“Plan on killing us a second time?” asks the spirit of a chainmail-wearing woman. She casually walks next to the telepath and shifts her giant, spiked hammer from one shoulder to another. “I’m sure you can do it even without magic. Though I don’t really see the point. Not like killing a ghost does anything more than send it to the other side. Well in a cursed soul’s case, we’d go back to the Spirit Well and wander out again once our strength returns. Not like anything can stop us. In the end, you would only make use angrier and that’s a problem when we have another pleasant reunion.”
“You assume we’ll meet again after this,” Dariana says as she cracks her knuckles. The pain that shoots up her injured arm makes her wince, causing another round of laughter from the phantoms. “There are ways to destroy a spirit entirely. Seal it in the void where it will decay, transform it into something else, devour it, and a few other methods. None of them are within my power or interest.”
“You always were bizarre. Threatening us with tactics that you can’t do is-” the specter argues before the truth dawns on her. Swinging her hammer, the warrior makes a dent in the ground at Dariana’s feet. “You’d get your father to do it. Such a spineless agent you’re turning out to be. The little, evil princess needs to run to daddy and get him to fight her battles. Probably why Isaiah and that drite are still alive. Your brother would have killed those two and brought the champions’ heads to the Baron. Compared to him, you’re nothing but a sniveling child that wants her parents to love her.”
“I remember you were sobbing when I killed you,” Dariana retorts, kicking the hammer out of her way. A wave of fury pulses from her mind, causing all of the ghosts to back away and ready their weapons. “The last person here to lecture me on strength is you, Glyzma. All you did during our short time together was insult, beat, and threaten me. The others really loved it when you showed there was no reason to fear the daughter of Baron Kernaghan. What was it you always said? If I was so easy to push around then my father couldn’t be nearly as dangerous as the gods believe. I hope you realize that the reason Stephen never bothered with you is because he thought you were pathetic.”
“Not as pathetic as you,” the warrior replies, her voice quavering from doubt. Feeling the other ghosts staring at her, Glyzma shoves Dariana with her weapon. “Don’t you ever try to judge me. I might not have become one of the great champions, but I accomplished many deeds before you assassinated me. There are towns that exist because I stopped monsters from demolishing them. Bandits were defeated by my hand before they could hurt others. Before you ruined my path, I was a great hero. Right up there with the Callindors.”
Dariana cannot stop her laughter and holds her sides in a failed attempt to bind her broken ribs, the pain tempering her amusement. “After traveling with one of them for a while, I can say without a doubt that delusional doesn’t begin to describe you. That family earned their reputation for being great heroes. You took jobs that a first year mercenary would see as a challenge. Then you claimed to be amazing instead of letting other people make the decision. I hate to admit this, but I have to agree with my brother. You’re pathetic.”
“Keep talking, Kernaghan, because you’ll be joining us soon.”
“How was it I killed you again?”
“You punched through my chest and removed my heart.”
“Thanks.”
The ghost becomes solid long enough for Dariana to put a fist through her body and send the phantasmal heart splattering against the wall. Confused about what has happened, Glyzma can only stare as she crumbles into ephemeral dust. The archers fire their spectral arrows, which sink into the path behind the sprinting telepath. Dariana barrels into the mob of ghosts and strains her powers to force all of them to assume a physical form. She knocks several into the abyss, their terrified screams cutting off abruptly as they explode in the starving darkness. Aiming to destroy instead of incapacitate, the silver-haired woman focuses on snapping brittle necks and bursting ghostly organs. Kicking a dwarf in the face, she sends his head spinning into the wall and hurls his body to knock a creeping thief into the gap. The telepath increases her strength in order to destroy enemies with a single blow to the torso, many of her victims leaving their spectral limbs behind.
