The Stone Dragon

"Blackstone!"

Karen sighed as the The Bear's shout rippled through the grounds of the monastery that shared her new name. Her husband grinned sheepishly at the call and shook his head. Karen wasn't supposed to be there, no matter who their parents were, but they were always like that. Whenever one of them had an especially interesting idea, they would find the other and begin a spirited discussion about it. The templars were used to this by now, so much so that they had begun to ignore Karen's presence in the Monastery. But Matilda Maloran had never been one to cede an inch on anything. Karen slunk away as Bart turned to face the commander.

"How many times must you be told the rules of this place?" the templar growled impatiently.

"That's a trick question," Bart replied with a stoic expression. "No matter how many times I am lectured about receiving guests, it's Karen's disregard for the rules that leads her here, not me."

"She is not the one who will pay the price if I see her here again!" Matilda snapped. "You will never be anointed as a member of this order if you cannot respect our ways!"

"My respect or lack thereof is irrelevant," Bart said calmly. "Karen does whatever she wants. That can make things difficult for her family, but it's part of what I love about her."

Matilda sighed and pressed her palm to her forehead. "Well, you had better have a talk with her if you don't want her impulsiveness to affect your future!"

"That is duly noted," Bart replied with a courteous nod. "I will have a talk with her the next time I go home."

The templar lowered her hand and nodded. "See that you do. At any rate, I have not come to lecture you! I am here to tell you that your mother is here to see you. She's waiting in the garden."

"Thank you, ma'am," Bart said blankly, making a stark effort to avoid showing any emotion. "I will see you on the training ground afterward."

Matilda nodded approvingly and left Bart to respond to his mother's summons. It was with a deep breath that he approached Sara Blackstone, who was sitting cross-legged next to a pond. There was never a figure in his life that aroused more guilt in him than the Champion of Serenity. His convictions always seemed to fail him where his mother was concerned. She seemed to sense his sharp intake of breath just then, because she immediately opened her eyes.

"Good morning, Bartholomew!" Sara said warmly. "How are you and your new wife?"

"We're getting along," Bart said as he sat down next to the Champion. "Married life can be complex between people who are so different. But what we share in common is the subject of much admiration on both of our parts."

"Would one of those things you share be the contrary opinions you enjoy sharing with the elders here?"

Logically speaking, Bart had no reason to be surprised, but his constant rows with the senior members of the Blackstone Order weren't something he was prepared for his mother to know about. He had never once felt in the wrong for asserting that blind faith was reductive and detrimental to social progress. He had learned from Sara that a religious doctrine couldn't possibly be both static and enduring. But where she had argued that her own faith was losing itself to complacency, he had been arguing that all of the religions taught at the Monastery were sacrificing credibility for baseless dogma. He had always been on good terms with his parents, but he knew that only his father could be bothered to see his point of view if so pressed.

"As a matter of fact, yes," Bart said quietly. "Plenty of people I know happen to share those opinions."

Sara sighed and shook her head. "I can't say that I agree with them, but I have always respected your sincerity. You're a good boy, but I have to ask: are you really happy here?"

Bart looked into his mother's eyes with mild disbelief, but she seemed to be searching for nothing but the truth in his own. Knowing that his candor was necessary here, he shook his head in response.

"I thought not," Sara said with a hint of sadness in her expression. "Well, we're still getting visits from representatives from the Greymont Institute. I know your father would love the peace and quiet if you could be convinced to take the Director's Chair in his place."

Bart wasn't particularly fascinated with the offer, but he was so relieved that she gave it despite her obvious disappointment with wanting to leave the Monastery that he didn't even think to refuse.

"I could do a lot more good there than I ever could as a templar," he admitted.

However he felt about the future he had just been presented with, he knew he wasn't wrong.

The Opening Ceremony

Altan Karn sighed as the morning sun broke through the window of his guest room in Sunburst Keep. The Malorans' newly built castle was certainly impressive, but morning seemed to come for him earlier in Resta. He tried not to think about how much sleep he actually managed to get as he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Today was the day he and his fellow Heronites had been waiting two weeks for. The Restans had spent weeks erecting a massive tent in the courtyard, building an arena within and stress-testing the structure. A letter then came the night before, stating that their venue was finally prepared. In just a few hours, he would be joining his people in an important battle.

