“The gods will find a way to stop you.”
“How can they when Baron Kernaghan has them trapped on Ambervale?”
“Freewill can still come into play.”
“Like that can’t be manipulated with a spell or the right words.”
Having a clear path to Nyder, Timoran charges and rears back to strike without the help of his ring. He is forced to dive to the side when a demon drops from above, the creature’s claw skittering off his studded bracer. The barbarian cleaves the horned beast in half and spins around to take out the two he hears sneaking up on him from behind. Timoran attacks those who jump through the opening, his great axe missing every now and then to strike one of the support beams. He can hear Nyder laugh from the middle of the room, the gnome enjoying the melee that spans the entire basement. Unable to break completely free of the thickening mob, the champion swings in wide circles and kicks whichever enemy charges back in first. When a spiked tail slashes his leg, Timoran stumbles enough for all of the demons to pounce on him. The mass of bodies grows until every worker is part of the pile, none of them knowing who has the easiest chance of delivering a death blow.
With a bellowing roar, the barbarian sends all of his enemies flying and sprints at the smiling gnome. Orange energy coursing around his body and seeping into his pores, he lets his rage take over and goes in for the kill. As the demons are stunned or driven away by his echoing battle cry, Timoran delivers a strike to Nyder’s head. The blow rings throughout the factory, but the sound ends in a disappointing plop when the weapon slides off the gnome’s body. Confused and enraged, the barbarian tries again with the same result. For a moment, he believes that the inventor’s form unnaturally bends inward. Attempting a punch instead, Timoran feels his fist slide off Nyder and stares at the slime dripping off his knuckles.
“The benefit of not being in the field is that I have all the time I need to create tools to combat each one of you,” the gnome explains while pretending to polish his armor. He tosses a handkerchief to the barbarian and shrugs when it is allowed to drift into a molten river. “I know about your ability to destroy whatever you hit. Doesn’t work very well against something that refuses to be broken. I call it a deflection suit and your attacks will always slough off before they can cause even a scratch. There’s always a tiny pause between contact and spell delivery when a person is using an artifact. The slime is an unfortunate necessity, but it’s better than being cut in half. By the way, I haven’t seen a void since I came after you, so I know you lack the ability to kill me.”
“Then I will have to hit you even harder,” Timoran growls before trying again. His great axe strikes the top of Nyder’s head, but all he accomplishes is giving the gnome a mild headache. “I will find a way to defeat you. My friends have already escaped while you were distracted with me. I can hear them on the outside. Brains can defeat brawn, but a true warrior knows how to use both.”
“I only need one champion to get what I want,” the inventor retorts as he thickens the slime around his body. The increase pushes him off the ground and creates a muscular suit that matches the barbarian in size and bulk. “That drite was probably right about the Compass Key too. You have it on you, which is why the others weren’t very worried. There is nothing going in your favor right now.”
“Except for the damaged support beams,” the champion points out. Spinning his weapon, he brings the gnome’s attention to the fact that only the central pole remains intact while the others are slowly bending inward. “I may have missed the demons from time to time, but I made good use of all my swings. Can that armor protect you from a collapsing building? That is a different kind of blow than what I deliver. More full-bodied than exact.”
Nyder looks from his enemy to the final beam and applauds, every clap sending a spray of slime into the air. “It looks like I should have gotten more involved in fighting all of you. This is so much fun. My apologies to my former allies who I mocked and insulted for their interest in the outside world. Are you really going to do it, Sir Wrath? You will be trapped as well and I still see no void.”
“That does not mean you will get out in one piece.”
“My chances are better than yours.”
“I will take that bet.”
