Stomping his foot on the ground, Jeremy chants at a rate that makes his voice nothing more than a long drone. Luke attempts to understand the language, but a searing headache breaks his focus. The irritated half-elf is about to storm off when all of the ghosts develop a blue shimmer that matches the one rising from the soup. A thin layer of the energy is on Yulkus and the champions while Jeremy is dripping the sapphire magic from every pore. The shaman senses that Nyx’s coating is seeping into her skin, so he leaps onto the cauldron and roils the soup while sending his own aura into the mix. He fills a clean bowl with the enhanced meal, which erupts into blinding light due the protection spells that Jeremy has added. Urging the channeler to eat quickly, he watches as her body develops the same stable layer of magic that the others already have. Grabbing two waterskins, he fills them completely and puts them at Nyx’s feet with a smile.
“This new soup has the energy of Windemere and Tavon the Blue Moon within it,” the shaman says in a somber voice. Wiping sweat from his brow, the old orc gladly accepts a cloak of fur and feathers from a one-armed warrior. “I needed a more potent version for you because your body devours magic like the drite does to apples. The last thing I want is you absorbing one of my friends when we only want to help you reach the pass. You must be the channeler who has taken the place of Queen Ionia. She was a lovely woman and you have my condolences. As does the young man who has taken over Selenia’s academy. Now, that was a warrior I was proud to witness with my own eyes.”
“Sorry to interrupt, but I’m not understanding much of this,” Sari whispers while she rubs her cold arms. The gypsy yawns and touches the dark circles beneath her eyes, which have become puffy and bloodshot. “It sounds like the soup has made us open to possession by your spirits. How is that enough to stop the Baron? Hate to agree with Luke, but I’d be surprised if he has trouble overpowering this kind of magic. Although, I do see how it can help us get by those bandits.”
Timoran rises to his feet and stretches his back, which has become stiff from slouching for so long. “The bandits have shamans too. If they are getting power from the Baron then they will be strong. I cannot say if they will overpower you, but it is a possibility. Why is it that you are so confident in this plan?”
“Because I am not like them. I, Jeremy of the Band of Veryak, am best friends with all of these spirits and you will become so too,” the shaman declares to the applause of the ghostly orcs. Bowing and laughing, he stops at the sight of Yulkus frowning and tapping his foot. “You never indulge in my positive energy, old friend. Continuing what was said about the bond between a shaman and a spirit, there are different levels. I have trained for the deepest connection, which even a god would find difficult to break. Ymir the Fury Lord was nice enough to test this with one of my ancestors long ago, so I am not exaggerating the effectiveness. Once one of my friends possesses you, they will make you appear like an orc to those bandits. Even their shamans will be fooled. They will do this because I will ask them nicely and you now contain some of my power, which will protect them from your own energies. There is only one catch to this plan. A host needs to remain calm of heart and true of focus. If you stumble in confidence or go against what the spirit is supposed to help you with then the connection will weaken.”
“Thank you, Jeremey, but that sounds rather dangerous,” Delvin admits, his eyes darting to Luke when the half-elf looks away. The abrupt silence makes him shift in his chair, his boots grinding into the snowy ground. “Some of us have been through a lot and it’s taken a toll on the entire group. True of focus is possible, but calm of heart is where we’re lacking. One wrong move and we’re stuck in the middle of a bandit camp.”
“If they’re working with the Baron then that isn’t much of a problem,” Nyx interjects as she cracks her knuckles. With a smirk, sparks fly from her fingers and a serpent of flame runs through her hair. “I wouldn’t mind getting a workout since I’ve been stuck inside for far too long. Still, I guess you have a point that we should avoid unnecessary fights. All I’m saying is that the risk isn’t as bad as you think, dear. My vote is to do this and work with whatever happens.”