The wolf snarls, the lords respond in kind. This tournament was what it had all been leading to. Did Chaos truly smile upon the Restans when they eradicated his brothers in the Brokamac clan? Is their new government doomed to cede the supremacy of their Pyrisian ancestors to these upstarts? A lot of questions had been hanging over the heads of the three lords of Heron since Hem Maloran and his rebels took Coronos back from the Pyrisians and joined with the people of Necros. There was an undeniable power in the kinship of these two former nations that Altan could only imitate with Torvald Piers and Borna Crowmont. Apart from the Piers lord's outburst and the Karn lord's resulting rebuke, the three of them had made a brave attempt to present a united front, but he had never seen such unity at home as he'd seen in the Restans. Unity had always been the source of the Karn clan's strength and he had hope to impart this value on his fellow nobles, but this trip had left him wondering

Altan swung himself out of the bed and rummaged through the the wardrobe for his clothes. He had set aside his usual expensive finery in favor of a flame-resistant vest, sash, and breeches for his appearance. This was because that, among the three lords, he was the only one who would be fighting. His sister had protested this decision every chance he gave her, but it was necessary given that he was the strongest of the remaining pyromancers. If no Restan could defeat him, then how could they prove anything?

Once he was fully dressed, he summoned his attendants to escort him to the tournament venue. The massive red tent that he was led to was nearly as large as the castle itself. Once inside, he found that the shadows cast by the stands that surrounded by the fighting pit nearly obscured the fact that they were in a tent. He scanned the seats and found dozens of men doing peculiar hand gestures while murmuring something too quietly for him to hear.

"Those are barrier casters."

Altan turned to look behind him at sound of the voice and saw Prince Gaius Maloran approaching from behind.

"Forgive me. I don't think I understand."

"These men are combining their magic into a great invisible wall that surrounds the pit," the prince explained. "They are responsible for making sure no harm comes to the tent or any of the spectators within so we can fight without holding back."

Altan raised his eyebrows. "You are prepared to fight to the death?"

"That's a risk we're prepared to take, but no one needs to die," Gaius said with a smirk. "We'll have healers on standby, of course."

"I've never met a healer that can treat severe burns," Altan said, returning the prince's gesture.

"You've never seen what a healer can do with magic," the prince said with a shrug. "I heard you'll be competing. You'll see what I'm talking about soon enough! Perhaps up close if you find yourself matched against me."

With that, Gaius walked away, leaving Altan alone with his thoughts. The young man had a reputation for being brash, but second in power only to his own father. Hem had abstained from participating himself so he could focus on his role as the master of ceremonies. Altan thought it was a mistake for Resta's strongest to sit out a tournament that was meant to measure the strength of their warriors, but Hem had projected nothing but confidence with his decision. That confidence seemed to be placed on Gaius.

Altan took a seat in the section that had been cordoned for the Heronite delegation and waited in silence as his countrymen slowly began to join him. Meanwhile, the rest of the tent had begun to fill with spectators from various parts of Resta, commoners and nobility alike. He could hear Borna sniffing indignantly as he took in the sight of the unwashed masses sharing their space. He might have lectured him for his attitude, but Lord Crowmont didn't seem to be making much noise beyond that. It wasn't worth breaking his focus. Soon, the king would arrive to announce the start of their game. Soon, he would know where Chaos' favor fell.

After an hour of watching people file into the arena, the sound of two horns filled the tent, heralding Hem Maloran's arrival. The king had stepped up onto a dais positioned directly opposite from where the Heronites sat, accompanied by a daughter whose name he had already forgotten. She sat first, leaving Hem the only person on his feet. Torvald nudged him, then Borna. The three lords shared a look and stood so they could face this rival ruler on their feet. As they did so, Hem nodded.

"Welcome, one and all! The king said in a jovial, but unnaturally loud voice. "As you all know, we are gathered here today to answer questions that differ based on where we come from. As Restans, we aim to prove that our nation is powerful enough to answer any challenge. And I am told that the Heronites who have joined us today aim to prove that their country has only grown stronger since their remaining clans have committed to setting aside their differences for the good of the north. What we have in common is the power of our unity. Today, forty-eight warriors will stand in this pit and fight to determine which country has benefited the most from this principle. I, Hem Maloran, king of the Restans hope that today's contest proves that we have the strength to overcome anything, but pledge to be satisfied with whatever outcome they lead to. I wish everyone the best of luck. Fight with strength and honor!"

