“Selenia Hamilton has died. We’re staying at the academy for the funeral and then moving on to Freedom,” Dariana explains, her voice faint and ghostly. She waves her hand to show the headmistress laid out on a bed with her sword on her chest. “Selenia defeated her final enemy and passed gently surrounded by her students. We have also learned that the child of Baron Kernaghan and Yola Biggs has been sent to hurt us. He is doing this through our allies and loved ones. A warning has been sent to Trinity and Tigris Wrath. Being in Freedom, I hope that you two can send a quick message to our friends there. I’m sorry, but we need you to return to Gaia and visit Rainbow Tower because we have been unable to contact Willow and Cyril. Please get there as quickly as possible. I have to leave and help with the funeral.”
“Wait. Don’t tell me Selenia is dead and go away,” Kira snaps, jabbing her finger through the apparition. Tears are gathering in her eyes and she refuses to shed them, making it difficult to see. “I demand to know the details. Who killed her and why couldn’t anybody stop it from happening? Did she get ambushed? There’s no way Selenia could be killed in a true battle. Tell me exactly what happened.”
“I’m sorry, but the details are not mine to tell,” Dariana claims as she turns to speak to someone that the others cannot see. The glimmer of someone in armor appears to her left, the image fading away before it fully forms. “Very well. I am allowed to give you the basics because you deserve to know, but time is limited. A demon poisoned her and challenged Delvin to a fight. The plan was to make him realize that he could not save her even if he won. It failed because Selenia accepted the challenge and destroyed the demon with her own hands. Then she went to the central fountain and let the poison run its course. If it helps, she won with minimal effort.”
“That doesn’t help,” the heiress replies while she goes back to the bench. Sitting with her head in her hands, she shifts as her red streak sizzles and burns. “Selenia was my teacher and had faith in me even when she shouldn’t have. I want to be at the funeral. Not only for me, but for Luke too.”
“We need you to go to Rainbow Tower.”
“I politely refuse.”
“Others are in danger and you two are in a better position to get there.”
“You’re closer than us.”
“Delvin is her heir and the closest thing she had to a child, so we can’t leave now.”
“Hold off on having the funeral until I get there.”
Sari puts a hand on Kira’s shoulder and flashes a half-hearted smile that fails to calm the woman. “There’s a third option that gives everyone what they want. Even with me pushing my powers and our ship to their limits, it will take two or three days to reach Gaia. The funeral will occur before then. I’m not exactly sure how telepathy works, but maybe Dariana can connect with Kira to help her be there in some kind of astral form. It doesn’t have to be much. Only enough for her to see and hear everything. The other mourners don’t even have to know she’s there.”
“That is a good idea,” Dariana admits as she stands in front of the heiress. She plucks a psychic hair from Kira’s head and twists it into her own head, the black line standing out among the pristine silver. “With this, I can bring you to the academy immediately. As soon as the service is over, you will be returned to your body. I’m sorry that the situation is not ideal. Not only for you, but for many who wish to be present. Perhaps this can be a way to allow all of her former students and distant allies to be in attendance. It is something to suggest to Delvin. Now, I must get going and contact Selenia’s family. Good luck, my friends.”
The busy street comes alive with noise and movement, which jolts the women out of their trances. Kira refuses to let Sari help her stand even though warm tears are flowing down her cheeks. Only those who are not in a rush try to stop and ask if everything is okay, each one leaving at the sound of a low growl. Straightening her back, the heiress swiftly leads the way back to the dock, but makes a sudden turn into an alley. The stench of garbage registers enough to make her grimace and she barely reacts to the rats that scurry out of her way. Unsure of what is happening, Sari follows and does her best to avoid the pools of filthy water. Hearing a grunt, the gypsy draws a dagger and carefully watches as two men in leather armor step out of a shadowy doorway. Neither of them bother to talk, the brutish thieves believing they have found easy prey. Slumping forward in a feeble attempt to make themselves look bigger and more intimidating, they trudge toward the women and brandish small metal clubs. They are swiftly knocked out by the blunt end of Kira’s weapon, which the gypsy never even saw her companion draw. Before they come to another main street, the heiress ducks into a five-story building and heads for the top floor.