“Great. Then I shall wed the two of you immediately and put your hearts at ease,” Jeremy declares, clapping his hands. The specters rush about to gather enough snow to create a small altar. “I might not be a true telepath, but I hear your thoughts over our connection. Both of you wish you had done some type of ceremony before leaving your city. While this is not my area of expertise or experience, I would be happy to give you peace of mind. The life bond you share makes me want to be a part of your joy and future. Most of the others will be fine since they are simply tired. What do you say?”
“This is ridiculous,” Delvin and Nyx say in unison.
“My soup won’t take full effect until dawn, so what else is there to do?”
Before they can argue any more, the two champions are grabbed by the spirits and carried to opposite sides of the camp. Timoran and Fizzle hurry after Delvin while Dariana and Sari are ushered towards Nyx. Yulkus rubs his horizontal ears before heading for a collection of locked trunks that sit on a horseless cart, the orc warrior mumbling about wasting time. Only Luke stays seated, the half-elf staring at the shaman whose face has become stern and cold. Jeremy’s staff touches the forest tracker’s chin and pushes his head from one side to the other. The elder’s eyes hold a glint of malice that shifts to concern when he uses his tusks to reflect two beams of moonlight onto the champion’s face.
“Gather your thoughts, Luke Callindor,” the orc whispers, leaning in close and hugging the young man. He sheds four tears for the spirits who are churning within the warrior, all of them concerned about the possession. “Your friends will be fine, but I have nothing to say or do that will calm your heart. All I ask is that you do not betray those who have stood by you all this time. That will cause more pain and damage than you imagine. The success of this plan is now in your hands. What will you do?”
Luke rubs his palms against the rubies in his saber hilts as he gets up to wander away, the forest tracker occasionally glancing at where his friends are preparing for the ceremony. Not wanting to stray too far from the camp, he climbs into a nearby oak and gets comfortable in the lower branches. His mind struggles with a tangle of conflicting thoughts, including a desire to rejoin the group and apologize. Yet, the longer he considers leaving his perch, the more his stomach twists and a dull pain weaves through his ribs like a spike-covered serpent. All Luke can bring himself to do is watch the other champions from afar and note that none of them appear to notice his absence.
*****
“My friends will leave you as soon as you are all within the mountain pass,” Jeremy whispers while he dances around the champions. His staff scoops snow off the lower branches in order to throw the cold powder over their heads. “We will stay here and watch your progress. I know I said we would go with you, but Yulkus said it would be strange if we arrived together and went in separate directions. They would certainly investigate the smaller group, which ruins the plan. Good luck with your journey.”
Having chosen six spirits who are closest in size and ability to the champions, the shaman chants in a low voice. He becomes a little louder when Yulkus signals that they are safe, the warrior camouflaged at the top of a hill. As the incantation comes to its end, the spirits seep into their temporary hosts and gently transform them into orcs. Only Dariana is female in form, the other women having been better matches for two males who spent the predawn hours talking to Sari and Nyx about their mannerisms. Jeremy frowns at the resistance he gets from Luke and has to take the half-elf’s face in his hands to force a stronger connection. A wave of heat ripples from the young man’s skin, which has a metallic shine until the Sword Dragon is convinced to back down from the new spirit. With a final thud of his staff against the ground, the fur-wearing shaman completes his spell and takes a seat on a nearby tree stump.
“Go down this hill and walk through the camp,” Yulkus tel
ls Delvin, who joins him on the hill. He nods his head at the unique shield on the warrior’s arm and hands him a black cloth to put over it. “If you remain around the edges then you may gain unwanted attention. All of you must enter like you belong there. They won’t confront you because new members are arriving so often, but they will watch for signs of danger. Only stop moving if going forward risks your disguises. The spirits will understand such a delay.”
“Thanks and take care of yourself,” the warrior whispers while covering his shield. Nodding to Fizzle, he waves the drite to come over to him. “We can’t have you go in with us. Fly high and stay invisible. Use the clouds as much as you can and meet us at the pass. I want you to get there first in case we have to run. You’ll be our emergency escape route.”
