Ritual of the Lost Lamb

by Charles E Yallowitz

  After refilling her cup, Nyx takes a seat in Delvin’s lap and puts her booted feet on the desk next to his. “You think that taking over the academy means she’ll be gone and you’re not ready to accept that your mentor is capable of dying? I feel the same way about Rainbow Tower. The day I take over will be when Willow and Cyril have passed away. Nothing I can do about that since most people don’t live forever. Though, that doesn’t make the situation any easier. Since I haven’t had to deal with such loss yet, I can only say that you’re not alone. Kira, Sari, and Timoran might understand it more since they’ve gone through it already.”

  “Luke might feel it too since he’s the last Callindor. At least until he has a kid,” the warrior mentions as he adjusts his legs. Shifting Nyx, he lets his hands linger on her lower back and is concerned to find that she is cold to the touch. “It’s pointless to worry about these things. Yet, I keep doing so and it’s gotten worse over the last year. Some days it feels like every step we take toward the Baron is filled with more death and destruction. How many places have we seen get wiped out or permanently altered because of the prophecy?”

  “More than I wish to remember,” the channeler admits before finishing her drink. Without moving, she floats the bottle toward her and grabs it by the neck instead of refilling her cup. “My first adventure after leaving Gaia wasn’t pretty, so I never really thought of the situation getting any worse. To me, things have always been mostly bad with bright spots that I cherish every time I wake up. Keep in mind that you’re talking to a girl who still has memories of her village burning down even though she was two at the time. Death and destruction have always been a part of my life. Seems we went dark and moody again. What a morbid couple we make, huh?”

  “We really have nothing else to talk about, do we?”

  “Not really. Doesn’t feel right planning our future with so many people in danger.”

  “By the way, I noticed your hair changed.”

  “I felt that happen, but I haven’t seen how it looks.”

  “I love you, Nyx.”

  “Is it really that bad?”

  “Go see for yourself.”

  Sliding off her fiancée’s lap, Nyx heads for a mirror that is dangling from a nail on the far wall. Having the whiskey bottle in one hand and Kevin’s cane in the other, she childishly wonders how much she looks like her father. Taking a quick drink, she examines the changes to her hair and frowns at how the colors remind her of a striped cat. She hates how the streaks have clean edges, which give her tresses a fake look similar to those she used to see on pompous nobles. Putting the bottle down, Nyx runs her hand over her head and masks the blonde sections to match her shimmering ebony hair. Satisfied with the illusion, she spins the cane in her hand and heads back to the desk. A nod from Delvin sends her back for the whiskey, which she takes another sip of before floating it to the warrior.

  It is when the channeler tries to clumsily juggle the polished cane again that it slips from her grasp and hits the front of the desk. Both champions notice that the sound is of something hollow being struck instead of solid wood like one would expect. Delvin comes around to help Nyx search for a hidden switch, but he is waved away to check the other side. The warrior moves Kevin’s chair to a corner and crawls under the desk where he finds a box of scrolls marked as urgent. Realizing that the veteran would never be able to get into such a tight space without aggravating his old wounds, Delvin backs out and checks inside the desk. Not finding anything, he slams drawers until the central one sinks an inch further than it should. A loud click can be heard before the front of the desk swings open to knock Nyx across the floor.

  “That makes sense. No reason to have the thing open safely if you’re always standing on the other side of it,” the half-elf mutters as she sits up. She scratches her head at the sight of a chainmail shirt that is emblazoned with a wild boar symbol similar to her family’s engagement ring. “That man has so many heirlooms hidden in here. It’s like a Masterson museum. Wouldn’t be surprised if I opened the closet over there and found a preserved ancestor buried under decade old paperwork. Do you know what it is?”

  “A shirt of chainmail,” Delvin replies while he pulls the lightweight armor out of the compartment. He ignores the balled piece of paper that bounces off his head as he turns toward Nyx. “I guess this is his family’s enchanted armor, but he never talked about it. I wasn’t even aware such a thing existed, so I don’t know what it can do. We should really put this back and close the desk. I already have my magic chainmail and I think I’ve taken enough from your father. There’s his title, the engagement ring, and his only daughter.”

