“True, but the exception is if entering a fight ruins your enemy’s plans,” Selenia states as she lifts her shirt. A pulsing patch of black is on her lower back, the small cut in its center releasing an acidic pus that is creeping along her skin. “I was poisoned and put in some stasis spell after being captured. Probably have thirty minutes left if I relax and remain calm. The priests here aren’t strong enough to cure something so potent either. You see, the plan was to make you fight that demon with the idea that you were saving me. Then you would learn that it was for nothing and I was going to die anyway. Apparently, whoever put this plan together thinks I’d sit back and let it happen. You might want to make contact with Rainbow Tower and Tzefira too if the goal is to make all of you suffer.”
“I could cure you.”
“Not without weakening yourself before the fight.”
“Let me-”
Selenia walks by Delvin to greet the rattling cart and catch Dariana as the exhausted telepath collapses. She hands the groaning champion to Timoran before helping Kevin to the ground, the old man muttering complaints. He stops when he sees the look on his old friend’s face and crosses his arms as if he is about to argue with her. Spotting a hint of blood in the corner of the half-elf’s mouth, the veteran realizes that there is nothing he can say to stop her. Duggan hurries around the cart to ask for orders, but his voice disappears when he silently reads the expressions of his companions. The dwarf sighs in frustration and kicks a nearby wheel, which splinters from the solid impact. Without a word, the two men walk alongside their leader, the sudden advance forcing Delvin to fall in behind the people who raised him.
“I prefer this to dying of old age,” Selenia says, her lavender eyes locked on the demon. She can see it has become tense, the creature unsure of what to do since it is no longer fighting Delvin. “Send a message to Betty, Skyblade, and the Callindors. Not sure if they can make the funeral since it’ll be tomorrow. No sense wasting more than one class day on me, especially with all of the repairs needing to be done. Just tell my brother that he was probably the smartest of our family. Not the most ambitious, but definitely the smartest. There’s a letter in my desk for my parents too. Think that covers all the important stuff.”
“Nothing for us?” Delvin asks, earning glares from the three veterans. He refuses to back down even when Selenia blindly fires a lightning bolt to keep the demon at bay. “I know you don’t like face-to-face goodbyes, but this is different. We won’t wake up in the morning to find you leading the run. I can’t come back here to spar with you. This isn’t like the other times we parted ways.”
“You’ll do fine with this place, Delvin,” the half-elf replies, her voice softening. Not wanting to drop any of her gear, she gives the young warrior an awkward hug around the neck. “I trained you to the best of my ability and you grew into a great leader. The only thing I want you to do is stop taking things so personally. Failures hurt and not letting them go will turn you more into me than anyone should be. As for the most loyal and appreciated thorns in my butt, I can’t really think of anything sappy to say. Duggan has my permission to drink publicly and share his stash with the students for a full week after the funeral. Not that I think you would do anything else, but now you can celebrate without guilt. Masterson . . . clean your office or I’m coming back to haunt you.”
“Eh, I have the Duragians to save me, so do your worst,” the old man claims with a wide grin. He is about to pull the half-elf into a bear hug, but stops when he gets a clear look at her wound. “Still not a good way to go if you ask me. Don’t send this thing back to the Chaos Void. Kill it for good.”
“I’ll try, but only if Uli is willing to grant me a final gift.”
With her hands full, Selenia taps Kevin’s good shoulder with the edge of the shield and approaches the demon. A pulse of comfort rushes over the warrior and she catches the reflection of the Elven Goddess in her blade. Releasing a long breath, she stops her advance and closes her eyes to clear her mind of all distractions. Jolts of pain ripple along her lower back and she finds it difficult to twist her upper body. A numbness is threatening to creep down her right leg and her stomach is tight from getting hit by some of the poison. Even with her injuries, Selenia is confident that she will never fail, especially with all of her students watching.