The three lords shared a look that they each understood to mean that there was nothing else to say. It wasn't that Hem had covered everything they wanted everyone to know. They just didn't believe there was any better way to express their sentiment than they could in the ring. Altan nodded to his compatriots and left the stands to join the other Heronite contestants outside the tent. As he did so, the king concluded his brief speech.

"Since it appears our guests have nothing to add, there is no reason to delay this competition any further! Let Resta's Grand Tournament begin!

Adventures in Comalan: Stormview Peninsula

While the majority of the charted world consists of the continent of Mortanis and the various islands of Midania, these lands only cover Comalan's northern hemisphere. These lands remain the only parts of the known world to the majority of its inhabitants because the southern hemisphere's atmosphere is considered to be hostile even to the most seasoned explorers. The powerful currents that Mariknights have grown accustomed to in the north are gentle compared to the towering, violent waves that compose the seas of the region known as the Hydrospace. These currents, combined with deadly hurricanes and torrential rainstorms that are common to the region, make it seem unlikely that anyone could exist there. Despite this, immigrants still manage to find their way to Mortanis with epic tales of their escape from the Hydrospace. To these weary travelers, the gentle climate of countries such as Galeon and Resta is a heavenly reprieve from the terrifying conditions in which they were born.

Those who hear these tales often consider the immigrants' trials to be a sufficient deterrent from exploring the southern hemisphere. However, Comalan has no shortage of adventurers willing to brave danger for undiscovered treasures and glorious exploration. While it is true that no ship exists that's capable of braving the dangers of Hydrospace, there is a little known land that serves a gateway to the region's continent of Nerastia. This northernmost region, accessible still to only the most skilled of sailors with the most advanced ships, is known as Stormview Peninsula. All paths for those who escape the southern continent pass through this land, and it's only through the details of their journeys that anyone has ever found this two-hundred mile stretch of land.

One who reaches Stormview Peninsula will find a city called Gate City, which is technologically advanced even by Galean standards. Metal spires interconnected by a series of magically reinforced arches were erected here to protect travelers. At the very tip of the peninsula is a massive dome that encloses the city's port. This city stands a testament to the Hydrospace's greatest lure for Mortanisian and Midanian adventurers: despite the extreme weather that batters the lands of Nerastia, the people of this continent have persevered only because of these technological and magical secrets. Expeditions from both Resta and Galeon have made attempts to contact representatives of Gate City to trade engineering and magical knowledge only to find that the port dome is not designed to take incoming ships, but to build new ships to send people north.

To the south of Gate City lies Keystone, a battered village that was built by a joint Galean-Tanisian expedition to provide a safe harbor for Mortanisians. However, this town has long since been abandoned because maintaining a functioning community in the face of hurricanes without a safe way to acquire new resources, especially food, has proven to be a daunting task. Envoys continue to be unsuccessful at making contact with representatives of Gate City to learn how anyone could survive there indefinitely.

Since the beginning of the Third Age, the four countries of Mortanis have joined with Midania to form a coalition to settle Stormview Peninsula once and for all and establish diplomacy with Nerastia, but it is constantly hindered by the unstable relationship between these nations (particularly due to the hatred between Heron and both Galeon and Tanis, as well as the distrust between Resta and Midania). However, the synergy of the newly formed Starlight Crusade has renewed hope that establishing a link with the Hydrospace. Since the Crusade's success on the planet Allene, the coalition to settle Nerastia has reformed to plan another attempt. While they plan to wait for the world's most capable explorers and sailors to return from their war with the sho'kai, they have begun to take applications from those who didn't leave with the Crusade. This provides an opportunity for eager adventurers who missed their chance to fly off into the stars to be a part of history. Though it can't be stressed enough that the dangers of this expedition outweigh the perceived benefits, the Nerastian immigrants have whispered enough of their experiences to stoke the imagination of countless explorers.

The Reception

"The Heronite delegation is here!"

"The honor guard isn't ready!"

Hem Maloran tried his best to maintain his composure even as his court had begun to panic. The Heronite lords and their entourage weren't due for another week and their arrival had caught everyone completely by surprise. It was hard not to see this unannounced entry into their capitol as a slight, but everyone was looking to him to protect his infant nation from war. That was the intent of his initial correspondence with their incoming visitors. 

"This changes nothing!" Hem called out in a booming voice, silencing the chorus of worried voices immediately. "Ready my entourage! We will greet them as we are!"

