“I would have thought that you would be happy about this, Lady Nyx,” Isaiah says with a twinge of annoyance in his voice. “After all, you are the only champion in history who has known her role since she was a child. It has given you time to grow stronger and increase your chance of survival.”
“Please continue,” she repeats with a polite wave of her hand.
“I don’t think he has to continue with this part of the tale,” Luke interrupts, leaning back in his chair until the front legs leave the ground. “Basically, we are invisible to the Eyes of Gabriel until we follow our destiny. It stands to reason that if we don’t know about our path then the organization wouldn’t notice us. Gabriel would have to tell them about us, but that would break the law of the gods. Though, it looks like our enemies can find us.”
“Yes, but we do not know how,” Isaiah interjects, cracking his tail joints.
“If you haven’t figured it out yet then I doubt you will ever know,” Luke says, flashing an apologetic smile at Isaiah. “Now, I know that Nyx and Sari were noticed since their families were attacked. I assume that I was noticed upon birth, but my grandparents kept me safe.”
“Actually, young man, there has never been a Callindor involved in these events. For some reason, Gabriel has never seen fit to connect your lineage to this destiny until today,” Isaiah explains with a wide, hopeful grin. “We were surprised when Aedyn reported you, but we thought it was nothing since we did not see any sign of your inclusion. We thought Aedyn was wrong for months until you met Nyx and promised to help her face her destiny. Then, we saw signs that you were to be one of the champions. This has some of us believing that the previous failures were nothing more than attempts to stall for the birth of gifted individuals.”
“So, I’m the turning point,” Luke excitedly declares.
Isaiah shrugs, avoiding Luke’s proud gaze. “Only a handful of us, like five or six members, believe that. The majority of us believe Nyx is the turning point because of her amazing power. Though, your inclusion has given us more hope.”
“That’s what I’m here . . . hey!” Luke exclaims when Sari tries to playfully force a goblet of wine into Luke’s mouth.
“Sorry,” the gypsy half-heartedly apologizes.
“Do you have any other questions?” Isaiah inquires, his eyes beginning to narrow from fatigue.
Sari gets to her feet and straightens her skirts. “I’m going to get some fresh air.”
“We’re already outside,” Nyx mentions while the gypsy staggers to the ledge of the balcony. Everyone watches as she flips over the ledge and slides down a nearby tree.
“She looked upset. I’ll go talk to her,” Luke says, struggling to his feet.
“There is still more for me to tell you,” Isaiah urgently states, weaving an energy spell over himself.
“I can’t let her wander out there alone. Not after what you just told us,” the forest tracker argues, stepping onto the railing. “You can tell the rest to Nyx and she can tell it to us later.”
“The girl is wearing bright colors and you are a forest tracker. She won’t be able to hide from you,” Isaiah calmly points out. He politely beckons for Luke to return. “All I ask is that you listen for a few more minutes.”
Luke stares into the forest and steps back onto the balcony. “Only for a few minutes.”
“Then, I will get right to the point. Now that three of you are together, the attraction of destiny will bring the remaining champions to you,” Isaiah explains in a hushed voice. “There will be a total of six champions, including the three of you. Our agents are already tailing another proven champion and we have found evidence of a fifth. Sadly, there is something preventing our scrying from getting anything more than faint images. The sixth champion has yet to step onto the path. To be safe, you should not repeat any of what I have told you. The enemy has agents all over Windemere.”
“Who is this enemy?” Luke asks.
Nyx politely interrupts, “Gabriel once told me that our enemy was an ancient evil who was erased from human history.”
“That is the simplest way to explain him. The truth is that the enemy is an ancient being who declared war on the gods and failed,” Isaiah answers in a careful, fear-edged tone. “He found immortality in his defeat, but he was sealed by the power of his own destiny. This being’s name is Baron Kernaghan and only the commanders of the Eyes of Gabriel remember that he existed. Upon the Baron’s defeat, he was wiped out of mortal history, so no other mortals have knowledge of his existence.” Nyx and Luke stare at him in hopes of getting him to say more, but the great caster remains silent.
