse before I saw it hanging there. An old man, much older than Lincoln, his skin stretched over bones, his clothes no more than rags, and his feet, bare. Foul-smelling ichor dripped from his toes, draining his body. A single arrow protruded from his belly, its fletching red and ocher.
“The king's men did this,” Shylan grumbled, and he turned to me. “Cut him down.” Shylan rode around the dangling body.
Riding up to him, I sliced the rope, and the body fell with a dull thump, throwing up the smell of its rot. I nearly gagged as I rode on; no part of me even considered burying the poor soul. What had Billy told me? The rotting parts stay up top, the soul in the Endings River. So the land would soon eat his shell. We stumbled upon the village soon after.
I say village in the loosest terms. It was huts and tree houses, no more than that. It appeared to be a bolt-hole away from this land’s civilization, but one that had clearly been found.
“Were these folk bandits?” Star asked.
Cronis sat back in his saddle. “No, this is no refuge for the desperate. Just forest folk, disturbed by a king that sees them as mere numbers.”
“I don’t understand,” I blurted, but I did—I’d seen it before, back on Earth.
“He bolsters his army with militia,” Flip explained. “They make for good ballista fodder, and their bodies will hinder the advance of the king’s enemies.” He jumped off his horse. “But it makes for a good place to camp. We have shelter, and we have a stream. What do
you say, Shylan; shall we call it a day and rest here?”
Shylan appeared to mull the question, but not for too long. “I’ll be honest,” he said. “I’d half expected to have found the script’s source by now. Its influence is vast indeed. Alexa, Star, you are in charge of the hunt. Flip, can you drag that thing away.” He pointed toward the corpse. “Cronis, you’ll make the fire.”
A deep and foul sound emanated from Cronis’ mouth, followed by, “And what are you going to do, oh mighty one?”
“I shall scout around and make sure we’re alone.”
Cronis roared. “You’ve the agility of a tortoise and the stealth of an ogre. How many decades since you scouted anything? Missing your favorite apachalant, are you?”
“Harrumph!” Shylan grunted. “If I called, he would come, but we’ll not need him this night. The forest is quieter than a gnome in a dwarf mine. Now, do your chore, and I’ll do mine.”
I looked at Star, and she at me, and we jumped off our horses and hitched them to an low-hanging branch. We both knew the wizards would argue for an age. Walking off into the woods, Star stayed close to the stream.
“It’ll make for a good marker, should we stray too far. How long do you think they’ll argue for?”
“Until one gets cold and the fire needs making.”
Star started planting her feet carefully and suddenly I noticed I couldn’t hear anything, not her footsteps, nor her breath, or even the rustle of her clothes. I started to mimic her, seeking out the spots she trod in, mirroring the way she moved, until I was silent too, well, silent…ish.
Congratulations! You move like a groarg thundering after a croxen. You have opened the skill Stealth. You are level 1.
Stealth? Now that seemed a handy skill.
We followed the stream, rock by rock, tree by tree, silent step by silent step, until Star crouched down, and I followed suit. I could hear grunting, rustling, snorting, and so I cast my perception forward.
Wild Boar—Level 6
Wild boars bolt when frightened, mostly. Some turn and fight and gouge their tormentors.
Status—Hungry
I tried to see how big it was, but Star waved my inquiring head down. She un-shouldered her bow, nocked an arrow, and crept forward.
“Be a piece of cake,” she said. “It’s only a 6.”
I followed, employing my new stealth skill; the footfalls I needed to make had become suddenly clearer. Then I saw it, black as night, its fur shimmering in the sunbeams. It was rooting around the strewn bark, sniffing away at unseen treasures. Star raised her bow and loosed its arrow. It plunged home with a dull thud. She nocked another, but the beast turned, its eyes settling on us for a mere moment before it charged.
Star jumped straight out of the way, but it took me by surprise. Ramming me in the belly, it bucked its neck and tossed me aside, sending me crashing into a tree trunk with a bang.
Damage! You have received 38. Health remaining 462/500.
It banked sharply and was on me in a flash, its snout crashing into my midriff. I felt its bite, a slashing bite that ripped the flesh from my leg. Pushing down on its thrashing head, I tried to free the lower half of my body. I could smell my blood and see the flashing red messages that told me I was losing this battle—to a level 6 overgrown pig. Grabbing hold of an overhead branch, I pulled myself up, smashing my booted feet down on its head. Another arrow thudded into its hide, and it turned and eyed Star.
As it charged her, I dropped to my feet, my blood-soaked leg giving way. Star skipped over the charging boar as if she was just playing with it. She’d already shouldered her bow and now had a knife in her hand, one she plunged into the boar as it turned and charged her again. It flew past her and set its sights on me, probably clear in its mind that I was the easiest target.
Jumping up, I faced it and drew my sword. Star had her bow back in her hands, and another arrow slammed into the beast’s rear. It lurched forward as the arrow hit home, and I held my sword out, letting the beast impale itself, crushing me against the tree trunk. Its dying eyes stared out at me, as it slumped onto the forest floor.
“A sword? To hunt?” Star said. “Now I’ve seen everything.”