The king sighed as the servants rushed away to fetch the people with whom he had planned to receive their guests. Moments later, he was joined by his son Gaius, his daughter Lana, his three most prized generals: Arnold Desmond, Arthur Skye, and Walter Blackstone. The twenty guards who flanked them on their way out of Sunburst Keep wore their usual uniforms instead of the honor guard armor that had been forged for this occasion. A worrisome pall hung over the entire group as they awaited the king's leave to face their visitors. A simple glance at Gaius told Hem exactly what he feared from the moment the northerners set foot in their land. The boy had always had a bit of a hot temper and this gesture on the part of their former enemies was already stirring thoughts of war in his head.

"No one is to speak without my leave," the king warned. "You will all let me handle this."

With this command acknowledged by all twenty-five of those attending him, Hem and his entourage marched to the courtyard, where they were greeted by thirty Heronite travelers. At the front of the group stood the leaders of each of Heron's three ruling houses. Hem first looked to Borna Crowmont, who matched his gaze with a tired expression, clearly driven by the rigors in the trip. Torvald Piers, on the other hand, maintained an aura of haughty derision. This didn't surprise Hem considering the Piers clan's close friendship with the Brokamac. Finally, he looked to Altan Karn, whose face was the hardest to read. When their eyes met, the ruler of Mt. Phoenix spoke.

"Greetings, King Maloran!" he called out cordially. "We are ready to test the mettle of your warriors!"

"If the soldiers they've brought are any indication, I doubt they'll be that impressive. This was a waste of time!" Torvald grunted.

"If you can't respect us enough to arrive when we agreed you should, you don't deserve the effort of preparing a proper reception!" Gaius snapped.

"Gaius, I warned you to hold your tongue!" Hem roared, rounding toward his son. "Speak again and you will be confined to the keep for the duration of our guests' visit!"

The prince fell silent with a mutinous expression, which the king happily ignored.

"I apologize for my son's outburst. He is quite an emotional boy, and none of us have been able to see any good in your premature arrival," Hem said awkwardly.

"An apology is owed to you as well, then," Altan said with a sigh. "In truth, Dalaska has been visited with a terrible, unseasonable blizzard. We had to leave more hastily than intended if we were to make it out of Heron."

Hem nodded slowly as he digested this explanation. "Summer snowfall is uncommon, but not impossible. I am sorry for your hardship. You are welcome here in Resta until the snow clears. Please come inside and make yourself comfortable in our home!"

"I am grateful for your understanding," Altan replied with a short smile. 

"Sadly, we aren't quite as ready as you are for our contest as you are," Hem added as he parted his guards' formation with a hand gesture. "But there is much to enjoy here in the meantime."

"We can appreciate the position this puts you in," Borna said dully. "There is no rush to begin the tournament if your warriors need more time to prepare."

"Our warriors are always ready," Hem shot back a little impatiently. "It is our venue that needs more time to prepare!"

"Of course!" Altan cut in a little anxiously. "It wasn't our intention to cast aspersions on your warriors before the tournament. We look forward to seeing the stage you prepare for us!"

"Speak for yourself!" Torvald snapped gruffly. "The Brokamac were the weakest of our clans! Their eradication proves nothing! If you think you can measure up to the greatest warriors of Heron, you're going to find yourself disappointed with that delusion!"

"Torvald, your mouth is going to get you in trouble with more than the Restans if you don't close it!" Altan snapped to the Piers lord.

"A threat from a Karn? Now I've seen everything!" Torvald shot back with a booming laugh. "Don't worry, I'll be nice! Until the time comes for my men to demolish the competition!"

"I take no offense," Hem offered without a trace of honesty. "We all know why you are here. You're not the only ones with something to prove. With our mastery of the arcane and the power of our faith, we will prove Lord Piers' words are hollow."

With that, Hem turned his back on the Heronites and led both entourages back into the castle to get the Heronites settled in. This encounter was made more tense by the tempers of both Gaius and Torvald, but it went about as well as he could have hoped otherwise. His fears of war weren't quite confirmed, but only time would tell if they could be truly abated.

