Warlord of the Forgotten Age

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “You fear that Luke is now an agent of the Baron.”

  “No. That seems too risky since one of us could figure that out pretty easily.”

  “Then, what is your best guess?”

  “I have no idea and that worries me even more.”

  “You just thought that Luke might not be dependable.”

  Delvin is about to complain about the psychic intrusion, but stops at the sight of Dariana’s pained expression. “This brings back some bad memories. I’ve fought alongside warriors who became consumed by anger and fear. It never ends well for them or their allies. Luke has always been reckless, but in a way that only put himself in danger and helps us. Now, I worry that he’ll do something that gets someone killed. That’s going to create a cycle for him that will result in a major breakdown, which could happen at the worst possible moment. We need to know Luke will back us up and be there when we need him. Our lives aside, the stakes in this fight are global. There isn’t any room for mistakes. Did the castle just get hotter?”

  Noticing the steam rising from the floor, the two champions rush through the halls to reach the front door in a matter of minutes. Met by a wall of heat, the pair skid to a stop at the sight of their friends on the drawbridge. The moat is bubbling in response to Nyx’s rising temper, which is evident from the inferno surrounding her body. Not fearing the flames, Luke is still in the channeler’s face and pushing against her chest with his finger. His other hand is near one of his sabers, but his thumb is tucked into his belt to make it clear that he has no desire to draw the weapon. Not far away from the confrontation, Timoran and Sari are struggling to keep the horses calm, the beasts bucking and neighing in terror. Fizzle does his best to hit the animals with a relaxing jet of rainbow mist, but their constant movements make it difficult to hit them with the thin streams.

  “I’d be happy to repeat myself,” Luke says with a cold smile. He drops his arm and rubs at the warm patch on his finger, which is pink down to the first knuckle. “I said you’re an idiot for bringing those horses along. Every time you try to ride one, you’re bucked off or end up getting lost. Then we have to save you, which wastes time. If we’re going to this portal then we shouldn’t make things worse by repeating old mistakes.”

  “I was going to ride with Delvin,” Nyx replies as she dispels her flames. She waves her fiancée and Dariana away, the motion causing Luke to turn in their direction. “We need to move quickly and going by foot will waste time. The horses will only be used until we reach the mountains where someone is going to meet us and take them back. It’s the best plan we could come up with since Gaia can’t spare us any griffins and you can’t carry all of us. So, Delvin will keep our mount under control and we won’t have a problem.”

  “No, we’ll just have two horses slowed down by their oversized loads,” the forest tracker replies, nodding his head toward Timoran. He ignores the barbarian’s low growl and turns all of his attention to Nyx. “Walking might not be the quickest way, but it’s the smartest. It doesn’t feed into one of your issues that any stable adult would have gotten under control by now. Not the least of which is your temper. Unless you’re boiling your moat on purpose and it isn’t a sign that you’re about to explode like a living weapon.”

  “I know you’ve been through a lot, little brother, but you’re crossing a line,” the channeler warns, her mouth remaining open as if she has been slapped in the face. Her rage dissipates and is replaced by a dull pain in her abdomen that emanates from an old scar. “We’re going to pretend this conversation didn’t happen and head out. No idea why you’re being so mean and cruel, but I won’t let you get to me. For now, I’m assuming you’re angry and-”

  Luke cracks his knuckles and steps forward to bring their noses together. “Yeah, at you for dragging me into this champion nonsense! I could have avoided this disaster if I had never met you. Isaiah said I wasn’t really involved until we became friends. This prophecy would have passed me by and my family would still be alive if it wasn’t for you. That ridiculous promise I made to help you defeat the darkness ruined my life.”

  “Let’s stop talking for now,” Sari interrupts, squeezing herself between her friends. Pushing them apart and gripping their shirts, she becomes immovable to hold them in place. “We’re starting to say things that we don’t mean. How about we leave Spellstream and remain silent until we have time to cool off?”