“Where are we going?” asks the gypsy, the lack of people in the stairwell making her nervous.
“The ship won’t be fast enough,” Kira replies as she opens a hidden door to the roof. A trio of black-clothed calicos immediately jump out of their chairs and hiss until a pouch of diamond spheres are dropped at their feet. “We’ve come to do business. I know you have a stable of flying beasts just outside of the city and that my fellow nobles enjoy your services. You’re going to give me one of your griffins. You won’t be getting it back. Thanks.”
*****
The Baron calmly wipes his prisoner’s blood off his shirt and shakes the liquid into the ocean where horned sharks swim in search of a wounded animal. He chuckles at the sight of the slender beasts attacking each other since the source of their frenzy is safe at the top of the cliff. A dull groan draws his attention back to Luke, who is determined to remain conscious. Patches of his skin have been carefully pulled back to expose the muscles, which have thin needles sticking into them. Burn marks are all over the half-elf’s body, one of them a blistering handprint around his throat. One of his arms has been twisted like a corkscrew, the bone pulverized too much to pierce his discolored flesh. With a weak cough, Luke goes limp and his only remaining movement is a twitching toe.
“I didn’t like the delivery for this round. A little too sloppy and you’re starting to repeat yourself,” Yola states from a nearby table. The immortal is about to wave her hand to heal the prisoner, but stops when her master holds up a finger. “He could die if I don’t do something. The physical and mental trauma is pretty bad this time. You made sure Luke couldn’t look away from the portals. He saw that Walter has been very successful on his first mission. I’m such a proud mommy. Can I start baking a cake?”
“Repair as much damage as you can without waking him,” the Baron orders as he takes a seat. Claiming a cookie, he taps his finger on the table and watches some of his most recent work fade away. “I am growing bored with this toy. He is resilient in both mind and body, which can be quite frustrating. Perhaps I will give him to you tomorrow and focus on other things. Do you have any reports on my son’s other targets, Lord Fortune?”
“Not sure you can call it a report since he doesn’t really talk to me. I have to indirectly spy on his actions,” Nyder explains while he tinkers with a gear-covered box. A loud click makes the gnome grin, the expression fading when nothing happens. “Selenia Hamilton is dead, but Delvin didn’t get hit as hard as we’d hoped. She stepped into the fight and may have inspired him to be stronger. At least he’s grieving, which might have a short-term effect on him. You know how weird warriors can be when their kind dies in battle. Walter is having some trouble with the Garden of Uli and he hasn’t hit Haven yet. He doesn’t seem interested in Freedom, but that could change at any moment. As for Stonehelm, a small army of demons was put on the northern coast and told to march south. Seems they never made it out of the mountains. We’re not sure what went wrong and Walter says he won’t try again because, according to him, Timoran Wrath is boring.”
“Fair enough. The barbarian is not as important to me as the channeler,” the warlord says, his thoughts drifting back to the prisoner. A flick of his wrist creates a wind blade that leaves a gash in Luke’s forehead. “Watch Walter, but do not int
erfere. This is a test for my son just as much as it is one for the champions. Time is too limited for me to coddle him. With the blood of a former goddess in his veins, I have the utmost faith that he will succeed. The only true threat is Dariana.”
Yola clears her throat and crosses her arms and legs to show she is insulted. “Zaria is an incontinent pup compared to me. For no other reason than I was born a goddess and she ascended. Though, I guess chaos and purity are two of the oldest pieces of the world. Still, I’m much cuter and can eat five trolls in one sitting without getting sick. That means Walter is stronger than Dariana.”
The Baron absentmindedly nods before his eyes roll back and his body goes limp, neither of his agents showing concern. His mouth moves to continue the spell that plunges his mind into Luke’s psyche, which no longer possesses even the most basic of defenses. The mental expanse is desolate and covered in an inch of dark green liquid that reeks of bitter poison. A circle of clean water is around the half-elf, who has freed himself from his bonds and stands naked in front of the gnarled tree. He stares ahead at the mirrors that show his friends and family, one of the hovering portals having turned black. With a trembling hand, the champion reaches for the empty circle as it drifts out of reach and begins to replay Selenia’s death. Unable to use his legs, Luke lets his arm drop to his side and grinds his teeth with enough force to crack the points off his incisors.
