“Inside . . . Such a simple echo that your supposedly superior senses ignored,” Dariana says while tightening her black shirt. The embroidered wolf on the back seems to snarl at the collapsing phantom, which staggers around the garden. “Luke is tougher than you give him credit for. He only needed to get one word to my mind while you were busy gloating. A flaw that my father should know better than to include in his specters. Then again, you were created soon after his imprisonment. I was never sure what your purpose was since even you couldn’t stray beyond the curse’s boundaries.”
“Such smart and quick-witted heroes we have here,” the fake Baron says, his hands unraveling as he claps. Floating toward the well, he passes through Timoran and runs a finger along the inside of the barbarian’s spine. “Knocking down enemies and thinking through challenges within minutes. You have all come a long way since you first met. Too bad none of you saw the real threat. All caught up in the anger over my master harming the little Callindor again. It’s a shame since I gave you a tiny hint by explaining the purpose of those stuffed trophies. You can still look on the bright side. After struggling through your more recent battles, this time you finally worked together as the champions should.”
“I’m getting really sick of your games,” Delvin growls while charging the specter. His blade passes harmlessly through the dissipating energy, which rises toward the ceiling. “All this time we thought you wanted a big fight to prove you’re worthy of ruling Windemere with violence and fear. Instead, I see a cowardly bastard who refuses to face his enemies when they’re at full strength.”
“There is a reason for everything I do,” the Baron’s voice echoes from every corner of the room. The painted walls shiver while the well spits warm water with terrified frogs flailing in the constant geysers. “Please do not be late. I would hate for your last meal to get cold.”
The prismatic ceiling cracks and lets in a crimson light that paralyzes the champions. As they fight against the powerful spell, the garden falls away and reveals a series of shafts that lead back into the castle keep. Billowing out of the clouds, a powerful wind separates the mortals and launches them toward the openings. Taking the form of a clawed hand, the gale rips Luke from Timoran’s grasp and hurls him faster than the others. Nyx tries to catch the forest tracker with a magical cord, but a gale wraps it around the barbarian instead. The wind shoves the large warrior into a shaft, which drags the channeler away from her friends before she can throw a tether to any of them. Once they are all within the shadowy tunnels, the serene garden reforms and the frogs hop along the road as if nothing ever happened.
13
“At least you didn’t land on me,” Nyx groans as she rolls off Timoran. The hole in the ceiling gradually closes and becomes a circular torch, the light bouncing off the array of weapons and armors. “This is where the armory comes alive and tries to kill us, right? I’m really getting tired of these delays. The prophecy is supposed to be simple. Champions meet up, purify the temples, travel to Shayd, get into the Chaos Void, and kill the Baron. These traps and barriers are just irritating. What is the point of all this anyway?”
“It may be to disarm us,” Timoran suggests when he notices that his great axe and vest are missing. Checking his hand, he sees that the Ring of Aintaranurh is still in place, but has been reversed. “It would appear that he took my ring and put it back upside down. That means he wants to give us a chance at surviving, which makes this more confusing. The Baron has to be after something to keep us running around like this.”
The existence of a mild spell distracts Nyx and draws her to a suit of platemail with a metallic cape hanging from the shoulders. Examining the dusty armor, she taps at the scale-covered breastplate until one of the pieces sinks. The large cape flares out to become razor sharp wings that slice the arms off the neighboring suits. Both sets topple away from the central display and begin a domino effect that runs throughout the armory. Weapons skid and roll across the floor while platemail crashes with echoing rings. As the destruction reaches the walls, racks of spears clatter into piles and heavy mauls fall to leave dents in the stone. Nyx is so busy watching the chaos that she never notices a loaded ballista that is aimed at her chest. She is tackled to the ground a moment before a chainmail-wearing dummy slumps against the firing lever. The giant arrow sails over the champions and thuds into a tapestry, which flutters in vain to free itself.
“That was a rather strange trap,” the channeler states as they get up. Tapping a helmet with her foot, she avoids making eye contact with her friend. “Okay, it might not have been a trap and I shouldn’t touch things in Windemere’s first evil castle. Everything here has some magic, so I didn’t think exploring would be a problem. In my defense, I set off something mechanical, which isn’t my area of expertise. Wish we had a map or something to help find our way around. Gabriel might have wanted to include that along with all the powers and tools we received.”
“I have wondered if Dariana was supposed to act as one, but her constant memory wipes undid that part of the plan,” Timoran says while searching for his weapon. Not finding his great axe, he picks up a maul, but drops it when his skin begins to itch. “We need to take stock of the situation before we go anywhere. The others are on their own, so they will be wandering in search of the group. With two of us in one spot, we have the benefit of discussion. So, what do you think the Baron is really after?”
“He seems to enjoy playing tricks with a purpose,” Nyx answers while reaching for her necklace. Not finding her family heirloom, she checks her pockets and discovers that she only has the clothes on her back. “Safe to assume the others have been stripped of their gear too. That means he wants to see how we do with only our champions powers and abilities. He’s been watching us this whole time, but losing Stephen and Trinity could have left him in the dark for a while. Yola and scrying may have helped, but not as much as he would have liked. After all, we don’t really know how easily he can spy on us without outside agents. Although, there is one way he could have figured us out. Once we arrived on Shayd, he’d have gotten all of the information he wanted from our battles in the factory, mine, and castle.”