Tales of the Starlight Crusade: The Maulan Officer

Excerpt from:

New Age Press

Ames the 1st, 3E8

Karashartal Names Maulan as Vice-Captain

By Lyra Blackstone

FIDES- The newly established Starlight Crusade Headquarters is abuzz with anticipation as the first of its forces begin to arrive from throughout the known world. The captains of the Crusade's five vessels each seem to be in particularly good spirits as they welcome the first of the officers who will serve under them. The Avatar Atunis Astersong, who captains the Karashartal has selected a stable of Midania's most prestigious faces to help him staff Midania's vessel, from mariknights to Katrinean shaman. But none of these appointments have gotten more attention than his selection of a maulan by the name Largo as his second-in-command. Largo currently commands the crew of the mariknight flagship, the Light's Grace in the place of its original captain, Harley Rumgourd-- who remains among the prisoners the Starlight Crusade seeks to rescue from the planet Mennon. 

Even among the Mariknights' commanders, Largo is a controversial figure. When reached for comment, Captain Dan Skye of the Wavehammer elaborates, "He's been denied a promotion to captain for years because only his own captain and the Admiral [Atunis Astersong] seem to trust him. 

The New Age Press has reached out to the Avatar and Karashartal Captain for comment regarding the maulan. Astersong stresses that Largo has demonstrated all of the merits necessary for his position and has proven to be trustworthy. When told that his trust is contrary to conventional wisdom among both the other mariknights and his Restan countrymen regarding the maulans--who are said to lack free will and live only for Lady Maula's amusement--he maintained this position. 

"As someone who has known Largo for several years, I can safely say that he is a highly competent leader who can think critically and act of his own accord. If experts somehow do not believe this is possible, I would say that they need to reexamine their beliefs... We've served together in dangerous situations. On top of that, I have seen him command respect from the mariknights who have served under him. They all trust him as I do."

On the Avatar's advice, the New Age Press has reached out to Largo for comment on the controversy surrounding his appointment. Although he had a reputation for being a man of few words, the subject of his trustworthiness is something he is admittedly quite passionate about.

"I understand everyone's concerns since I wasn't born to have free will. Mortals understand that the gods have plans for them while my kind exist only to satisfy even the most petty whims of our mistress. That can terrify people who remember when she was a threat to them."

Largo went on to explain that maulans become subject to less of Lady Maula's attention as they get older. By the time they reach the age of ten, they are all but ignored. Without the wishes of the Death Goddess to motivate them, maulans face an existential crisis that will sound familiar to many of Midania's sai'mul citizens.

"The first question we ask ourselves at this point in our lives is what we exist for. When the one whose pleasure we exist to create no longer cares enough about what you do, there is no comfort that mortals can offer because we know that we are fundamentally different from them."

Largo was summoned by the First Archknight shortly before the Champion of Geos seized the Restan throne 56 years ago. Although Maulans were afforded legal protection during the early years of the Geosian Regime, these protection were rescinded when rebel Maulans banded together for an ill-fated assault on Resta's Gilded Keep. Although Largo was not involved in this attack, he went into hiding with the templars who fled from Resta and formed the Holy Key Knights.

"Geos didn't wish us any harm because his love for his sister extended to her playthings, but when the other Gods were banished from the world, she willingly went with them. When she did, she left many of us behind without a purpose for decades! Most of us who develop a will of our own as a result of our Mistress' neglect choose to throw our lives away at her feet with the hope of amusing her even slightly. But since we couldn't find her to do so, we were forced to live among the mortals until she could return. It was during that time I learned how to sail from the templars."

Largo served as a helmsman on the Holy Key Knights' vessel, the Gods' Vengeance for the duration of the regime. It was in this new life on the sea that Largo found a purpose to drive him forward when he would have preferred to die. Following the Archknight Rebellion--in which the Second Archknight liberated the Fadalians and Resta from Geos' rule-- newly-crowned Restan monarch Kyle Baldus richly rewarded the members of the Holy Key Knights who participated in Kartal Marle's quest, but only thanked Largo in the belief that he couldn't wish for much more.

"I didn't mind being passed over for land and titles and the like because I found something more important along the way. I love sailing. That's how I found myself becoming a mariknight in the first place!"

Largo managed to acquire and restore a derelict ship following the disbandment of the Holy Key Knights. With this vessel, he ran a small business that offered chartered voyages to places that mortal sailors feared to approach. Though he was still feared for what he was, he found several clients among those he claims had a "death wish." That was until he was recalled to the Temple of the Children in Foldo in the first time since the Fadalians' banishment.