The Baron is about to move closer when the landscape shakes and lightning explodes from the ground. Holes are punched into the sky to reveal putrid clouds that unleash a downpour of knife-like rain. Wide chasms appear in the earth, which create powerful eddies that threaten to suck the ancient immortal deeper into his prisoner’s crumbling mind. The man floats above the churning water where he thinks he is safe, but he is immediately battered by a shrieking wind that gnaws on his face. Ignoring the cold blood that drips down his neck, the Baron draws a rapier from the darkness and destroys the attacking energy with a single slash. It is a short-lived victory as Luke opens his mouth wide and unleashes a horrific symphony of screams. Rising in pitch and intensity, the ear-wrenching chorus creates a circular wave of bubbling poison that grows to fifty feet high. Unnerved by the noise and how the psychic world is falling apart, the warlord drives his weapon into his own chest to jolt himself awake.
“Are you okay, master?” Nyder asks, his hand on the black-haired man’s wrist. He bows his head in apology when the immortal mutters an incoherent response. “Forgive me for worrying about you. The look on your face was one of distress and then bite marks appeared on your forehead. Not to mention your chest is bleeding.”
“I was caught by surprise, but there is no true injury,” the Baron says, opening his stained shirt to reveal a disappearing stab wound. Curious about what has happened, he gets closer to the tree and raises Luke’s head by the chin. “Every time I think I understand this one, he does something unexpected. He is pushed to the edge of defeat and stripped of his gifts, but then he creates a new method of fighting back. I wonder if the others are like this. To be honest, I have my doubts since they accepted their full power. It is possible that Luke Callindor’s refusal to go through with Gabriel’s plan has turned him into an anomaly.”
“That could be very dangerous for both sides,” the gnome points out while rummaging through his satchel. Drawing a long syringe, he screws an amber orb into the plunger and taps at the needle. “With your permission, I’d like to take a fresh sample of his aura. There isn’t much for me to do until more ores and dragon parts are brought into the factory. I would very much like to be more than a secret babysitter for your son.”
“Have Yola do it because she has a better chance of surviving than you,” the warlord replies as he looks out over the ocean. A glint of metal catches his attention, the object quickly sinking beneath the waves. “It was bound to happen with this prophecy. Destiny and freewill have always been at odds. Put too much focus on one and the other rears its ugly head to ruin your plans. Gabriel has meddled in bloodlines, history, and the essence of Windemere itself to bring about this generation of champions. So, it should not surprise me that at least one of his weapons is going against his wishes.”
With no finesse, Yola plunges the syringe into Luke’s core and draws some aura for Nyder’s experiments. “What should we do, master? Is it too dangerous to continue torturing him? I could bury him for safekeeping. This time I’ll remember the air holes and that mortals need to eat and drink every few days.”
The Baron runs a comb through his hair and shakes off bits of bone that he assumes have come off of his prisoner. With a roll of his wrist, the immortal summons an ancient tome to his hand and carefully turns the pages. The fragile parchment crinkles between his fingers, but any attempt to use magic on the precious book will risk damaging it. He smiles at the old memory of claiming this treasure from a defiant caster, who managed to gain a speck of victory before meeting a violent end. Little did the old woman know, the Baron would have more than enough time to learn every ancient tongue and get around the dormant trap spell. Stopping on a fading page, the Baron turns to Luke and lets his thoughts continue wandering along the new path before him.
“I must return to the castle and think,” he declares before gently closing the tome. With a snap of his fingers, a vine grows from the tree to wrap around the half-elf’s neck and keep his head up. “Do what you want with him, Yola. The only rule is that you repair all of the damage that you cause. No killing either. That would undo all of my work and make my new plan more difficult, if not impossible.”