Timoran makes his way to the wall and checks behind another tapestry that depicts an execution. “I keep thinking about what he said. We are finding the solutions to our more recent problems very quickly. There has been very little challenge thanks to our powers. Even his double was taken down without injury or much effort. What if this is to lull us into a false sense of security? We soundly crush whatever the Baron throws at us, so we begin to believe one of two things. Either he is not as dangerous as we were led to believe or we are more powerful than we really are. One of the greatest downfalls of a warrior is a bloated ego.”
“That doesn’t explain getting separated now.”
“Or stripping us of our gear.”
“It could be that he wants something we’re carrying.”
“He gave me back my ring, so that is not it.”
“My guess is something connected to all of us.”
With a loud snap of his fingers, Timoran checks his belt for the case that holds the Compass Key. The wooden block is still in place, Nyx’s cloaking spell continuing to hide it from the Baron’s senses. Realizing that their enemy may be watching them, the barbarian continues searching his pants and bracers for something he never finds. Placing his hands on his hips, Timoran looks around the armory while rubbing his thumb against the case. He is unsure if he should open it, the possibility that it is empty crossing his mind. Without looking, he opens the holder enough to slip a finger inside and feel for the Compass Key. He relaxes when the rough setting meets his nail and a telltale pulse ripples up his arm.
Before either champion can react, a small bird darts out from under a fallen suit of armor and takes the case. Nyx flings wind spells at the tiny creature, which evades her blasts and turns around to buzz the top of her head. Creating a serpent-shaped tornado on her arm, the enraged channeler runs after the ch
irping thief. She repeatedly trips over pieces of armor and stubs her toes on helmets, the clumsy chase making her dizzy from the sharp turns. The bird flies circles around Nyx to become an emerald and crimson blur, the wind spell following until it has wrapped around its creator. Shredding the tornado, the half-elf gasps for air while continuing to flail at the animal. She is about to hurl a lightning bolt when she remembers that they are standing in a room full of enchanted metal. Unable to cast bigger spells without putting Timoran in danger, Nyx is forced to rely on condensed puffs of wind that she hopes will knock her tiny target to the floor.
Paying more attention to Nyx, the bird flies into a helmet that the barbarian swings like a butterfly net. He covers the opening with his hands and shakes the makeshift container, the sound of the case and flapping wings heard clear through the lowered grating. Timoran is about to turn the helmet over and let the contents fall into his palm when the bird rapidly pecks at the polished metal. Within seconds, the animal makes a hole that it can fit through along with the case that is still clasped in its claws. Soaring at the muscular champion, it chirps happily at how he dives out of the way. Darting around a fist of air and striking Nyx in the head with its prize, the creature heads for the locked door. Warbling a happy tune, the bird ducks another spell that splinters the wood enough to make a hole that it can use to escape without slowing down. Not long after it has disappeared, the champions hear the loud bang of metal striking stone and grinding for a few seconds.
“We were beaten by a sparrow,” Nyx mutters while heading for the door. She stops with her electrified hand on the knob, the final noise making her hesitate. “I have this bad feeling that we aren’t done here. Any idea of what’s out there?”
“At this point, I do not care and want only to keep going,” Timoran replies, his cheeks still blushing from his defeat. Gently pushing his friend aside, he places his hands against the door, which is locked from the outside. “Let me go first. Whatever is out there will not survive the first blow. I am no longer in the mood for games.”
The sound of someone turning the knob goes unnoticed as the barbarian shoves the door across the hallway. The chunks of wood crash against the far wall, the arms and legs of the person on the other side splayed as they slide to the floor. Groaning from beneath the wreckage, Delvin holds out his hand, which has the Compass Key case. He waits for Timoran to take it back and make sure the relic is inside before he slumps onto his side. Nyx frees her fiancée of the broken door only to discover that he has been stripped down to his underwear and socks. The warrior still has his shield, the winged stag covered by the bird’s smeared remains. The once colorful feathers and bones have become a putrid black that reeks of meat that has been rotting for days. Not wanting to walk around with such a mess, Delvin takes off a sock to clean the mess and tosses it back into the armory. The fouled clothing hits the only standing suit of armor, which topples over with a reverberating clang.
“I was going to ask if you lost something, but I guess now isn’t the time for jokes,” he says while staring at his bare foot. With a sigh, he removes the other sock and leaves it in the open doorway. “At least you guys got to keep most of your clothes. I woke up on a balcony like this for some reason. Had to fight some animated curtains to get back inside, but I haven’t had any luck finding clothes. Why are you two staring at me like that?”
“How do we know you are the real Delvin?” Timoran asks, crossing his arms. Reaching out to his companion, he taps at the edge of the shield. “We have been tricked many times already and know that the Baron can imitate us. Very suspicious that you were stripped of all of your gear except for this.”