The demon spins its sabers and prepares to charge, but it is sent crashing to the ground when a lightning bolt strikes its armored chest. As the creature rises from the smoking crater, the nimble half-elf sprints forward and delivers a blow to the knight’s stomach. She can feel her strength has already been reduced and her limbs are a little sluggish, the poison getting pumped through her system by the rush of combat. Selenia rapidly blocks the demon’s slashes with her shield, the familiar sight of the Whirlwind of Uli style making her smile. A ringing blow hits the enchanted disc and the half-elf swiftly counters with a thrust that slips between her enemy’s shoulder plates. Acidic blood seeps from the wound and the demon screeches in pain, a sensation it is not very familiar with. The knight spins and flips to drive Selenia back, but she deflects every flashy blow while finding more spaces for her blade to slip through. It is obvious that the monster is not very skilled with her family’s signature style, which has resulted in an inability to get around the shield. For a brief moment, the hardened warrior is tempted to toss the obstacle away and make her last battle more of a challenge.
Diving away from a strike that leaves a hole in the earth, Selenia takes a final look at her academy. Wanting to enjoy the view, she continues dodging the demon’s attacks and thinks back to when she first arrived in Visindor. Spotting Fizzle darting around the wall, the half-elf realizes how many more memories she has of being a headmistress than of her time as a mercenary. With an unbreakable chill growing in her chest, Selenia decides that she would rather die within her home than on the battlefield. Blocking the next attack, the original Mercenary Queen thrusts her weapon through the demon’s face plate. The longsword crackles with lightning an instant before firing within the ivory armor. With a gurgling shriek, the knight explodes into burning chunks that remain on the ground instead of fading back into the Chaos Void.
It is not until the sabers return to their familiar form that Selenia relaxes and returns to her academy. She tosses the shield to Delvin as she passes him and waves to the cheering students, none of them aware that she has very little time left. Heading for the entrance, the headmistress walks like she is on a mission, so nobody dares to get in her way. Instead, everyone follows in a large crowd and quietly waits to see what she will do. Only giving the administrative building a casual glance, Selenia heads for the central fountain and takes a seat with her back against the cold marble. She puts her longsword across her knees and takes a relaxing breath, the taste of blood in her throat making her gently cough. The half-elf is mildly surprised that the poison does not hurt now that she is calm and her eyes close as if she is falling asleep.
“I really did live a good life,” she says with a chuckle. It takes only four more breaths for her heart to stop and the legendary Selenia Hamilton to gently pass away.
7
Sari and Kira quietly stare through the shimmering force field, their presence hidden from anyone inside the large room. Screams and wails echo throughout the Neberith temple’s asylum wing, which is designed to keep the patients as calm without constant magic. The walls and floor are blandly colored, matching the dull yellow of the priests and priestesses. A common room is at the end of the wide hallway where the more mellow and less dangerous patients can be found resting on the couches. Others can be seen ranting and beating at the walls behind mood-influenced force fields, only a handful of the men and women sleeping on their cots. As she makes a spin to get a look at their surroundings, Sari notices that a male half-orc has yanked out one of his incisors to carve Baron Kernaghan’s name into the wall of his room. As she watches, the gypsy wonders how many people have been driven insane because the warlord is close to returning. An eeri
e howl rolls down the hallway, the source drawing five priests and a trio of unarmed guards to the front door.
None of the activity registers in Myilia Sharpeye’s mind, the halfling having remained in her room since her arrival. She has a thick bandage covering her eyes, the white gauze dotted with dark red spots. Her olive skin has turned unnaturally pale and there are only two tufts of her brown hair left, the rest of her scalp covered in fresh scabs. She remains rocking in the corner, stopping only to gnaw on her slashed thumb and smear the blood on her white shirt. For a moment, it appears that she is making a purposeful design, but the woman pauses to turn it into an ugly blob. There are bowls of seawater spread out around the room, the familiar smell helping to keep her calm.