A chorus of chanting pierces the battle cries and Dariana dives to the side as a storm of combat spells rolls over the path. Most of the warriors are cleared by the frightening wave of magic, the survivors having leapt into the wall or dangled from the road’s rough edge. Being one of those who risked the gap, Dariana struggles to climb back to solid ground, but the arrows and spells that strike around her make it difficult to get into the open. Bracing her feet against the wall, the agile telepath jumps to the smooth mountainside and flips back to the path. Exposed in the air, she twists to avoid the incoming projectiles and lands on her side, a loud crunch coming from her shoulder. Using the pain as a weapon, Dariana sends the sensation into all of the ghosts and stuns them long enough to stand.
Taking advantage of the delay, the former champion pounces on the nearest priestess and rips the woman in half. She knocks another into the middle of the remaining crowd, which clears a narrow path that she rushes through. A flying kick sends a towering warrior sailing over the others and she jumps to land on his solidified stomach. Dariana stomps to slam him into the earth with enough force to send more ghosts scattering into the deadly gap. Whirling around, she catches an arrow that still scratches her chin and flings it at the face of a caster. The man’s fireball still appears and sails a few inches wide of its target, the flaming orb exploding against a hapless thief. More arrows and spells fly toward Dariana, who is beginning to slow down thanks to her injuries.
“I’m tired of this. Kill yourselves,” the telepath whispers before taking control of the archers and casters. She snaps her fingers and the ghosts fire at each other, the area swiftly covered in a layer of spectral dust. “Anybody else?”
Thieves and warriors gather on both sides of Dariana, but nobody wants to make the first move. Faking a charge, the telepath instead flips backwards and lands in the middle of one group of enemies. With a deafening yell, she delivers a spinning kick that clears all of them off the path and sends a gust of wind at the others. The few who are holding onto the edge of the road are swiftly defeated by skull crushing punches to the face, each blow delivered meticulously. One stubborn knife-fighter manages to climb back up and pounce on Dariana to stab her in the upper arm. She launches herself against the wall, which dislodges the phantom and allows her to smack him into the abyss. Too far away to grab the path, the telepath kicks off the solid stone behind her and lands with an unceremonious thud.
Injured and exhausted, Dariana stands and rushes at the last of the ghosts who have emerged from the stone. She is punched in the head and shoved back by a knight’s shield, the blow obliterating her adrenaline. Unable to put up a physical fight, the telepath unleashes a mental pulse that tears the dead champions to shreds. Their screams make her think she has wiped them from existence instead of sending them back to the Spirit Well like the others. With her body so damaged, Dariana is unsure if she feels a pang of guilt or pain from a torn stomach muscle. She wipes blood from her mouth and limps away from the area, which shows very few signs of having been a battlefield. Only a few dents in the wall and the road remain, but they are already fading away.
“Almost there, dad,” Dariana whispers as she limps toward the mountaintop. When voices seep into her ears, the telepath glances at her ring and finds that it is badly cracked. “Don’t worry. I won’t be needing you much longer. Both of us need to hold on for a little bit more. Then everything we want will be ours.”
*****
Dariana steps out of the mountain pass and onto a wide cliff that overlooks the churning ocean. Walking to the edge of Ralian, she is stunned to see how high above the water she is standing. The buckling of her legs forces the weary woman to back away and sit on a grooved stone set in the middle of the cliff. The distant sounds
of gulls and what she guesses are sea lions drift from below, but the telepath has no desire to take another peek. High walls run from the path’s opening to the edge of the mountain, preventing Dariana from seeing anything beyond the ocean and sky to the northwest. Coming to the end of her tiring journey, she is overcome by giddiness and takes several minutes to revel in her long-awaited victory. Even though her body is in pain, the former champion finds herself proud of what she has accomplished. After centuries of being an obedient pawn of the prophecy, she finally feels alive and in full control of her own life. Taking the Compass Key out of her pocket, Dariana knows there is only one more step to freeing herself completely.
“Come on, Dari. Stand up and finish this.”