“And you still have the Ring of Aintaranurh, which means you could be a fake,” Nyx points out, stepping away from the barbarian. Her eyes turn gold and she checks her friends for signs of the Baron’s energy. “Timoran has to be the real thing since a copy would have more aura than the original. I don’t see anything wrong with Delvin either. Still, I have to admit that you two keeping those two items is strange. Unless the Baron wanted to give everyone a chance. I have my magic, but each of you would need something. Gives me hope for the others. Although, it is strange that you were able to find us, Delvin.”
The warrior sighs and throws his shield down the hallway in order to summon it back to his arm. “I have answers for both of your questions. I can call this to me from anywhere, so I did that as soon as I woke up. After that, I had it lead me to Nyx. If there were any two people in this castle who could find each other, it’s us. I saw you get pulled along with Timoran and a search party of three is better than going it alone. Lucky I did it too since I caught that bird. Thing came around that corner singing and startled me. Thought it was a bat trying to bite my face. Are we okay now?”
“One more test,” Nyx announces with a smile. She leans in to give Delvin a quick kiss and deliver a warmth spell to drive the chill from his skin. “Like I was going to pass up such an easy opportunity to be sweet and corny. By the way, if you are a fake then the explosive spell I just planted in your skull will go off. The real Delvin would be able to absorb the magic without going boom.”
“You just went from loving to terrifying in less than a minute.”
“Better safe than sorry, dear.”
*****
Curled up in the small crib, Dariana tries to escape without breaking the furniture, which rocks with every movement. Tumbling to the floor, she finds that the stones are covered in familiar rugs and there are stuffed animals lined up along the walls. A small chair sits in the corner with a pair of silver shoes and a folded white dress placed on top. Fake clouds hang from the ceiling, each one glowing due to a light orb hidden inside. Placed next to the door, a long sword stands with the tip embedded in a circular block of wood and deep nicks made on the left-hand edge. An empty basin has been placed on a small dresser, which no longer has any of its drawers. Whatever was inside has been neatly folded and placed on the shelves that go around the room. Scattered about the display are tiny cups and wooden toys, which are devoid of dust or any other signs of disuse. A golden bell hangs in an alcove above the door, but the chain that would be used to ring it has long since been removed.
Vague memories return to Dariana as she roams the nursery, the immortal stopping when she comes to a mirror. In place of her real clothes, she is wearing an ebony dress that billows out at her ankles instead of touching the floor. Delicate slippers are on her feet, the shoes connected to stockings that are as white as her skin and run up to her thigh. Elbow-length gloves of satin cover her arms, which are dotted with goosebumps. She runs her fingers along a set of ruby earrings and a silver-chained necklace, the jewelry unfamiliar to her. The outfit reminds her of when she first arrived in Vir’s Castle and her father attempted to dress her. With his former lovers taking care of their children until they were old enough to fight, the Baron proved to have very little idea of what he was doing. Being a toddler, Dariana did not question his taste or fuss, but now she realizes that his taste is incredibly gaudy and outlandish. The uncomfortable stockings alone make her want to tear everything off, the thought becoming stronger when she turns to see that there is a large bow on her back.
Spotting a wardrobe in the back, Dariana goes in search of her clothes while taking off the gloves. Opening the double doors, she is tackled by a mannequin dressed like a maid and wielding two wooden spoons. For a moment, the telepath thinks it has merely fallen on top of her, but the golem flips her over and smacks her several times on the rump. Scrambling away and whirling around, Dariana takes the construct’s head off with a kick. The maid continues advancing and whacking her with the spoons, the blows more irritating than painful. A shot to the eye causes the champion to yelp and double over, which is met by the golem slapping an icy bandage over the injury. The act of tenderness is immediately undone by more strikes to Dariana’s rear, which is aching more than any other part of her body. Wanting to be done with the fight, she delivers a punch to her enemy’s chest and sh
atters the mannequin. Many of the pieces continue to twitch and the hands try to smack her in the feet until she stomps them into splinters.
“My old nursery and caretaker,” Dariana says as she looks through the wardrobe. All of the clothes are for a small child, which forces her to remain in the dress. “I take it the golem was trying to make up for lost time and punish me for everything I’ve done. Whether this was set up for your amusement or my humiliation, father, I hope you are proud of yourself. The least you could have done is left me something more comfortable to wear.”
“Arthuru was never any good at women’s fashion,” Zaria answers as she appears near the crib. The Purity Goddess shivers and puts on an ivory jacket, which protects her from the corruptive magic of Vir’s Castle. “This does not look like a terrible room to grow up in, but I can see that all of your toys were broken at some point. More than likely a punishment from your older brother.”
“Should you even be here?” Dariana asks, scanning her mother’s mind. Finding no evidence of Zaria being a fake, she gets close enough for an awkward hug. “This is too close to the end for you to be involved. We already said our goodbyes too. Has something changed? Is that why my father is delaying the final battle?”
“You know how your father likes games.”
“That doesn’t really sound like him.”
“Well, he did when he was younger and not evil.”
Warlord of the Forgotten Age Page 24