“Fizzle be ready,” the dragon declares as he disappears from sight.
Signaling for his friends to wait, Delvin crawls back down the hill in order to stand and wipe himself clean of leaves and snow. Satisfied that he no longer looks like he was spying on the bandits, he returns and leads the way to the camp. He turns around as if examining his soldiers, but really looks for Jeremy and Yulkus. The pair have already disappeared behind the hill, which becomes too slippery for the warrior to continue walking backwards. As they reach the bottom, the horrible stench of burning dryads mixes with the smell of freshly cooked meat, the combination making the champions queasy. Gulping down the lump in his throat, Delvin heads to the right in order to put some distance between themselves and the nearest pile of woody bodies. To avoid suspicion, he pretends to be walking towards an open barrel that he sees a few orcs standing around. He watches several of the unwashed warriors dunk their heads into the cold drinking water and worries that he will need to do the same in order to maintain their disguises. Delvin is relieved when Dariana clears her throat with a grunt and nods her head in another direction, which he gladly follows.
Stepping through a ward, the champions are hit by a wall of noise and an uncomfortable pressure as soon as they enter the camp. A beautiful shaman wearing large feathers on her head passes by, her dilated eyes taking in the newcomers for a brief moment. Her attention causes the spirits to shift and squirm, none of them having expected the amount of power she emits with the simple examination. The same reaction happens whenever one of the other shamans glances in the champions’ direction, making them wish Jeremy was still by their side. Unable to turn back without revealing themselves, they continue weaving through the half-erected tents and smoldering fire pits. Ogres and reptilian giltris are found roaming around the orcs, the more primal beasts sniffing the air and watching the clouds. None of them pay much attention to the champions beyond smiling at Timoran, who is covered in scars and missing an ear. Listening to the spirits’ suggestions on how to blend in with the bandits, they grab some large meat skewers from a nearby table and take a bite out of the sour-tasting food. Only Luke manages to finish his meal, the half-elf quietly accepting the rest since he has not eaten since the previous day.
Coming within view of the mountain pass, the champions attempt to move quicker through the gradually thickening crowd. Their progress is stopped when it becomes obvious that all of the bandits are heading in the same direction. Too far away to make a safe sprint among the tents, they allow themselves to go with the sea of excited orcs. Hoping that a chance to escape will appear soon, Delvin pretends to be fascinated by something in the sky, which slows them down enough to fall to the rear of the pack. He is so focused on putting on an act that he never notices the ogre in front of him stop walking. Banging into the large, greasy creature, he is about to apologize, but stops himself and lets out a casual snarl. The bandit starts to roar in response to his rudeness, but thinks better of it when Timoran steps forward and grins. Bowing to the disguised barbarian, the snorting ogre leaves to find another spot.
The crowd explodes in applause and stomping feet when a fully armored orc climbs to the top of a siege tower. Removing his helmet, the bandit leader holds it up for silence before swinging it by the horn to get another round of cheering. The chants start off a mix of different languages until the audience settles into repeating the Baron’s name. A banner drops from the top of the siege tower, the warlord’s face perfectly emblazoned on the flapping decoration. More of the pictures appear around the camp, some as huge as the first and others no bigger than a small flag that sits on top of a tent. With a final shout of their master’s name, the bandits go silent and wait for their grinning leader to speak.
“The age of our true master is nearly upon us!” the warrior shouts, his voice booming across the camp. Raising a curved blade over his head, the bandit reflects the rising sunlight onto one of the other banners. “We have been blessed to be alive during his reemergence. Though we were born without knowing of his greatness, we now remember everything. Riches will be ours to claim and the blood of our enemies will create a new ocean. Starting with Gabriel’s precious champions, who the great Baron Arthuru Kernaghan will slaughter to solidify his kingdom. Yes, I know we all wish we could kill one of them and earn our master’s favor. This is a dream I have had every night since remembering him. I will happily settle for being a witness to his victory and claiming the lives of those who still stand against him. I have already heard that Serab and their allies have mobilized their forces, which means we will have a role to play. This doesn’t change our plan to march toward Rodillen, recruit those wish to join us, burn that city to the ground, and continue to Gaia. This is the plan that Baron Kernaghan has bestowed upon the minds of our shamans, who have been granted some of his power.”