“Poor thing won’t be able to answer your questions,” a priest says as he joins the two women. The green-scaled fireskin leans on a birch wood staff that is topped with the spiny oval of Neberith. A flickering flame of blue is within the star-shaped space in the symbol’s center, a wave of serenity washing over any who stare directly at it. “Myilia came to us a little under a year ago. Although, we knew her prior to the mental breakdown. She was popular at the docks for her summer tours to Gaia and being one of the friendliest sailors in the city. Everybody loved her and she would come by to help at the hospital during her slow periods. Never took any payment and would even take the sick children on a short tour around the bay when the weather and ocean were right. Myilia was a kind and beautiful woman. To see her in such a state is painful and we pray every day for her recovery. Sadly, madness is not something the gods can heal like a physical wound. That would go against the freewill of mortals, which makes my duty even more difficult and essential.”
“What happened to her?” Sari asks as she watches the halfling. She reaches out to touch the force field, but her arm is gently lowered by the priest. “Neither of us have ever met her in person, but a friend said Myilia was full of life and happiness. Hard to believe this is the same woman. Could she be a fake and the real one is hiding somewhere?”
“I apologize for my friend,” Kira quickly interjects at the sight of the fireskin’s teeth-baring frown. Bowing her head, the heiress snaps her fingers for the gypsy to do the same. “We’re looking for a mutual acquaintance and thought she might have seen him. If we can’t ask her questions then our search ends here, which could mean the death of a dear friend. Perhaps you can share with us how she came to Neberith’s embrace and we can find some answers in the story.”
The priest scratches his chin, removing a few dead scales that burn against the floor. “I’m afraid the tale is rather simple, especially since I can’t go into the details of her condition. Myilia disappeared one night and nobody was able to find her. After a week of waiting, we thought she took a sailing job that took her to Canst’s Fields or Cerascent. Then four months after she vanished, she turned up in Silverstar Manor. The family has no explanation for how she got into their home or where she came from, but they found her screaming in the ballroom. My order was called in because Myilia reacted violently as soon as she saw the guards. She didn’t attack them, but used a candlestick to gouge out her own eyes. We can’t heal the damage because she will do it again and that could kill her. The best we can do is take care of her and hope she regains her senses.”
“Has she said anything strange?” Kira asks as she watches a dwarf draw a picture of the compass key with his lunch. The young man moves to the middle of his room to bow before the drawing, his bandaged arms stretched as far as they can go. “For that matter, have you seen an increase in patients lately? We heard that some cities have had some madness outbreaks. Nothing to cause mass hysteria, but enough to put people on edge.”
“There has been a rise in patients who show similar symptoms,” the priest replies, his reptilian eyes narrowing in suspicion. Facing the dwarf that has caught Kira’s attention, he nods his head in understanding. “That strange symbol and the mention of a great darkness have been appearing quite often over the last week. Most who suffer from this delirium are cured after a few hours of serenity spells and a conversation. Others are not so lucky. We have sent our findings to the central temple and hope to have an answer soon.”
The heiress bows her head and turns back to Myilia, who is bent over to sniff at a bowl of saltwater. “Does she have the same symptoms?”
“No, she is a case of severe mental and emotional trauma. Beyond that, we have yet to find the true cause,” the fireskin answers, wiping a tear from his eye. He urgently waves to an approaching priestess, who immediately turns back to the front desk. “Without knowing what happened to her, we can’t be certain if she is talking coherently or muttering gibberish. Once a week, we hear her whispering a riddle of some kind, but it’s only at night when she might think she is alone. There is the option of using mind magic, but that is a drastic and intrusive action. I would much rather give her time and kindness even after so many months.”
Sari is about to ask a question when Myilia jumps to her feet and charges head first into the far wall. The priest cancels the force field to help the crazed halfling, who is rushing to the other side of the room. Sniffing the air, she stumbles to a stop and turns in the direction of her unexpected guests. Unable to see, Myilia wanders by the priest and timidly steps into the hallway. Her mouth moves without making a sound while red-tinted tears slip out from under her bandages. She reaches for Sari, who kneels in front of the smaller woman and tries to relax her tense muscles. The halfling smiles when she touches the gypsy’s soft cheeks, her fingers rough and clumsy. Myilia’s voice comes out as a wordless mutter a moment before her hands grip the blue-haired champion’s neck. Kira and the priest hurry to separate the two, but the blinded woman’s strength is too much for them to break.