  “Is the orphan worried about losing another family?” Luke asks without hesitation. Tearing his shirt, he frees himself from the gypsy’s grasp and yawns. “I may have said that I was picking you over Kira, but I’m thinking that’s not a safe idea. You’re not any better than me. Everyone you end up loving dies, becomes corrupted, or simply forgets about you. Probably best that I not go anywhere near you unless I have a death wish.”

  “Spit it out, Callindor, and let me hear what you really want to say.”

  “I’m saying your love is cursed and brings misery to all who dare to get too close.”

  “Oh, I’ll show you doomed, hero.”

  “Give it your best shot, sl-”

  Luke collapses in a shower of rainbow mist that continues to pour out of Fizzle’s mouth, the drite frantically hovering over his friend. Shaken by the conversation, Sari heads back to the horses, the steeds cautiously back away from the angry gypsy. The animals only calm down when Timoran whispers in her ear and gets a smile out of the blue-haired woman. Nyx remains on the edge of the cloud, her eyes never straying from the unconscious warrior who twitches in his sleep. She is about to attempt a magic sight spell to see if Luke is corrupted or a fake, but the idea of discovering that either option is true makes her stomach twist. Forgetting that Delvin and Dariana are nearby, the channeler joins the others and flicks her tears into the moat. The water develops a prismatic sheen that rises to surround Fizzle’s spell and lock the slumbering mist around the half-elf.

  “The alternative was Timoran knocking him out with a blow to the head,” Dariana mentions while kneeling next to the barrier. She holds up her arm for the drite to land on and scratches his chin. “You did an excellent job, Fizzle. Luke is not himself, which is the best explanation I can give for his words and actions. You asked me before if he is dependable, Delvin, but I have no answer.”

  “I think he just answered the question for you,” the former mercenary mutters before following Nyx.

  “Fizzle not like this,” the drite says as he takes to the air. He stays near Dariana, who carefully lifts the magical shell that contains the forest tracker. “Luke not right. Too mean and cruel. Fizzle scared of new Luke. Can Dariana bring old one back?”

  Turning the container in her hands, she gets a look at Luke’s face, which is contorted in pain. “That’s what I was trying to do all this time. I don’t know why I can’t bring him back from the edge. I’m sorry that I failed everyone.”

  “You should be sorry,” Luke’s voice echoes in her head. Surprised at the sudden connection, Dariana drops the half-elf and backs away. “Who was the one that put the events in motion that led to my capture? I saved you from that explosion because you’re a champion and not because we’re friends. Not after you killed me in that fake world. Look where helping you got me anyway. You should have been the one that the Baron tortured for days or weeks or however long it was. You should be the broken one instead of me!”

  Unaware of the mental conversation, Fizzle lands on the telepath’s shoulder and asks, “Is Dariana okay? No look good.”

  “What in all of Windemere have I helped unleashed?”

  *****

  Delvin fights to stay awake by pouring fresh coffee from his enchanted ring directly into his mouth. The semisweet taste is not his favorite, but it helps ward off exhaustion until his guard shift is over. After coming across four decimated villages and a butchered herd of deer, the warrior refuses to take any chances. The fact that Luke has continued to be a problem does not help his nerves, which are strained to the point where his eyebrow twitches at the thought o
f more trouble. Glancing over his shoulder at the three tents and horses, he wonders if someone should stay with the forest tracker. The only problem is that nobody has been willing to look at their companion since he unexpectedly snapped at Fizzle for asking a question. Rubbing his knuckles, Delvin can still feel the spot where they met Luke’s jaw and laid him out for what he believes is the fourth time since they left Spellstream.

  “This should give you more energy than the coffee,” Timoran says while taking a seat next to his friend. The barbarian hands Delvin a tiny vial of yellow alcohol that releases sparks when it is opened. “A gift from Tigris that I believe will do more for you than I. Using your powers to enhance and maintain the horses was impressive, but your graying hair proves it has taken a toll on you. It is good to see your color returning though.”

  “Thanks, but you need sleep for the last shift,” Delvin replies before finishing the enchanted drink in one gulp. He gasps and coughs from the unexpected surge of power that makes him glow for a minute. “You know, I imagined moments like this would be where we talk about fighting the Baron or our lives after the battle. Instead, I only want to discuss the bastard who is one step away from getting strangled by five champions and a drite. I mean us doing it at the same time too.”