"The saddest part is that no matter how much joy we find in the world or how much pain she has given us, it's impossible for us to drop our loyalty to Lady Maula completely. More than thirty years later, I was prepared to rip off my own skin for her amusement."

But Largo's summons were initiated not by the Death Goddess, but by Aennin Moonstep. Maula's Avatar would enlist his services on behalf of Lord Astersong and gift him with a more modern vessel. That was when Largo took Astersong to Midania to aid in his mission to revive the mariknights at Lady Salica's bequest.

"I took him all around the Dervish Ocean, met a man who survived from the original mariknights as a sai'mul and just... became one of them. Nobody ever asked me what I wanted, Harley just assumed that I was there to be in the new fleet. I went along with it at first because I thought it would benefit the Avatar that I was commanded to help, but when Atunis left, I stuck around because I was having too much fun to leave my new crew behind." 

Largo has reportedly been considered a valued member of the first mariknight ship to sail for Midania's new fleet. Although the mystical abilities of the mariknights of old were once unique to Captain Rumgourd, he served as the Vice-Captain of the Light's Grace due to the seniority conferred by his sailing experience until he became the highest-ranking member of the crew. His assumption of command following Captain Rumgourd's abduction has been contested by other captains in the fleet throughout his career. Despite this, Lord Astersong remains confident that Largo the maulan has earned the trust he and his crew show him and that he will be a great asset to the Starlight Crusade.

The Magister's Rage Part 17

Read from the Beginning!

Back to Part 16

From where we had been, returning to Palon had not been as long of a trip as I had anticipated. I only learned later that Voltairine had managed to make contact with me when my companions returned to Resta. Still, the trip between Palon and Karatal could never be made in a day, thus I began to drive myself mad with urgency. I had failed to account for the lost convenience of my teleportation magic when I gave my body up to death and had nothing else to do while I waited to be carried to where I needed to go. So, I continued to work on Garanda's soul until it was nearly clean of his sins. With the corpses burned to nothing, I began to drain the blood that had been left behind. As a mere facsimile of true life force, the blood could give me no power, but it responded to my magic simply enough.

When I finished cleansing Garanda's soul of his evil, I finally encountered the first living soul fragments. As a simple-minded killing machine, he had but two fragments for me to contend with. The first was a fragment of darkness who took the form of an ancient Pyrisian berserker who attempted to kill me with his pyromancy skills. This Pyrisian seemed to exhibit the mindless violent tendencies that I had come to know Garanda for, but to explain how I survived his onslaught requires an explanation of these soul fragments. When employing soul magic, a caster is able to interact with individual aspects of their subject's personality, which take the form of someone significant to them. This pyromancer was no one I knew, but he clearly represented the unbound rage that drove Garanda to kill. I could only stop him with the essence of a light fragment who represented a quality which foiled that of the dark fragment. I escaped as quickly as possible and began to search for the pyromancer's counterpart.

I found what I was looking for in my own image. For as long as I had been stuck with the demon knight, he had been observing me and learning from my example. This was why his solitary fragment of light took my appearance. He represented the deliberation that stayed my hand when I began to lose control of my own anger. This was the part of the soul from which Garanda's more elusive and tactical approach to our private war had originated. I was quite nearly flattered, but still rather disgusted that I of all people represented his positive moral extreme. Fortunately, a soul fragment that takes the appearance of the soulcaster is most pliable to the caster's whims. The fragment gave me a shard of Garanda's meager light before disappearing, which I used to calm the raging pyromancer before he could kill me.

With both fragments temporarily banished, the path was clear for Garanda when Voltairine and the others delivered me to Palon. The Demon Knight had already caused the destruction of half of the street on which my family lived by the time we had reached him, based on Adamora's verbal reaction to the chaos. I instructed Voltairine to bring me as close to him as she could. She was clearly terrified, but I assured her that I had no intention of allowing her to come to harm. When she confronted Garanda, she did so against Adamora and Kartal's advice, but she had more trust in me than them. When my adversary raised my blade against her, Voltairine appeared to me within the sparesoul. I pulled this image behind me and held up a hand to put a blood shield in front of her. As I had hoped, his strike was stopped in midair by a barrier that no one could see. In his confusion, he stared down Voltairine as if he suspected her of possessing a power he couldn't understand. He did understand, however, when she held out the black diamond. In his fury, he took several more swings at her, but my barrier showed no signs of giving. Finally, he noticed my presence and, with the learning of soul magic he appropriated from within my memories, he entered the sparesoul to meet with me directly.

