by Ember Lane
Disembarking on the other side, Cronis forged straight for the castle. I say castle, because if it was Starellion, then that’s what it was, but it looked nothing like one. We were soon off the gravel path and walking through one of Lincoln’s little forest islands. I wondered if it wasn’t all some kind of bargain he’d made with the elves—not to disturb the place too much.
“This place will be invincible,” Star suddenly said. “If they get that wall high enough, then there’ll be no beating it. You can farm, hell, you could live forever between here and the vale and never have to leave. The sieging army could grow old and die while they waited for you to come out.”
“Yet fall it could,” growled Cronis, hitching his robe up as we waded through knee-deep grass. “What if they wake a demon, or loose a load of mutants? You’re helpless again, that’s what. Take no note of all that poppycock they were talking earlier. The only way to win a war is to slaughter your enemy and absorb the vanquished army. Meh, ya think ShadowDancer won’t have a trick or two up his sleeves when he finally breaks the mists?”
No one replied at first. The day was nice—the sky blue, and we were walking through this wondrous settlement, even city, which Lincoln was building. Cronis’ cloud of doom and my ensuing thoughts of ShadowDancer weren’t welcome ones.
“So, how do we defeat him?” Star eventually asked.
Cronis stopped in his tracks. “I just said. You slaughter him. Either we unite, take an army to Ruse and topple him, or we get a group of us together and assassinate him. One or the other would work. Oh, and there’s a third option.”
“What’s that?” Star tugged at his sleeve.
“We find Poleyna and she lays waste to Belved and ShadowDancer’s power vanishes anyway.” Cronis scratched his stubbly chin. “All long shots, but one’ll be worth a try. Now, let’s see what we have here.”
No more than fifty yards away from us, the mass of rock reared up. Every single inch of it was covered in vines, ivy, moss, and even the odd skinny tree had managed to gain a toehold on it. It was no more than a blot on the landscape, and then Cronis approached it, and I followed.
He marched up to it at first and then slowed his pace as if nerves had taken over his old legs. He stuttered, and was soon creeping toward it. When he was near enough against it, he knelt down before it, like a humble servant would. I stood on one side of him, Star the other, Elleren just behind.
We waited. His hand reached out to the wall, hovering close. Then he withdrew it, and brought out a sack from within his robe. Slowly, he drew out his staff. It was definitely the ugliest staff I’d ever seen, a spindly, knurled piece of black wood that looked like an unfashioned branch. Its end splayed three ways and held a dull, crimson ball. He thumped it on the ground, planting its pointed end in the soil.
I watched as a smoking, black line appeared in the grass and streaked toward the stone. It ran up the vines making them glow orange until they faded to powder. Cronis pulled the staff out of the ground and leaned forward, his palm outstretched.
“Hello, old friend,” he whispered, as he touched the now exposed stone.
12
Poleyna
They all stood in a line, perhaps twenty of them, as one, they loosed their bows. Arrows arced through the air all streaking majestically to a sole target, a stuffed strawman, which was soon pinned with their tips.
“Nock!” The shout sounded out. I held my breath. “Fire!”
One elf, dressed in gray and brown—unlike the green of the rest—stood stoically at the end of their line. He had that air: the type who had dark secrets, the type that spelt danger, the type that enticed. Star put her boot up on the bottom rail of the perimeter fence. “Well he’s a fine specimen,” she purred, looking over the practice area, looking over him.
“Themujin—Jin to his friends, though him and friendship have got a long way to go before they can even be called acquaintances,” Elleren muttered.
Cronis walked off toward the tavern. “He’s got trouble written all over him.”
“That he has,” I said, and raised my own boot onto the rail.
“We’ve got around two hundred elf bows getting trained up,” Elleren said. “Most any of the older elves can train them, but only Jin can teach them how to kill.”
“So, what’s his story?” Star asked.
“Killed an ogre—well, slaughtered it, more like. Got the rage and went at it tooth and nail. Funny that now he’s most likely our salvation.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because if war is coming, we’ve gotta fight, and only him—not Forgarth—can teach us that.”