“That’s not really filling me with confidence,” Luke announces, preparing to jump to the trees. “Last question before I leave. How do we find the remaining champions?”
“They will show amazing skill in their field, but that won’t help you narrow it down,” the fireskin admits. He taps his claws on his plate while he thinks. “I can teach Nyx to sense their aura if she is willing to learn. The aura of a champion is distinct and will be noticeable using aura sight. Even the illusion of a champion possesses a distinct aura.”
“Good. I’ll see you later, Nyx,” Luke states before leaping to a tree.
The forest tracker grabs a thick tree branch, flipping to a nearby pine. He swings himself around the rough trunk until he steadies himself on a branch. Luke takes a deep breath before leaning forward and purposely falling out of the tree. He can feel his heart racing as the wind caresses his body. The griffin inside him awakens and screeches in delight at the familiar feeling until Luke catches himself on a lower branch. With a sense of the griffin’s disappointment, Luke drops to the ground.
“I know. You liked that and hate being on the ground,” Luke says as if talking to a pouting child. “Well, unless I learn to fly, this is how it’s going to be.” He can feel the griffin begrudgingly accept his explanation before fading back into his subconscious.
Luke scans the area until he sees a faint trail in the dirt. “She went this way.”
“You and I need to talk,” whispers a familiar, feminine voice from behind him.
Luke immediately draws his sabers as he calmly turns to face Alyssa. The mayor shivers slightly in her thin nightgown. She takes a few clumsy steps before tripping on a gnarled tree root. Luke quickly sheaths his sabers and rushes to stop her fall. Alyssa curls against his body until a look of disgust crosses her face and she pushes Luke away with surprising strength.
“Let’s talk a walk and discuss some things," she says with a beckoning finger.
“What is there to discuss, Alyssa?”
“So many things,” she hisses, her eyes turning bright red.
20
Luke barely notices the cold, bitter wind whipping across the northern clearing. He leans against the smooth, metallic hide of the dead Sword Dragon while the Lich happily stares at him. The half-elf wears an expression of self-loathing, which causes the necrocaster to repeatedly chuckle. It takes several minutes before Luke can look in the Lich’s direction without clenching his teeth. Drawing his sabers gives Luke enough courage and self-control to stare the Lich in the decaying face.
“Do you hate this turn of events?” the Lich asks gleefully.
Luke spits at the ground in front of the Lich. “As much as you’re enjoying this.”
“I doubt a creature like you could contain so much emotion,” the grinning Lich claims.
“You’d be surprised,” the half-elf hisses, taking a threatening step forward.
“Careful,” the Lich warns him, raising a boney finger. “Bringing attention to us would force me to set off my spell. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for the horrible things that will happen to her.”
“I won’t give you the spellbook if you harm her,” Luke promises, his voice quivering.
“That is why she is still among the living,” the Lich casually says. “Now, where is the spellbook?”
Luke’s eyes narrow and he grips his sabers until his knuckles turn
white. “It’s close.”
“I am amazed that you wish to prolong this,” the Lich admits. The air fills with creaking as he crosses his legs and hovers above the ground. “Your skin is crawling and your heart is racing simply by being in my presence. It won’t be long before you lose control and do something foolish.”
Luke hops onto the stiff hind leg of the Sword Dragon and sits in the crook of its knee. He rests his blades on his shoulders, so that they cross a few inches behind his head. In an attempt to calm himself, Luke closes his eyes and concentrates on his breathing. He can smell the decaying odor of the Lich as the creature watches him intently. A shiver runs up his spine and his concentration crumbles, forcing him to give up and open his eyes.
“Why did you help us with Kalam’s wards?” Luke asks.
“Personal gain. That much should be obvious,” the Lich answers as a rusty goblet materializes in his right hand. He swirls it in his skeletal palm before taking a deep drink of the steaming liquid. “I needed you to escape with the spellbook, so that I could retrieve it at a later date.”
Luke musters a defiant smile. “Your plan would have been ruined if Ionia took the book.”