Nyder gathers his equipment and shoves the remaining cookies into his satchel, the gnome knowing he will need a snack. “May I ask what you are planning, master?”
“I believe I have another torment for this hero. One that Gabriel and the other champions will never expect.”
8
The academy is filled with students and teachers, each one holding a longsword that has been wrapped in black cloth. Channeled through Dariana, the spectral forms of graduates and allies stand on the wall, which has yet to be fully repaired. The telepath sits cross-legged on the damaged roof of the administrative building, her eyes closed as she focuses on the hundreds of minds that she is touching. In front of the fountain, the graduation dais has been set up for those closest to Selenia. Stationed at the podium, Daniel Skyblade adjusts his white shirt until the crimson dragons are perfectly in place. Fighting to maintain his composure, the bald nobleman continues fussing about his appearance as he waits for the ceremony to start. To his right stands Kevin and Nyx, the channeler feeling out of place among those who knew Selenia best. She routinely leans back to get a look at Delvin, who is sitting on a stool behind Lord Skyblade. Her fiancée is staring ahead at the large crowd, his pointer fingers pressed against his lips. He refuses to move even after Timoran and Duggan walk onto the dais, the pair stopping to bow their heads to the new headmaster. Nyx is about to join the warrior when Kevin taps her wrist and shakes his head, the old man’s eyes filled with barely restrained grief.
A towering funeral pyre of polished wood has been erected over the fountain and decorated with an armband from each of the students. Dressed in simple clothes, Selenia has been placed on top with her hands on her chest to hold the thunderclap longsword in place. The beloved warrior still has the peaceful look on her face that she died with, which the Duragian priests say is a sign that she has already been claimed in the afterlife. Twelve apples have been placed around the half-elf and Fizzle is perched by her head to make sure his part of the decorations remain undisturbed. When Daniel clears his throat, the drite touches Selenia’s face with his tail and swoops toward the dais. Not wanting to disturb the others, he lands on Timoran’s shoulder and sniffles when the barbarian reaches up to scratch his stubby horns.
“I have to admit that I don’t know how to start this. Welcoming everyone doesn’t seem like it would be right,” Daniel announces as he grips the podium. A spell carries his voice throughout the academy and over th
e wall, which makes the experienced orator more nervous. “I remember when I first met Selenia and demanded that she let me join her mercenary band. It was before she made an army that would start the organization that those in the trade know today. She wasn’t interested in taking on a student, but I persisted and was eventually accepted after my eighth trouncing. Long before she built this academy, she had a gift for teaching and making those around her believe they could succeed. There was never a student that Selenia truly considered a lost cause even if she used that insult in anger. She was strict when we needed discipline and kind when we needed tenderness. There was never any doubt that she could have returned to the life of a mercenary, but she was happy and felt whole here. Every student gave her a challenge with an outcome that she relished more than gold and glory. Her legacy as the first Mercenary Queen has been overshadowed by her years as the headmistress of the Hamilton Military Academy. Selenia Hamilton will never be forgotten. From this very first, annoying student that she accepted long before her school existed to those of you who have recently arrived, all of us act as a memorial to such an amazing woman. We are her proud sons and daughters who will honor her memory through our deeds. Uh, you want to take over, Kevin, because I don’t think I’m going to make it much longer.”
Daniel breathes a shuddering sigh of relief as the older man limps over and puts a hand on his shoulder. The nobleman lets himself get guided to a chair next to Delvin, the champion having turned around to stare at the funeral pyre. A flicker of rage is in Lord Skyblade’s heart when he thinks that the young man ignored his speech. He holds his tongue when he sees Delvin is crying and mindlessly fingering his bronze graduation ring. Gently patting the champion on the arm, Daniel nods his head toward the podium where Kevin is preparing to read Selenia’s will. With the other warrior’s help, the champion turns his chair around and faces the large crowd of teary-eyed people. Both men watch as the scroll is opened and the grizzled veteran begins to laugh, an unexpected noise that manages to slice through the tension.
Ritual of the Lost Lamb Page 15