“Where’s Flip?” I asked. Something about Jin reminded me that Flip wasn’t here.
Star chuckled. “Gone to see if there’s any loot in that dungeon Quazede put Krakus in.”
“He’s what?” I asked, aghast.
She looked at me, that glint of mischief in her eye. “You know Flip. He heard your words—heard about the demon, the bridge, the cell—hell, he couldn’t wait to get there.”
“But he’ll get—the demon… He’ll die.”
Her laughter rang out again. “You need to learn a few things. First off, he went prepared. He’ll have rope, grappling hooks, spikes, saws, and a mallet. Flip, unlike you, well, he goes in with a view to getting out.”
“But…the demon?”
“Think he’s scared of a demon? Hell, the demon won’t even see him, he’s got more stealth than me.”
“But why would he even want to go down there?”
Now she really laughed. “Because it’s there.”
While we were talking about Flip, the elf, Jin, had come over to us. He was standing about ten yards away just watching us. He put his fingers between his lips, blew a shrill whistle, and signaled three of the elves over.
“Give ‘em your bows ‘n quivers—let’s see what they’ve got.”
Star was first over the fence; she leapt it from a standing start and sidled straight up to Jin. “You gonna teach us?”
I looked at Elleren, rolling my eyes.
“Is she always like that?” Elleren asked me.
“Meh!” I muttered. “Someone’s got to have the fun.” I vaulted the fence.
Close-up, Jin didn’t disappoint either. Smoldering would best describe him. He smelled of sweat and toil, but not in a bad way, and his voice was filled with authority, yet quiet, like he needed to just spill the words, not bark them, to compel you to follow his commands. Once he’d gotten me where he wanted me, his hands lightly rested on my shoulders, his breath on my neck, and I drew back my bow. He whispered in my ear.
“Hold…hold…loose.” The arrow flew through the air, striking the strawman in the head.
“Who taught you the bow?”
“Flip.”
Thirty, maybe more, shots later, and I’d reached level 7. He was a great teacher, and it seemed I was the only one who needed teaching. Both Elleren and Star were deadeyes, constantly clustering their arrows in tightly. Star, well I supposed it went with her profession, and Elleren, she appeared to be the Jin’s favorite student, and I wondered if she wasn’t the cat that got the cream.
“The prince, eh,” Jin said, once I was done. “Well, it’s not his strongest suit. Now, how can you make your shots more effective—even at level 7?”
“Pull the string back farther?” I ventured.
“Fire it flatter!” Star shouted.
“Imbue it with a spell,” Elleren crowed.
“Exactly.” Jin clapped. “And to do that, you need the relevant spells. With spells you can make your arrows harder—able to penetrate even scarletite.” He tapped his finger on his lips. “Though where you’d get scarletite around here, well, I haven’t a clue, but if you do find a source, be sure to tell me as I would do anything for that conversation.”
His words just stopped and left the air between us waiting for more. I said nothing, recognizing the baited trap.
“I have spells, some low-level ones; magi
c isn’t my strong suit,” Star chimed in, “and I’m out of mana before I’m out of arrows, but hey ho.” She flashed a gleaming smile. “I’ve got other talents.”
Jin coughed and averted his eyes from her, and they settled on me.
Congratulations! Jin has granted you access to the spell – Tungsten Tips. Your arrows will penetrate even the toughest hides, or the finest armor. The spell has a current strength level of 1 and costs 10 mana per arrow. Strength will increase with use.
Congratulations! Jin has granted you access to the spell – Stealth Shot. Your arrow will fly silently through the air and be invisible to all but those with a perception value of 10 above your own. Requires level 4 stealth and uses 50 mana per arrow.
Congratulations! Jin has granted you access to the spell – Straight Shot. Your arrow will fire straight and true. Requires archery level 5, and its critical strike rate is enhanced by increased luck. Costs 10 mana per arrow.