Ignoring the blossoming pain coursing through her body, she gets to her feet and peers into the memories she stole from Zaria. As soon as she discovers the way to open the portal, Dariana expels the powerful thoughts from her mind and breathes a sigh of relief. She is vaguely aware of the pressure that was on her psyche, which recovers enough to instinctively repair many of her cuts and bruises. The broken bones and torn muscles remain, but the last stage of her plan does not require anything physical. She removes her clear ring and places it in her bottomless pouch, which she tosses against the back wall. Moving to the other side of the central stone, Dariana holds her hand above the narrow groove and wills her blood to seep through pores.
The crimson liquid rapidly drips onto the rock and gathers into a small pool that spreads across the uneven surface. It curves toward the sky until the oval frame of a mirror is standing before the shuddering woman. With a gentle crinkling, the blood solidifies into a metallic appearance and sprouts barbs that curve in alternating directions. Dariana falls to her knees as a black portal fills the frame and shows the silhouette of a man sitting on a throne. She backs away to escape a sucking vacuum of power that she fears will suck her into the Chaos Void. As the figure rises, a high-pitched shriek erupts from the other side of the gateway. The Baron comes into focus when the psychic pulse stabilizes his side of the portal before he callously tosses a dead telepath into the pile of those he has already drained.
“It seems you have fought long and hard to reach me,” the warlord says, bowing his head to the gasping woman. He runs his hand through the portal, his gloved fingertips unable to pierce the curse that holds him. “I must confess that I have been watching you and I am impressed with what you have accomplished. The champions are contained, the Compass Key is in your hands, and now we are close to victory. Why have you done this?”
“I love you too, dad,” Dariana mutters as she tries to stand. She recovers some of her strength when she reabsorbs the blood that was not turned into the portal, but a dizziness still plagues her. “If you were spying on me then you know the reasons why. I’m tired of the cycle and my life is over if the champions claim victory. Only under your rule, can I find happiness and peace. Besides, we both know my so-called friends will turn on me if I brought them to the real Spirit Well.”
“You did make a mess there,” the Baron agrees, flashing a warm smile. Tapping the hilt of his sword, he searches his daughter’s face for signs of deceit. “It is difficult to take this joyous event at face value. You have helped the champions get this far and played a part in the death of your brother.”
“Stephen had a bigger hand in his demise than I did,” the telepath snaps before she can control her temper. Exhaling slowly, she regains her composure and holds the Compass Key out to the portal. “I’m sorry for the outburst, but it’s the truth. He would have ruined both of our plans if he continued. You and I have worked toward the same goal for too long to let Stephen get in our way. My brother freely claimed that he would take your life once you killed the champions, so think of his death as a good thing. Now you don’t have to live with your dear son’s blood on your hands.”
“Very cunning and cold-hearted.”
“Was there any other way I could turn out considering my past?”
“Multiple ways, so do not believe you have had only one path before you.”
“Being forced onto a narrow path is all I have ever known, father.”
The Baron frowns and sits back in his throne, the portal quivering with the threat of collapse. He reaches off to the side and grabs a single, green grape, which he imbues with some of his power. Adjusting the transference spell, he is confident that it will act as a believable imitation of his own aura and throws it toward his daughter. The fruit pops in the middle of the gateway and bits of skin splatter onto the Baron’s polished boots. His faint hope that the proximity of the Compass Key would let even a decoy through is dashed, but he masks his disappointment with a warm smile. The expression is returned by an uncomfortable smirk from his daughter, the silver-haired woman still breathing heavy from fatigue.
“I ask that you relinquish your grudge if you wish to be my new right hand,” the warlord politely requests, steepling his fingers. Putting his feet on the pile of dead psychics, he tries to act relaxed while maintaining his caution. “There will always be a place for you in my kingdom because you are my daughter. Yet we have spent most of our lives on opposite sides of this prophecy. Forgive me for being suspicious, but my plan is too close to completion for you to get in my way. Though I admit that your actions are very convincing. Please explain how the containment of the champions in a place I cannot reach is helpful.”