“No more. I don’t want any more,” Myilia says, her thumbs pressing into Sari’s throat. A blast of the gypsy’s magic sends the halfling crashing back into her room, hissing steam wafting off her clothes. “One brown. One red. All dead. One brown. One red. All dead. One brown. One red. All dead.”
“I think it is best that you leave,” the flustered priest demands before going to tend to the wailing halfling.
Kira silently helps Sari to the front door, the gypsy massaging her bruised throat with hands that are covered in frost. Two imposing orderlies hand the women their weapons, which take some time to be put back in place. Glancing over their shoulders, they watch three robed figures hurry toward Myilia’s room where blasts of healing spells are rapidly going off. Knowing that they have worn out their welcome, the adventurers follow their silent escort to a small door, which puts them directly on the street. The pair head for a nearby vendor, the boisterous elf shouting about having the best soup in Freedom. From the delicious smell, Sari and Kira consider that he might be telling the truth. Placing four gold coins on the cart, they take their meals to a marble bench where they eat without a word. Flashes of light go off in the temple’s windows and flailing silhouettes briefly appear against the tinted glass. Neither of them know what to say since Myilia is their only connection to Nimby and they cannot go near her without causing trouble.
“At this rate, they’ll finish the ritual before we even come close to Luke,” Kira points out before slurping down the sweet soup. She leans her head back and watches the clouds, one of them reminding her of a griffin. “We could talk to Catarina Warrenberg, but I doubt she would have any clues. Not to mention that this mess could put her in danger. There’s always the academy too. He worked there for a while, so Selenia and the rest of the senior staff could have some insight.”
“Something drove Myilia insane and it has to do with Nimby,” Sari replies, her voice barely a whisper. Due to her mild injury, she has trouble swallowing the chunks of carrot and potato in the soup without chewing them into a mush. “There has to be a clue in her words. Brown, red, and dead makes me think of someone with brown skin being murdered. Maybe the victim’s hair or eyes? Saying one means a single target too.”
“Or she
could have fixated on my skin and the red streak in my hair,” the heiress ruefully suggests, nodding to a young boy who takes the bowls. She watches the blonde child hurry back to the vendor and earn two bronze coins. “We should reunite with the others. This might mean nothing, but it could also be important. Besides, we both saw people writing the Baron’s name and drawing the Compass Key on the walls. It isn’t a good sign. Our friends are probably heading here now, so we’ll go to Silverstar Manor and wait.”
“I don’t want to wait.”
“Neither do I, but we have no other choice.”
“What if we threaten Myilia to draw Nimby out?”
“Then I hit you over the head until you remember the difference between right and wrong.”
“I meant, pretending to instead of actually doing it.”
“You would still be upsetting a traumatized woman and antagonizing a killer who has no problem striking from the shadows.”
Sari sighs and takes a sip of fae water, the liquid fizzing and bubbling in her throat. “That was weird and uncomfortable. Probably should pour this batch out and get something fresh when I get a chance. Anyway, you’re right and we should give up for now. Please give me the communication orb so I can send a message to Nyxie and see where they are. No sense in staying in Freedom if they’re still in Visindor. That is unless you want to find a place to relax and try to forget our problems.”
Kira sighs and goes back to watching the clouds, which she gradually realizes are no longer drifting across the sky. The heiress carefully sits up and finds that none of the citizens are moving, each one frozen in time. Even the wind is still, which gives her a brief sensation of not being able to breathe. Looking out of the corner of her eye, she sees that Sari is relaxing on the bench and seems to be caught in the spell until the gypsy’s fingers twitch. The blue-haired champion points toward the river where a swirl of colors materializes into Dariana, who is clothed entirely in black. The telepath’s appearance causes the women to hurry and meet their friend at the shore, both of them battling a sense of impending grief.
Ritual of the Lost Lamb Page 14