“I wasn’t sure what else to do,” I said, pulling its bloodied blade out.
Star shrugged, chopping down a branch, stripping it, then tying the boar to it.
“So, they’ve taught you most things that suit them, but not how to fish, hunt, or survive. Seems Marista should have spent her time with you, not me. We’d best get back,” she said.
I picked up one end of the branch, and we set off back downstream.
“Will you teach me?”
“What I know?” Star said. “Oh I know very little about hunting. Your leg’s a testament to that. A boar no bigger than a small pig and we nearly had a disaster. No, you need a forester to teach you the ways.”
“Greman said they were boring.”
“Never met one, but who knows? There could be one hiding in the trees, lurking. What do you think they’re like?”
“Elves,” I said. “They’re like elves.”
“Ha!” Star barked. “Elves: now there could be a few of them around too.” Suddenly, I felt eyes everywhere and wondered who was out there.
I stumbled back to the settlement, my pride curiously dented. The boar had more than halved my health, and I’d only managed to kill it with a sword, and that was after Star had already weakened it.
Yes, I was stronger, and yes I’d leveled up my skills, but I still knew nothing.
Name: Alexa Drey. Race: Human. Type: Chancer.
Age: 24. Alignment: None. XP: 12,000.
Level: 7. Profession: None. Un/Al pts: 0.
Reputation: Known.
Health Points: 270/500 - Energy: 170/170
Mana: 180/180 - Shadow Mana: 0/180
HP Regen: 50/Min - EN Regen: 17/Min
MA Regen: 13/Min - SMA Regen: NA
Attributes: (Level, Bonuses)
Vitality: (12, 38), Stamina: (12, 5), Intelligence: (18, 0), Charisma: (6, 6), Wisdom: (5, 8), Luck: (7, 5), Humility: (2, 0), Compassion: (3, 0), Strength: (3, 15), Agility: (7, 0)
Skills: (Level, % to next level, Boosts %, Level Cap)
Running: (6, 14, 25, 12), Perception: (5, 33, 0, 15), Commerce: (1, 0, 0, 6), Magic: (5, 1, 0, ∞), Concealment: (5, 40, 0, 15), Night vision: (4, 6, 0, 10), Blades: (8, 9, 0, 25), Spell Casting: (2, 5, 0, ∞), Close-Q-fighting: (5, 50, 0, 25), Archery: (6, 13, 0, 28), Swordsmanship: (7, 44, 28, 20), Staff fighting: (7, 69, 0, 60), Horseriding: (3, 23, 0, 8), Climbing: (3,22,0,14), Stealth: (1,18,0,22)
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.
Subquests: The master is now the slave, his command now his prisoner. Free the gambler, end his torment, and confront one of five. Status: Incomplete. Reward: Unknown
3
Beyond The Ridge
Our adventure into the forest soon lost its gloss of excitement. The slopes, the trees, the ridges were all endless, and we’d had to double back more than once when we’d come to a ravine or impassable river, and now it looked much like we’d have to do it again. We’d walked right into a red rock face. It arced away in both directions, impassable, endless.
“I have a feeling,” Shylan said, “that what we are looking for is the other side of this.” He waved his hands as it as if the colossal, red rock was merely an inconvenience.
Star set off one way, Flip the other.
“I could climb it,” I offered, taking out my bag of grasping powder and dangling it in front of their noses.
Shylan gave me a withering look. “And what good would that do? You’d be up there, and we’d all be down here.” He sighed. “Cronis, what is this place?”
“How should I know?” He leaned forward and sniffed the rock. “It’s r
elatively new. Perhaps when Poleyna cracked the earth? The rock’s quite plain, and the trees grow far too close to it. Definitely new.”
“New like yesterday, the day before?” Shylan asked.
“New like newish. How do I know? A lot of things happened back then. This...” He waved his hands at it. “This could have been one of those things.”
Star called out. She was about fifty yards south of us.
“There’s a fissure in the rock,” she bellowed. “A carved passageway. It says ‘Joan’s Creek.’”
As he made to turn south, Shylan suddenly crashed sideways into the rock face as if the compulsion had given him a sudden tug.
“Confound this man!” he said, his voice ever rising. “I’m telling you I’m going to grind his bones to dust.”
He climbed down from the horse and brushed himself off. We led the horses south along the ridge and toward Star. Flip caught up with us just as we came to the fissure. He looked Shylan up and down. “Getting stronger?”
“We’re going to grind his bones to dust,” Cronis told Flip, nodded, then crashed into the wall himself. “To powder, I tell you, fine powder.”
I looked up at the fissure. It had carved, upward stone steps and was about four feet wide. Just by its entrance was a log sign. Burned into its timber were the words “Joan’s Creek,” with an arrow pointing up. It was possibly one of the most curious sights I’d seen since coming to the land, so out of place after the remote forest.
“Joan’s Creek,” Shylan growled. “Well, let’s go and have a talk with this Joan, whoever she is,” and he coaxed his horse in.
“It’s been traveled recently,” Star said, pointing at scuffs and scraps on the steps.
A shiver ran down my spine. I got the curious feeling that we were being watched. Coaxing my own horse forward, I entered the fissure.