“They will remain there until I join you and we corrupt the Compass Key,” Dariana explains, turning the prized object in her hands. She notices that her father is squinting and having trouble seeing the relic, a sign that Nyx’s spell is still holding strong. “Once we take control of this, we can break your curse and give you a great battle. Baron Kernaghan will return to Windemere, but not by simply stepping onto the land. You will march out of the shadows and destroy those that were supposed to kill you.”
The Baron chuckles and gets as close to the portal as he can, the curse attempting to push him back. “You certainly have your mother’s love of dramatics. The picture you paint is one that I have dreamed of, which makes me question if you are reading my mind. As far as I know, you have never attempted such a feat and I assume it would not end well for you. Now, please give me the Compass Key and we will move on from there. Consider it an act of good faith and trust on both our parts.”
Without hesitation, Dariana approaches the portal and holds out the relic, her hand shaking from mild blood loss. The chain is wrapped around her knuckles, which are white from the pressure of her clenched fist. Her heart skips a beat when she sees her father extending his open hand to receive the artifact. Being so close to victory, Dariana hears the distant voices of her friends and a child-like whisper from her earliest memories. Knowing she is running out of time, the telepath leans forward to push the Compass Key through the gateway.
A blast of crimson lightning hits the portal and explodes with enough force to send Dariana crashing against the far wall. The gateway shimmers and threatens to implode as the frame becomes liquid for a few seconds. Isaiah unleashes a swarm of fireballs that burst around the former champion and peppers her aching body with heated pebbles. She staggers to her feet and faces the black-scaled fireskin, but is knocked down again by a fist of solid air. The caster glances into the portal to see the Baron covered in ebony flames, the warlord unable to rescue his daughter from what he sees as a brutal attack. Isaiah flashes a toothy grin as he extends his staff to strike Dariana with a blast of piercing light, the narrow beam pinning the woman to the solid wall by her shoulder.
“Drop the Compass Key and I will only put you to sleep,” the fireskin demands, advancing on the telepath. He turns his redwood staff to twist the glowing stake back and forth, but the groaning woman refuses to scream. “You are mistaken if you think your death will delay the prophecy. Due to your past actions, the Spirit Well can be conquered by the five who remain loyal to the path. This is your last chance to surrender.”
“Killing me will bring my parents’
wrath upon you,” Dariana says through clenched, blood-coated teeth. Snapping the magic spike, she yanks the shard free and tosses it over the cliff. “Get out of my way, reptile. This will happen whether you want it to or not. I might be too weak to destroy you, but I can make you pray for death.”
Dariana ducks the swing of Isaiah’s staff and punches him in the stomach, her broken fingers making it impossible to damage his scales. She delivers several more blows that only knock the wind out of the fireskin’s lungs and snaps off one of his teeth. His weapon comes around to strike her chin and send the telepath flipping onto her back. Clawed hands erupt from the ground to rake Dariana’s body as she scrambles to put some distance between herself and the caster. Bleeding and barely able to stand, she strikes a defensive position that is at the point of crumbling into a pathetic slouch. She musters the last of her strength to jump onto the portal’s frame and leap over the incoming wall of fire. Dariana’s heel slams onto Isaiah’s head with a jarring crash, but the caster merely vanishes in a puff of smoke. He reappears behind the telepath and catches her by the neck to deliver a numbing blast of lightning. Growling between clenched teeth, the former champion’s muscles spasm and shudder without her control.
“It is interesting that you refuse to turn his mind off,” the Baron says from the other side of the portal. He sees a flicker of terror in the fireskin’s eyes, which brings a burst of joy to his immortal heart. “You were always a pointy rock in my shoe, Isaiah. More an annoyance than a real danger. In many ways, you share my curse. Forced to pull the strings and watch events unfold while others do the real work. It is only fitting that my daughter frees you from your burden.”
“I can’t do it,” Dariana gasps, slapping at the caster’s clawed hand. Attempting to influence Isaiah’s thoughts, she hits a barrier that can only be broken by a lethal attack. “He is shielded from my power. Trust me to handle this with my feet and fists, father. The Compass Key will be in your hands soon.”
The Spirit Well Page 29