  “Actually, he gave you two of those things and the third gave herself to you. Just took her a lot of time and grief to do it,” Nyx points out as she takes the armor. She can feel its magic poking at her fingers and snaking along her muscles, making her think there is a powerful strength enchantment on the links. “I don’t have the time and energy to analyze this, but I believe you should use it. The chainmail you usually wear involves functioning underwater and it isn’t much stronger than regular armor. This one was obviously made for combat and has grown more potent over the years. You can give it back after the battle. As the sole heir to the Masterson name and whatever you want to call this mess, I give you permission.”

  “You could wear it.”

  “Casters and armor don’t mix because we like to move fast.”

  “Guess I’ll take it then.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll wear some sexy chainmail on our honeymoon.”

  A look of confusion and worry is on Delvin’s face as he says, “You don’t know much about armor, do you? Just one word for you, Nyx. Pinching.”

  6

  Delvin stands above the mounted Sword Dragon head and adjusts his chainmail shirt, which has yet to do anything other than feel a little too wide for his body. The warrior watches as ogres and minor demons emerge from the forest, none of the creatures daring to get within fifty feet of the academy wall. The sight and stench of the imposing army is enough to shake the students’ courage even as minutes of inactivity slowly pass by. Signaling for the archers to ready their weapons, Delvin turns toward the courtyard to make sure everyone is in position. He watches the battle priests pray in a circle that is illuminated by a bright shaft of sunlight, their presence giving him some comfort. He is unclear about the Duragians’ plan, but the seven robed figures have assured him that they will deliver a destructive blow on behalf of the Sun God. Leaning over the wall, he waves to catch Nyx’s attention, but the half-elf never reacts. She stands with her glowing hands against the Sword Dragon’s neck stump and is focused entirely on building up her first spell. Not wanting to break her concentration, Delvin looks to double-check if the catapults are loaded and ready to fire. The rest of the students have lined up behind the front gate and anxiously wait for the call to charge. A steady stomping of booted feet is being led by Thomas, who is standing at the head of the small army. The noise is still not enough to drown out the bellowing ogres and acidic hisses from the demons, which steadily grows loud enough to shake the buildings.

  “I want you to stay with the archers, Theresa,” Delvin says as the calico and Timoran join him. She is about to argue when her former partner reaches out to tap on the hilt of her curved dagger. “Your fighting style isn’t suited for a frontal assault. Once the armies clash and things become more chaotic out there, you can slip into the battle and do what you do best. Have the archers aim for the demons more often than the ogres. Did Dariana and her squad make it through without getting caught?”

  “Fizzle was keeping them invisible, so we can only assume they are okay,” Timoran answers while adjusting his bracers. The barbarian scratches the old claw marks on his shoulder, the scars itching in the cold breeze. “I did not hear a confrontation, which is good news. Though I do question the wisdom of sending them away. There is no proof that our enemy will leave Selenia and the others behind. In fact, I would expect them to
be brought along as visible hostages and living shields.”

  “That would make sense, but I didn’t see them with the army last night,” Theresa states, her eyes focusing on a bulky demon. The creature snaps at the ogres until one of the hairy beasts hits the summoned monster over the head with a club. “Did you see that? Whoever put this army together didn’t force the two sides to be friendly with each other. I’ll try to use that to my advantage and see if I can cause some infighting. Looks like it’s time to get the kids ready to fight. Give me five minutes to talk to Thomas before you start everything.”

  The calico salutes and flips off the wall, which leaves the two champions to watch the enemy continue to gather. They are happy that the roars and hisses have been replaced by a low hum that is easily ignored. Feeling nervous, Delvin tightens the straps on his shield and makes sure his bastard sword is easy to draw. Letting his anxiety get the best of him, he pokes at the wild boar symbol on his chest, but the armor still does nothing. A wintery gale drifts over the academy and whips snow into the champion’s face, his cheeks briefly turning red from the freezing touch. With a sideways glance at his companion, Delvin wishes he had the barbarian’s vest and natural resistance to the icy weather.