“You’ll need to up your stealth, but trust me, they’re worth it.” And he winked at me. “We could work on that later if you want. Now, I need a word with that old wizard.” Jin turned away from us and marched toward the fence. “Twenty arrows each in the head, then come to the tavern. I should have persuaded him by then.”
I gawked at him. Like Flip, he was a box of intrigue. Star and I loosed our arrows rapidly, then we went off to the tavern, pumping Elleren for gossip on the way. She gave us the lowdown but still left us none the wiser. Other than the killing of the ogre, it seemed that Jin had been a recluse…or very secretive…or Elleren was keeping him to herself.
Shylan hadn’t moved, and was in a heated discussion with Ozmic. Mezzerain was lying on the grass, close, but not close enough to be disturbed by the ranting wizard. He had a mug of ale beside him and his eyes closed, and Lincoln was talking to his city guide, Echo. Cronis sat on the end of the picnic table staring up at the stone buttress that Lincoln had called Starellion. Jin was watching him from ten yards away. I walked up to the elf and nudged him.
“What are you waiting for?”
“For him to ripen.”
“Ripen?”
“The wizard, Shylan—he’s arguing with Ozmic. Ozmic thinks it’s death to enter Rhangnarg—Starellion, as you call it. He’s telling him about all the demons that haunt its bowels.”
“Do they?” I asked.
Star drew aside me. “If it’s a dungeon, then it’s a mighty big one. I doubt even Flip would want to clear it.”
Jin waited some more and then finally walked up to Cronis. The old wizard looked up at him. He had fear in his eyes. The corners of his eyelids creased, strained, and crow’s feet radiated back to his temples. I swear I saw his lips trembling as if the elf standing before him was a god about to smite him.
“No going to Beggle for you, Wizard,” Jin stated, resting his hand on the old wizard.
“No,” Cronis muttered, the stubborn word hanging in the still air.
“Do you want to see her?”
Cronis fell to his knees; his hands clasped in front of him. Tears leached onto his cheeks, his anguish plain to see. Even Shylan had quieted and was watching his lifelong friend’s turmoil. Cronis’ head was bent to the ground now, his shoulders heaving as sobs wracked his body. I rushed forward and knelt by him, reaching for his old, gnarled hands and pulling them onto my breasts. “What, Cronis—what is it?”
At first, he took no notice of me, just carried on, clearly on the brink of despair, but then he began to raise his head until his eyes locked with mine. “You don’t understand,” he whispered. “You can’t. You’ve never met her.”
“Who?” I asked, pleaded.
“Poleyna. This is her work.”
His stare bore into me, pleading with me to understand, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t comprehend his sorrow. Shaking my head, and biting my lip, I urged my mind to probe his, but was met with a wall of anguish. Then he looked past me and to Jin. “Take us to her.”
“Us? But which us?” Jin asked.
Cronis nodded. “Alexa is intricately woven into this tapestry. She comes. He doesn’t.” Cronis flicked a look at Shylan. “I don’t want him to muddy the water. She must understand what’s at stake.”
Jin grinned. “You think she cares? It’s not her world.”
I jumped up, spun around and squared up to him. “Really? You think I like getting near roasted alive? You think I like fighting demons?” My rage grew, and it was born from insecurity. I knew this wasn’t my land, but I so desperately wanted it to be just that. When Lincoln had asked me to stay in Joan’s Creek, and I’d refused, I knew this place had me. When I’d first leveled up, I knew this place had me, and when I knelt before Sakina and accepted the Veils of Lamerell, I knew there was no turning back. I wanted to attack—full battle mode, but Jin just stood before me, grinning like he was already the victor.
Cronis groaned. “Don’t get into a scrap with the elf, Alexa. He’ll bait you, then best you, and then we’d have to patch you up again. I feel the crafter can only repair so many clothes in a day.”
Jin skipped back and bowed. “Let me lead the way.” And then he looked up at me with his chin dangling…invitingly… “Feisty thing, isn’t she?”