“Don’t start thinking you’re smart, Callindor. I knew Ionia would leave the spellbook here. It is a tome of evil, which would hold too much temptation for a person with her power,” the Lich explains with a whimsical tone in his raspy voice. He grins at the glint of confusion in Luke’s eyes. “Think of it this way. A caster who holds great power finds it harder and harder to get stronger. Challenges become rare and new spells are more difficult to find. Ionia is one of the strongest casters today and rumor has it that she has not learned a new spell in five years. Kalam’s spellbook, while a sinister tome, holds many unique spells and a lot of information about necromancy. The temptation to learn his spells and risk corruption would be far too great for Ionia to ignore while the book was in her possession. Imagine the disaster Windemere would endure if the great Queen of Darkmill became a necrocaster. As beautiful a dream as it is, I knew she wouldn’t let it come true.”
“Sounds like you had everything figured out,” Luke says in a soulless, numb voice.
“Of course, this plan was perfect,” the Lich proudly insists. “Now, hand over the spellbook.”
“First, I want you to remove the spell,” Luke demands, pointing a saber at the Lich. “If you don’t then I destroy the spellbook without hesitation. Unlike you and Ionia, I’m not a caster and I see it as nothing, but an evil book.”
The Lich’s grin fades slightly when he realizes that Luke is serious about destroying the spellbook. He finishes his drink in a single gulp with some of the liquid squirting out of a hole in his left cheek. The rusty goblet shatters in his hand as the Lich places his feet on the ground. His eyes erupt into balls of fire, causing Luke to jump to his feet in alarm. The Lich begins to mutter a spell that Luke tries to decipher, but finds that his translator ability doesn’t include spell incantations. A beam of faint light spirals up from the far side of town, piercing the sky. The lightshow lasts no more than a second before the beam vanishes into the thickening clouds.
“The spell is gone,” the Lich declares.
“How do I know you aren’t lying?” Luke asks suspiciously.
The Lich grins evilly at the half-elf. “You don’t know. All I can tell you is that I have no interest in killing her and earning the wrath of her friends. It would be a horrible mistake that would cost me more than the book is worth. Whether you believe me or not, you don’t want to risk her life by delaying me any more.”
“Very well,” Luke sighs, sheathing one of his sabers.
The forest tracker walks to the front of the Sword Dragon and stuffs his arm into the stump that was once its neck. He cringes as the broken metal and tattered flesh seem to suck on his arm. He can feel cold, metal bones covered with sticky meat as he gropes blindly. Once his arm is buried up to the shoulder, Luke hooks a finger through a loop of wax-covered twine. He slowly pulls the twine out of the body until a leather bundle emerges from the corpse with a loud pop. Luke shudders as he shakes the gore off his sleeve.
“Here it is. Protected by a wax-coated sheet of leather,” Luke says, whipping the bundle at the Lich. The necrocaster catches the bundle and greedily undoes the wrapping to reveal his former teacher’s spellbook.
The Lich cackles and runs his hand along the book’s spine. “We should do business more often.”
“If you’re making an offer then you’re dumber than I thought,” Luke snaps, feeling his anger begin to infect his pulse.
“Never. I wish for you to die a horrible and prolonged death,” the Lich admits, cautiously eyeing the half-elf. “The only reason I have not attacked you is because I needed this. Now, I no longer have any use for you.”
“People will notice if you start a fight,” Luke warns the necrocaster, drawing his sheathed saber.
“That is why I won’t touch you until-” begins the Lich, tucking the spellbook into his robes.
Luke rushes the Lich and slashes at the monster’s decaying throat. The Lich glides out of reach of the blades, but still feels a throbbing pain strike his neck. A look of alarm sparks in his crimson eyes as he avoids a chop to his shoulder. He can feel something try to tear his shoulder apart even though the blade missed him. When Luke stops for a second, it gives the Lich enough time to pull out his precious wand. With a flick of his wrist, the gift from his master begins to grow a black bubble on its tip. Luke is already charging when the bubble expands to the cover the entire clearing in darkness. The half-elf skids to a stop and uses his ears to see where the Lich is.