  “You could always focus your power inward,” Timoran suggests when he sees his friend shiver. He draws his great axe and puts the weapon on his shoulder, most of the ogres roaring at the sight of the weapon. “I understand that you wish to only use your magic to help the rest of us, but you may be misguided in your concerns. The real issue with your fount powers occurs when you switch between focuses too quickly. I believe the priests can handle the healing and the rest of us are more than capable of fighting with our own strength. Use your power to enhance yourself and rally the others by being a force of destruction.”

  “The students will need a boost,” Delvin replies while he watches Theresa and Thomas share a kiss. The calico’s tail swishes behind her as she heads for the stairs, which she takes by threes. “I’m going to protect as many of Selenia’s people as possible. That way she doesn’t have to fill out any death notices, which I know she hates to do. Besides, I feel like I will be letting her down if I don’t do everything in my power to help the others.”

  “Seems you two share a strong sense of responsibility.”

  “It’s caused us to butt heads at times.”

  An echoing roar silences the monstrous army, all of them crouching as if bowing before a superior. Raising two clubs over its wide head, an enormous ogre continues to shout and bellow at the academy. Its ebony horns are serrated and twist up, some of the grooves still holding the rotting flesh of the creature’s last victim. There is a dull shine to its thick hair, which is dripping with oil that keeps the large beast warm in the cold. Unlike the other ogres, their leader has an altered piece of platemail over its pimply chest. The dented armor has been fused to the creature’s flesh, which has become permanently raw and irritated. Slamming the clubs into the ground, the primal general roars loud enough to crack the windows of every building.

  “That’s a big one,” Delvin whispers as he draws his sword. He can taste the students’ fear in the air and bangs his weapon against his shield to answer the ogre. “All of the others are scared, which means we have our main target. No sign of the demonic knight, but I figure it’s lurking in the shadows to see what I can do. That means I shouldn’t show too much. Our best plan is to fire one of the catapults and hope the big guy can’t dodge. Although, I’d be more afraid of him hitting it back at us.”

  “May I attempt something?” Timoran asks before politely raising a flask of Ifrit mead to the enemy. He takes a sip of his favorite alcohol and licks his lips to get every delicious drop. “The boulders are too easy to see and everyone with magic is waiting for a signal. We do not want them to waste their initial attacks, so it would be nice if our enemies stood still for a second. This killing field is one hundred feet wide, right?”

  As soon as the brown-haired warrior nods, Timoran hurries down the stairs and gets to the middle of the courtyard. Focusing on the Ring of Aintaranurh, his body becomes covered in orange energy that ripples onto his tiger-striped great axe. He closes his eyes for a brief moment to picture his target and get a sense of how the wind is blowing, his hair helping him gauge the strength and direction. Once the large ogre makes another noise, Timoran unleashes a bellowing battle cry that shatters all of the glass in the area and hurls his weapon over the wall. The champion sprints toward the stairs and leaps up to the walkway to see if he has hit his mark. To his relief, none of the creatures know what to make of the spinning axe that continues to drip orange energy. Their chuckling leader lifts its clubs to hit the weapon, but they are instantly splintered. The weapon strikes the ogre’s head with enough force to cleave halfway down the thick body and shatter the platemail.

  “Impressive doesn’t do that move justice,” Delvin says as he watches the twitching corpse topple over. The entire monster army erupts into chaos, the demons rushing to fight while the ogres preferring to advance cautiously. “You’ve effectively split their forces into two groups and given us the advantage. Though you’re unarmed now.”

  “Not exactly,” Timoran states, his arms and legs still covered in orange energy. He bangs his fists together and grins at the feeling of magical strength in his muscles. “I am honoring Luke by doing the unexpected. He would appreciate this.”

  “Real shame he’s missing this fight. Children of Durag! Attack!”