Timoran swings his great axe with one hand and shatters the central support beam, which causes the factory to shake. He returns Nyder’s smile as the two of them stay where they are in the midst of the falling platforms. It is only when a chair hits the gnome and knocks him to his knees that fear appears on his face. Pulling out his notebook, he quickly makes some calculations to see if the barbarian is right about the danger. As he finishes, Fizzle appears to shrink Timoran to the size of a mouse and whisk him to safety. The drite speeds through the tumbling equipment and platforms, his body nothing more than a purple streak among the chaos. Seeing that the surviving demons are rushing out the front door, Nyder turns around to see that the stairs to the ground floor have been crushed. Trapped among the molten rivers, the gnome sighs and tucks his notes into his pocket.
“Guess I’m an idiot too, everyone,” the inventor says, lifting his face to meet the collapsing building. He is about to close his eyes, but decides that witnessing his own demise will be his final observation. “Betting some of you would get a real laugh out of this. Oh well, can’t blame anyone, but myself. Got greedy and ambitious, which can be an inventor’s downfall. Still, I wonder why there was no v-”
9
“That should do it,” Delvin says, his voice weak from healing his friends. The warrior’s hands are wrinkled and his hair is white, so he takes a seat to recover his energy. “Sorry, but I didn’t have much strength left after Nyder tested me. That’s why I didn’t heal minor injuries like what you have, Timoran.”
“I would have refused anyway,” the barbarian declares while he waits for Fizzle to reverse the shrinking spell. The abrupt change leaves him a little shaken and checking his clothes to make sure they still fit. “Remind me to rethink such plans in the future. Even as an emergency escape, I had some misgivings that I fear have been proven correct. For example, my hair feels shorter than it used to be. Did you find out where the Baron is?”
Most of the others stare sheepishly at their feet while Sari smiles and admits, “We may have forgotten to ask. That gnome was all hands and experiments, which had us worried that he’d mess with our powers and innards. We did hear him mention a castle before we were captured, which is something. Trinity said there are still some of her people here, so we could find and ask them about it.”
Luke whistles from atop the rubble that was once Nyder’s factory, the half-elf balancing on a bent piece of the roof. He carefully turns around in order to get his bearings while focusing on the less traumatic memories of his time on Shayd. Even though he was attached to a tree on the coast, there were a few pauses in the initial stages of his torture that allowed him to take in his surroundings. Closing his eyes, he focuses more on what he remembers in the background than the cliff and grinning faces surrounding him. As if pushing against a physical wall in his mind, Luke forces himself to relive some of the trauma, which causes him to teeter on his perch. Before he collapses, the forest tracker catches the image of a castle in the distance and clumsily hurries back to his friends. He is about to speak when he notices that Dariana is avoiding eye contact and attempting to whistle nonchalantly.
“Of course, you would know where your father is here,” Luke groans, feeling ridiculous for pushing himself too hard. He is slightly relieved when the telepath attempts to feign ignorance with a shrug that is oddly lopsided. “Thanks. I remember there being a castle somewhere on the continent. I could see the turrets and towers from the coast, but only on days that didn’t have a lot of fog. This isn’t one of them, so I don’t know the direction we would have to go. Asking the chaos elves might be our only chance if Dariana can’t help.”
“It’s complicated,” the silver-haired woman says. Looking around for the source of her discom
fort, she bounces on her toes and repeatedly clenches her fists. “I could direct us to the castle, which lost its name long ago. Even the chaos elves have forgotten that information due to my father’s rule. Sorry, but I felt like sharing such trivia. Speaking of the true owners of Shayd, I agree that we should check in on them. Trinity would appreciate that. Also, I can sense that my sister is watching us and her thoughts are rather intrusive.”
A cobalt blue arm slides out of Dariana’s ear, the telepath making no signs of being in pain or discomfort. Delicate fingers flick the champion in the side of the head, but continue to get nothing more than a few half-hearted smacks. With a gentle sigh, the limb retracts and the Chaos Elf Goddess steps out from behind her younger sister. Ambrosine is about to straighten her crimson dress when she sees that Dariana is wearing a similarly colored shirt. Frowning at the telepath’s smirk of victory, she changes into a glistening silver gown and snaps her finger to make all of her sibling’s hair fall out. Before the goddess can speak, her right arm abruptly slaps her across the face and causes her to stumble to the side. The sisters glare at each other, their expressions identical down to the exact angle of their matching eyebrows.