  “I hate to point out that the situation is worse than you realize,” the barbarian claims as he picks up one of the coffee rings. Sniffing at the metal, he smirks at the scent of chocolate before putting it back in the wooden case. “This is only a theory, but I think Luke is trying to hide the fact that he is still injured. His insults and outbursts are driving us away, which prevents us from noticing that he moves slower and with less grace. I saw him trip over a root and he nearly dropped his lunch when he was startled by a squirrel. I do not remember ever seeing so much fear on his face even though it lasted less than a second. Nobody else saw this because it was right after he got in another argument with Nyx, which drew all attention to her. What if the wounds are visibly gone, but remain beneath his surface?”

  “Then he would be spitting up blood,” the brown-haired warrior replies, hoping his tone is not too harsh. A rustling in the nearby bushes causes him to freeze until a raccoon emerges and runs up a nearby tree. “I won’t say you’re entirely wrong though. Come to think of it, Sari seemed to be having similar problems with her balance. Good thing we had the horses and only had to walk them for half an hour. Taking both issues into account, I wonder if there was some kind of magical disease on the island that Luke was on. His condition would have made him easily susceptible and Sari could have picked it up during the rescue. Then again, I think Nyx is having trouble as well. Her magic doesn’t seem as potent as it usually is, which I thought was her holding back. What if Luke is delivering this disease and . . . Never mind. Feels like I’m trying to justify him being a jackass.”

  Timoran nods his head, but remains silent as he considers the new information. Pulling a flask from his belt, he lets his hand touch the box that holds the Compass Key. A tremor of magic runs along his arm and causes him to scratch at his neck where the sensation wriggles for a second. The barbarian enjoys his drink while his companion wanders over to a nearby tree, the constant guzzling of coffee finally taking its toll. Timoran stares into the shadowy forest, his eyes squinting when he thinks he sees the glint of metal beneath the stars. He sniffs at the air in the hopes of catching the scent of danger, but the closest thing to a threat is a hibernating grizzly bear a quarter mile to the south. To be safe and prevent himself from becoming paranoid, the barbarian draws his great axe and lays it across his lap.

  “Something about Windemere is putting me on edge too,” Delvin admits as he returns to the rock. Using his power to clean his body, the warrior draws his blade and places it by his side in case he needs it. “Events are moving fast and there’s no telling who or what will take advantage of the chaos. You told Sari that those with evil hearts might join the Baron, which has me worried that the fight will be messier than we realized. Just another reason I don’t like having an unbalanced champion by our side.”

  “I can see that this conversation will continue coming back to Luke,” Timoran states without hiding his disappointment. Opening the box, he brings out the Compass Key and holds it in front of his face. “We always focused on the six gems, which represent us. Never the setting that binds the champions or the central pearl. Perhaps we should consider these two things. This relic tells me that we are individuals who are bound by our destiny. If one of us snaps off then the pattern is destroyed, so we must make sure that does not happen. The whole becomes useless and may degrade even further.”

  “Basically, we’re stuck with Luke regardless of his behavior.”

  “He is an important piece of the champion tapestry.”

  “Your explanation isn’t helping me feel better about this.”

  “My point is that we need to help Luke heal even if he is resistant.”

  “What does the pearl mean?”

  “No idea, my friend.”

  “I swear, you made this up on a whim.”

  With a wide grin, Timoran puts the artifact around his neck and takes a few steps toward the trees. Swinging his axe at his side, the barbarian whistles a battle song since he remembers only half of the words. He pretends to pee while continuing the tune, his ears focused more on locating a faint noise that has drawn him away from Delvin. It returns to his left, but Timoran makes no sign that he heard the crunch of a pine cone beneath a booted foot. The sound is joined by a muffled hush and the sudden stop of something heavy to his right. Figuring that he cannot continue the charade any longer, he slowly reaches for his great axe without looking in the direction of the possible attackers.