I felt eyes on my back, but didn’t want to break my stare away from Jin, knowing some unknown test was taking place. Smoldering, I’d gotten that right on my first impression. His eyes reminded me of the lava pool at the bottom of Hell’s Chimney—you knew there was so much more bubbling and boiling behind them, that his mind was judging me, reaching conclusions, tossing out some, accepting others. Then he appeared to come to a conclusion, nodded faintly and barged past me, walking back toward the stove steps that led out of this valley.
Cronis shooed the others away with his ugly staff, then ambled off directly toward Lincoln. I ran after the old wizard, reaching him as he tapped Lincoln on his shoulder with his staff.
“This concerns you,” he barked, and then looked Lincoln’s city guide up and down. “And possibly you, though I’ll never get used to you lot.” He marched off after Jin.
Lincoln stood still for a short while, huffed, then flashed me a smile. “What now?”
“Apparently, we get to meet her.” I grabbed his arm and linked mine in.
“Who’s her?”
“By all accounts the goddess that cracked the earth. At least that’s what he said. No biggie.” I shoved him with my shoulder and laughed.
“You just attract it, don’t you?”
“What?”
Lincoln grunted. “Trouble,” he said as we reached the first of the steps. “First you blow up my mountain, and then you invite me to meet a god. What part of sanctuary don’t you understand? What part of ‘I’m going to build a retreat, a legacy for Joan’ included demons and gods?”
His words were ground out, as though he was really fed up, frustrated, but I knew he was playing. I thought he was playing. I was sure he was playing…
I grinned from ear to ear. “The fun part?”
He slapped my back. “Your definition of fun is odd,” he said, his voice now full of cheer again. Nothing seemed to faze Lincoln. We reached the ledge outside the tunnel to Joan’s Creek, and I saw that Cronis and Jin were already part way across the planked bridge. Looking over the gorge and along it, I spotted a strange outcrop reaching up from the buttress’s top. “What’s that?” I asked.
“That, Alexa, is my level 3 beacon tower. It is supposed to allow me to see an advancing army, to alert me to a scouting party trying to see into Sanctuary, but it’s absolutely useless to me at the moment.”
“Why?”
Lincoln shrugged. “I’ve got no scouts to fill it. Same as Sanctuary has a workshop, but it’s empty—no crafter, a forge, but no blacksmith, archer towers, but few archers with a high enough level to be effective. It’s the same across the board. The bots can build fast and build anything, but without the right folk I’ll struggle—we’ll struggle.”
“So…” I tried to think of somethin
g to tell him, but had no idea of the solution to his problems.
“Thing is,” he said. “I actually thought that if I built it all, it would just automatically fill up, like it would in a game. You build a forge, and the forge works—or here, a smithy comes and he starts banging and clattering away. Nope, those little copper things can build anything I want, but what I desperately need are professionals, a guild of craftsmen, farmers who can wring every ounce of goodness from every inch of soil, and—and I never thought I’d hear myself say this—I need politicians, a governor, a sheriff, a legislator—else things will soon get out of hand.”
“But where?”
“Where? That’s just the problem. Brokenford was just a crooked place with a crooked king—so their lords and ladies are likely the same, then there’s what? From what I gather, there’s nothing much more than a bunch of feudal castles scattered from Quislaine to Zybond. It’s a pickle, that’s for sure.”
I had nothing for him—no clue how to help him. “I…” I made to say, but my words failed me.
He grinned, but all I saw was sadness. “I need Joan,” he whispered, and walked off toward the bridge. “She’d know what to do.”
Walking behind him, I tried to figure out his problem. He wanted to keep his settlements secret—away from the king of Irydia, but by doing that he risked remaining aloof—and as he said, devoid of any real tradesfolk barring those spat out by the forest. “Apachalants,” I shouted. “You need apachalants.”
He stopped in his tracks and looked back at me. I carefully ran forward, the bridge swaying more with every hurried step.
“You need apachalants. They’re like scouts—they scout for the king, but there’s probably more of them. You need Petroo.”
“Petroo?” he asked. “I met an apachalant called Shrimp—he whipped my ass at everything—beat me up a few levels in each fighting skill. He was fast—I’ll give him that. I remember Aezal said something about them.”