“Can we please get on with whatever this is?” Nyx asks while she massages Delvin’s shoulders. Synching with his aura, she carefully reenergizes him so that his body gradually returns to normal. “Not that I’m unhappy to see a friendly goddess show up while we’re in enemy territory, but we don’t need to draw any extra attention. Your father probably knows what happened and will show up to investigate. I’d rather he not know exactly where we are and that requires getting away from the collapsed building.”
“Don’t worry so much since our father isn’t even on Shayd,” Ambrosine replies, extending her arm for Fizzle to land on. Running her hand down the drite’s spine, she is momentarily enchanted by his shimmering scales. “Such a pretty creature. I can see the power within you is very strong, but you really shouldn’t go any further. The Baron is in his original prison, which only the champions may cross into without harm. We can’t guarantee your safe passage, little dragon.”
“Fizzle want help friends!” the drite insists with a yawn. He licks his lips at the sight of an apple that appears in the goddess’s other hand. “Fizzle hungry, but not stray. No leave friends behind. Promised help. Fizzle come too far. Not fail friends.”
Ambrosine hands him the apple and puts him on her sister’s bald head before getting within a few inches of Nyx. “I can sense that everyone is agreeing with me, except you. A weakling like Nyder nearly defeated you since he was prepared for your arrival. Imagine what the Baron will have in store for those he knows are coming. If you value your little friend’s life then you will demand that he go to Gaia and await your arrival. That is where you will need him most . . . or not depending on what you decide beforehand. By the way, did you know that my father once ate a meal consisting entirely of drite-based dishes? It was horrifying to watch, but he would gladly make Fizzle into an appetizer if he thought it would make you suffer.”
“I got your point without the story,” Nyx mutters, refusing to move away. She watches the drite finish his apple and rubs her necklace as he stares back at her. “Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be, Fizzle. Many of our friends are gathering in Gaia and you can help them with the evacuation. They’ll know we arrived on Shayd too, which gives them a better timeline. I hope we can keep the fight wherever it starts, but it sounds like that isn’t how this works. We need you to get everyone in Gaia ready for what’s coming. At this point, doing that is more important than staying with us and risking your life. I’m sorry that I’m changing my mind so soon after saying you should travel with us.”
“Fizzle understand,” the drite replies with a pout. He darts around the champions to give them kisses on each cheek before plopping onto Ambrosine’s head. “Fizzle help friends get to Shayd. Help fight bad gnome. Fizzle happy with that. Good luck. Fizzle be at Gaia. Join battle when can.”
Flipping into the air and leaving a circle of rainbow mist in his wake, the drite soars into the distance. Ambrosine starts to disappear when Dariana grabs her by the hair and makes sure she cannot leave. The sisters take a step away from each other, neither knowing what to do since they are forbidden from fighting. The goddess attempts to vanish again, but merely shifts two feet to her right. Scowling at the telepath, she pretends to try again and reflects the psychic suggestion with a quick spell. Dariana manages to trip herself and fall flat on her back, which knocks the wind from her lungs.
“Yes, I came specifically to convince you to send Fizzle away because he would not get out of the Chaos Void alive,” Ambrosine states while lifting her sister up by the bellybutton. She can hear the other deities clamoring for her to return, their voices drowning out the roaring storm above Shayd. “Consider it the only birthday present I ever gave you, Dariana. Not even sure when that is, but that gets me out of trouble since we’re family. A silly loophole in the Law, but I’ll use it for this. Go looking for my people and ask them to help with the next step. Be wary of the guardians our father left behind too. I hear those two are deadly and eternally loyal to their master.”
“I have more questions, big sister,” Dariana announces, freeing herself from the deity’s tight grip. She does not back down and gets close enough to her sister that their noses touch. “Why is father no longer on Shayd? Where is he in the Chaos Void? You can’t leave us with all of these mysteries and expect us to thank you.”