“This isn’t good,” Sari says, nudging Delvin in the side.
Without looking at her, the warrior softly responds, “No need to worry. It isn’t anything we didn’t see coming.”
“No, I mean that isn’t good.”
Following Sari’s subtle pointing, Delvin sees that Luke has backed away from the army and is standing in the open. The half-elf’s arms are hugging his stomach and his breathing is coming out in ragged gasps. Wisps of blonde hair are growing from his bald head, the orc spirit having trouble maintaining the connection. Legs buckling and going numb, Luke leans on a stack of crates to avoid falling to the ground. To Delvin’s horror, the bandit leader abruptly stops talking and others begin to turn in the direction of the suffering champion. Whispers run through the crowd, most of them wondering if they are under attack by a caster or the dryads released a curse upon being burned. Taking advantage of the confusion, the champions try to spread a variety of stories, but are silenced when Luke unleashes a sobbing scream and falls to his knees. Before everyone’s eyes, the forest tracker returns to his true form and the orc spirit can be seen retreating into the sky.
“Grab him and I’ll cover the rear,” Nyx declares, letting the ghost inside her escape. As she transforms, the channeler releases a blast of flames that sputters against a barrier created by the chanting shamans. “I think the possession weakened me. If these guys are really enhanced by the Baron then I have a harder fight than expected. For now, I’d say we’re evenly matched, but I can recover in a few minutes. Can you turn them all off, Dariana?”
“That would be fairly traumatic for me since there are so many,” the telepath replies while the champions retreat. Skidding to a stop, she grabs the side of a cart and enhances her strength enough to hurl it at the bandits. “I can slow them down by making them think they are running while they are really walking. That won’t last long thanks to those shamans.”
“We have to reach the mountain pass!” Timoran shouts as he picks up Luke. With orange energy gathering on his lips, he unleashes a battle cry that shreds all of the surrounding tents and knocks the first line of bandits back. “That was unexpected, but I think I can do it again. It does hurt my throat though. Someone else take Luke and I can hold them off long enough for Nyx to recover.”
The champions skid to a stop when a six-armed giant rises from the earth and brandishes an array of weapons. Its blue armor creaks
as it leans back and bellows loud enough to shake the entire camp. Afraid of the creature, the bandits back away even when their leader screams for them to strike while their enemies are frozen in place. Stomping in place and beating its chest, the intimidating giant continues to make noise before stepping over the champions. It swings a serrated sword to leave a gash in the dirt, but manages to miss all of the bandits completely. The shamans scramble to the top of the siege towers and cast a volley of spells to destroy what they sense is a summoned creature. It is not until the giant’s body ripples like water that they realize their mistake and hurry to erect a protective barrier. With an echoing boom, the illusionary creature explodes into a flood of icy water that washes a quarter of the bandit army into the surrounding forest. Those still standing grab their weapons and rush to catch the retreating champions, the enraged army becoming nothing more than a shrieking mob.
*****
“Spirit people stop sleep!” Fizzle announces as he darts back to his friends. Hearing the incoming attacks, the drite avoids a swarm of arrows and spears before disappearing within the winding pass. “Fizzle no like. Road too thin. Orcs too many. Luke okay?”
“I’m fine, so let me go take care of this,” the forest tracker says while trying to push his way to the back of the group. He is stopped when Sari catches him by the wrist, the immovable gypsy refusing to let go. “I can handle this. Besides, I caused this problem since my spirits didn’t get along with Jeremy’s friend. We all knew it was a risk, so I’m ready to fix my mistake. Run for wherever we need to go and I’ll catch up.”
Warlord of the Forgotten Age Page 8