  Instead of touching his weapon, Timoran spins around and delivers a crushing punch to the chest of an orc. The surprised bandit’s arms are raised and holding a hammer that falls to the ground without making a noise. With orange energy coiling around his arm, the barbarian delivers another blow that collapses his grey-skinned enemy’s ribcage. Barely able to hear the other attackers, Timoran lifts his great axe and dives at the nearest shadow. He slices the female orc in half and whirls around to face an ogre wearing a horned helmet. Again, Timoran notices that there is very little sound and he begins to fear that he has wandered into a spell that has cut him off from his friends. The muscular creature is about to attack when a sword punches through its body and it collapses at Delvin’s feet. Tugging at his ear, the warrior easily gets his point across that they are within a silenced area.

  “In that case, I do not have to worry about waking our friends,” Timoran says, adjusting his black-furred vest, which sends a wave of warmth through his muscles. He growls at the shrug he receives from Delvin before swinging his weapon to behead an enemy. “I can barely hear you, but you have no idea what I am saying. That must be because of my hearing. I can smell poison as well, so we should be careful. Why am I even bothering to explain?”

  Going back to back, the champions turn in a slow circle to get an idea of how many bandits are attacking. They stop counting horizontal ears when the shadows try to cause confusion by darting in circles. The two warriors patiently wait for the thieves to stop playing games that have no effect on them. Frustrated and annoyed, Timoran unleashes a roar that only the orcs can hear due to their immunity to the spell. Assuming that their enemies have found a way to break the silence, all of the bandits charge through the trees. Half of them are knocked away by a wide swing of the barbarian’s axe while the rest are nearly blinded by Delvin spraying extremely hot coffee into their unprotected faces. Timoran pushes his friend away and jumps as a cloaked enemy drops from the trees and tries to stab them with poisoned daggers. Exposed on all sides, the assassin tries to transform into a raccoon and escape, but is beheaded by both weapons before he can finish changing.

  The champions rush in opposite directions and barrel into the terrified bandits, who flail their weapons in vain. Most of the orcs have fallen within the first minute of battle a
nd the handful of survivors swiftly retreat into the forest. Signaling to Timoran, Delvin is about to sprint after the attackers when another ogre lumbers into view. Unlike the first burly creature, this one has pieces of platemail bolted to its body and spiked clubs in place of its hands. Self-inflicted cuts are all over the horned monster’s body, which causes it to groan in pain while following its orders to protect the retreating orcs. Delvin gets his shield up in time to protect his head from a crushing blow and swings his swords to deflect the other club away from his side. He is about to stab the ogre in the gut when a heavy impact on his shoulders knocks him to the ground. The warrior rolls away and looks up in time to see Timoran sail over the monster’s shoulder. With an orange glow around the blade, the barbarian’s great axe easily slices through the bandit’s thick neck and sends its head tumbling to the ground.

  “That was amazing, but you could have warned me,” Delvin says, his ears unable to pick out his own voice. He does his best to read his friend’s lips, but gives up when he thinks he catches something about turtles. “The spell isn’t going away, so we’re going to backtrack these guys to their camp. Let me wake Fizzle and have him watch the others. Yes, I know he might not be able to hear me, so stop pointing at your ears. Just humor me, okay? Think you owe me that after nearly dislocating the entire left side of my body.”

  *****

  Using their elbows to crawl through the underbrush, Timoran and Delvin make their way to the top of a hill. The damp ground soaks their clothing, but they ignore the cold and cover their mouths to hide their breath. Far below, a large swath of the forest has been cleared to make room for an enormous bandit camp. Orcs and ogres are the most common members, their easily identified forms picked out against the large bonfires. Less distinct figures move among the tents and carts, none of them entering the light long enough for a clear view. Nudging Timoran’s arm, Delvin nods his head toward a pile of what he originally thought were branches. With more sapphire moonlight piercing the clouds, the champions can see that it is a collection of partially transformed dryads. As the two men watch, a bandit approaches the heap of stiff bodies and grabs one to throw into a bonfire. The stench of burning flesh and wood fills their noses and drives them back into the trees.