“True because I do not expect thanks.”
“Can you tell us-”
Taking advantage of Dariana thinking about her own question, Ambrosine disappears in the blink of an eye. With a yank on her scalp, the telepath’s silver hair returns and goes down to her ankles. She accepts a dagger from Sari and hacks her tresses off at her shoulders, the beautiful strands flying away on the breeze. Dariana watches them remain in a suspicious clump as they drift across the desolate landscape. When the champions refuse to move, the hair circles back and starts to go down the path again at a slower pace. For an instant, they swear that there is a face within the glistening mass, the image shaking its head in disappointment. Not wanting to annoy her older sister any more than she already has, Dariana hurries after her severed hair and waves for her friends to follow.
*****
“This place smells terrible.”
“Bogs usually are, fire sprite.”
“At least Luke stopped throwing up.”
“Stiletto’s sense of smell was truly a bad choice.”
“Can you do something about this, Sari?”
“I don’t even want to think about touching this stuff.”
“When did you become a prissy ocean princess?”
“Around the time I saw a rotting body in the water. Not to mention I’m wearing a skirt.”
“Okay, let’s get out of the bog and take a break on that hill.”
Still muttering complaints, the other champions slosh and trudge after Delvin, who leads them up a rocky path. Coming to the flat top, they sit down and rummage through their bags for something to eat. They struggle to ignore Sari, who continues to make gagging noises and shudder at the sight of foul-smelling muck on her legs. Taking a waterskin out of Dariana’s hands, the gypsy uses all of the water to clean herself and hurls the filth back into the bog. Not wanting to have an argument, she takes a quick sip of fae water and hands the small flask to the telepath. To Sari’s dismay, her favorite drink is passed around the group and only Timoran refuses to give it a taste. The others are left dizzy and blink rapidly while the rush of energy goes from the tips of their toes to the top of their heads.
“Stronger than booze, huh?” the gypsy teases while taking her flask back. Unlike with her friends, the fae water only makes her blue hair thicker and a healthy sheen appears on her skin for a few seconds. “Why not contact Trinity and ask where her people would be? The longer we wander around, the greater the chance of getting into another fight. Not sure about
the rest of you, but I’m tired of battling undead that are much stronger than they should be.”
“I’m sorry, but my telepathy is having trouble reaching beyond Shayd’s borders,” Dariana reports, her nose bleeding from another attempt. Unfazed by the injury, she searches for signs of her floating hair, which they lost track of an hour ago. “We are still going in the general direction that my sister’s clue went in. She must have cancelled the spell due to threats of being sealed or felt we could make it the rest of the way on our own. I have been scanning for chaos elf thoughts, but I’m deflected by a powerful protection spell whenever I come close. It’s never enough time to pinpoint a location.”
“Good to know either our enchantment or Yola’s are still active,” Nyx says, her eyes glowing gold. She is surprised by the high level of ambient magic, which fills her vision with a thick haze. “I can only see a few feet in front of me like this. What would the chaos elves be doing right now?”
Delvin rubs his chin and smiles when he realizes what Nyx is starting to get at. “They would be working. Trinity said they were slaves too. Although, she only left the young, sick, and elderly behind. The Baron wouldn’t put those groups to work, would he? Especially since the only thing I can think of them doing around here is mining. This isn’t the region for crops thanks to the undead and terrible weather. What if we listen for the sound of digging?”
“I have been trying, but the wind makes it difficult,” Timoran interjects while scratching his shoulder scar. The long-healed wound is more uncomfortable than ever, reminding him of when it was fresh. “It might be best to stay away from the bogs. The water is polluted enough that it irritates both new and old injuries. Mining would be done in the rockier regions anyway. If only I had a clearer idea of what sounds to listen for. A shovel or pickaxe does not always mean chaos elves since we have seen zombies with those tools.”
Warlord of the Forgotten Age Page 17