  The circle of priests chant at the top of their lungs, which unleashes multiple blasts of sunlight that punch holes in the enemy forces. While the ogres are knocked away and barely burned by the holy magic, any demons caught in the attack are incinerated. The screaming monsters become even less united and their situation is made worse when Nyx pumps her power through the Sword Dragon’s head. It is the ogres who suffer more than the demons when a wide fan of crimson fire surges across the killing field. Satisfied with her work, the channeler launches herself to the top of the administrative building and flings devastating spells at the enemies attacking from the northern side. Arrows and boulders soar over the wall in every direction, many of the projectiles igniting as Nyx adds an explosive enchantment to them. With Thomas leading the way, the gates open and the students of Hamilton Military Academy rush to meet the invaders.

  As Timoran leaps off the wall and barrels into the fractured army, Delvin hurries down the stairs and sprints toward the entrance. He focuses his power on increasing the students’ strength and durability, every man and woman getting coated in a faint layer of white energy. They assume it is adrenaline that allows them to knock the powerful enemies back with a single strike and shrug off the pain of glancing blows. Rushing through the doorway, Delvin remains at the edge of his own army to get to the front where Thomas is struggling to hold back an ogre with broken horns. The beast is hit in the ear by an arrow, which allows the sergeant instructor to deliver a killing blow with his spear. The weapon sticks between the monster’s ribs, which leaves the man open to a bat-eared demon.

  A burst of blue energy erupts from Delvin’s chainmail as he dives in front of the creature and slices it in half. The demon’s flailing claws tear at the armor, which regenerates as fast as it is damaged. Gentle pressure pushes on the champion’s shoulders, telling him why Kevin no longer wears the enchanted artifact. As more of the chainmail’s powers awaken, Delvin grins at the clear sense of knowing where every ally and enemy is in a five foot radius. Combined with an increase to his reflexes, he flicks and spins his bastard sword so quickly that he appears to be blocking multiple attacks at once. Within a minute, four ogres and two demons are dead at the warrior’s feet and a small squad of inspired swordsmen have rallied around him.

  “I really hope Kevin lets me keep this,” Delvin says with a smirk. Bashing a demon’s head into pulp and loping off an ogre’s arm, the champion points his weapon at the trees. “Push for the forest! When you get there then turn back around and fight back to the aca
demy! Repeat until all of our enemies are dead or retreating! Let’s make Selenia proud!”

  *****

  Unfamiliar with the hand gestures that her allies use in the field, Dariana sends the five swordsmen and three archers a telepathic message for them to find cover. They crouch in leafless bushes that are ten feet away from the edge of a path, which has been crudely carved through the forest. Up ahead, Visindor abruptly stops and opens into a large clearing, which is being used for a military encampment. Smoking fire pits and messy piles of unused wood are scattered about the barren area that is devoid of even tree stumps. The academy warriors are disheartened to see that there are no tents or cabins for them to hide behind. The only structure is a pyramid-shaped cage in the middle of the camp, the crystalline apex glinting in the sunlight. Dariana waves to Fizzle, who is camouflaged in the branches of a nearby maple and counting how many enemies are left in the camp. Instead of flying, the drite carefully climbs down the trunk and crawls back to the others. His purple scales change to match his surroundings, the advanced chameleon spell maintaining by his constant whispering.

  “Cage too dark. No see if friends inside,” Fizzle reports while the archers hurry to take positions at the edge of the clearing. He climbs onto Dariana’s shoulder and points his tail at the camp even though the thick trees block most of it from view. “Fizzle see two demons. One fat and no arms. Other with wings and sticky arms. Both not friendly. Some ogres. No big demon. Place feel wrong.”

  “I know what you mean,” Dariana replies, massaging her temples. A constant pressure is on her mind, the discomfort easing whenever she closes her eyes. “We didn’t see this demon knight when the army passed by our hiding place. I was hoping to give Delvin more information, but it appears that our enemy has vanished. Is there a chance I can convince all of you to hold back until I make sure the path is clear of traps?”