“You are more dangerous than you realize,” the Lich says from the shadows. “I thought there was something strange about you becoming a spirit instead of dying. Trinity said it was nothing more than luck, but I think it’s something else. Have you been given anything magical since our last encounter?”
“No,” replies Luke, who nervously whirls around in search of the Lich.
“You lie!” the Lich furiously exclaims
A burst of sound erupts around Luke’s head and the half-elf drops to his knees in pain. He clutches his swords until his palms ache in a desperate attempt to recover his senses. A sudden push of air catches his attention, but he is unable to defend himself when a thick, snake-like object slams him against the Sword Dragon. The writhing object pushes against his stomach, which makes it difficult for him to breath. His ears are still ringing when he feels a bony hand against his face.
“It looks like somebody has decided to give you the power to destroy me,” the necrocaster says, drawing a twisted dagger. “Thankfully, you are unaware of your power’s source, so you have no control. I might not be so lucky the next time we meet. It is best for me to dispose of you now.” He tries to stab Luke in the head only for the strike to get blocked by the half-elf’s saber. A throb of pain strikes at the Lich’s face and he glides back a few more inches.
“It won’t be that easy,” Luke gasps, staring directly at the necrocaster.
“Sad, but true. I guess I should use my trump card,” the Lich growls.
“What do you mean?” Luke asks with concern. He struggles to lift his sabers only for the force on his stomach to grow and push on his entire torso.
“I saw your ability to transform into the very griffin I once controlled. At first, I thought it was nothing more than a simple transformation power,” the Lich replies, his lipless grin growing as he starts weaving his wand in the air. “Then, I gave it more thought and wondered why it was that specific griffin. Surprisingly, the answer is much simpler than one would think. Your power is that of a bestial spirit channeler.”
“It doesn’t work that way. The griffin and I are one,” Luke whispers, confused by the Lich’s words.
“It is a shame that you don’t understand your power. Maybe, I should take this opportunity to teach you about yourself,” the Lich suggests, grinning sadistically. “Now, I’d tell you to close your eyes,
but you won’t have a choice.”
The pressure on Luke’s torso disappears for a second before it returns around his throat. He can feel himself slipping away as the strong, wet hands choke the life out of him. It is when he is on the verge of passing out that a deep voice begins to talk. At first, the voice is nothing more than a wordless rumble, but it soon grows into a booming voice that rattles Luke’s bones.
“Do you wish to survive, child?” the voice asks.
“Of course, I do. I can’t die like this. I promised my friends that I would help them,” Luke answers in a panic.
“Such a foolish sentiment. It will not make you stronger,” the voice growls.
Another voice, like a gentle breeze, suddenly interrupts, “He does not need your strength!”
“You do nothing to help him survive at this time,” the deeper voice argues. “You are still weak, but I am able to help him.”
“It is your choice, Luke. Will you accept his help?” the other voice asks, sounding soothing and stern.
“I need to live,” coughs the half-elf, his vision blurring.
“I will take that as a yes,” hisses the proud, deep voice.
“Then, I will be waiting in the aftermath,” the soothing voice says.
“He will not want you once he connects with me,” the deep voice gloats.
A burst of terrifying power runs through Luke’s body and the pressure on his throat disappears. He can barely see the Lich vanish into the ground as the magical darkness starts to fade away. Luke’s breathing becomes ragged while his power coursing through his body increases and the ground shrinks underneath him. It takes a few seconds for Luke to realize that he is growing in size. A tearing sound from his back makes him wretch, spitting out a small piece of flaming metal. He throws his head back in an attempt to scream, but all he hears is a rage-fueled roar erupting from a mouth full of sword-like teeth. The barrier of darkness shatters like glass when he reaches his full height and his body finishes its painful transformation.
“Foolish child,” whispers the soothing voice as Luke fights for control of his draconic body.
Legends of Windemere: 03 - Allure of the Gypsies Page 48