This was the moment I had been preparing for many years. All of the spells I learned, all of the blood I absorbed, and all of the time I spent hunting him to the detriment of my wife and daughters had been leading to this moment, in which Garanda stared at me across an empty space with intense hatred. In those eyes I could see his struggle to be free and his rage towards me for trying to contain him. He made the first move, crushing my carefully conjured blood shield with a single stroke and cleaving through the hand which sustained. Thankfully, the blood I had stored in life allowed me to heal the wound rather quickly. What followed was a deadly clash of blood and steel that expended nearly all of the power I had gathered to that point. Even with my physical abilities enhanced by blood magic, it was nearly impossible to keep up with the legendary warrior spirit. The sole advantage I possessed was in my blood blades, whose ethereal power could not be repelled by any weapon or armor. Only the blood of another was even capable of reducing the momentum of my magic, but it took everything I had to even get close enough to penetrate his armor.

Finally, after roughly two minutes of tense combat, I pierced the Demon Knight's dark chestplate with my blades. This measure was far from enough to vanquish him permanently, but his shock and sudden weakness left me with an opportunity. I reached out through the walls of my stone prison and clutched Garanda's physical body. As a result, I assumed control over this new body and left my adversary stranded within the sparesoul. I lowered the monster's blade, removed his helmet, and smiled to my companions with lips that so resembled my own, but which hadn't previously belonged to me. I told them that there was no longer any need for fear. I had defeated by enemy at last and sealed him away.

Kartal mustered his Goodwill Company and lent their support to the rebuilding of the city while Adamora retreated to her self-imposed exile in the desert. While I worried that removing herself from the watchful eyes of her fellow clergy would make it easier for Adaling to continue to menace others, Kartal assured me that he at least would not be far away. As for Voltairine, I took her aside and held a long discussion about the repercussions of what had just transpired. She had found her way into my tale purely by chance, and had long since earned an explanation as to what happened. As far as anyone could see, she had stopped Garanda by bravely facing his wrath without raising a hand to him in turn. This made her a hero to the people of my city. Although I would learn later that she was used to earning such accolades, she was somewhat uncomfortable with the profile this battle had elevated her to. Without intending to, I had allowed someone who once preferred to remain relatively anonymous to become a celebrity for my actions. I still regret this, but I had little choice but to let her have my credit because I dreaded having to explain exactly what I did. As Samson had told me a long time ago, it took the application of forbidden magic to finally take control of Garanda.

With the Demon Knight's threat put to rest for the time being, I was finally able to reunite with my family. Although my daughters were thrilled to see me once again, there was no changing what had broken between Bellarose and I. In her eyes, I had failed once again to control the impulses that once led me to committing the greatest atrocities of my life and could never again be trusted. I had made sure to use my magic to the most ethical ends I could this time, but it was difficult not to see her point. So it was that my old life was put to rest and a new one with the wonderful woman I met along the way could begin. This does not quite end my story or address my reasons for writing it down for your consumption, but I feel I have sufficiently covered the most necessary context. With that, I will next address how we came to where we are today and what must lie in my future.

Continue to Part 18

Always

The following is planned bonus content for the Death Touch book. Essentially, I will be including four short stories which detail the future of the champions. You can already catch the first of these stories, which was written about Clint a long time ago, here!

David was late.

He had stopped in for a few minutes at home to gather the costume he had prepared his presentation before rushing back to the car. His mom had promised to have it sent to his school by lunchtime. He could understand if she was too busy to be bothered with this simple errand, but that was why she paid Lisa to cover her more trivial tasks. Like being a parent!

He bundled his leather harness, whitebark chestplate and green woolen kilt into the passenger seat of his blue covered convertible and crawled inside through driver's side door. He had found the Katrinean shaman's garb on his bed, precisely where he'd left it that morning. I can't count on anybody! With a grunt of frustration, the boy started his car and backed out of the garage of the Governor's Estate at a frenzied speed. He compensated for his haste with perfect control as he turned around and sped out of the driveway and toward the open roadways of Solan. He drove recklessly through the city's sleepy traffic, driven by his frenzied terror of being late mixed with frustration at having been let down once again. He managed to avoid every one of them with ease, oblivious to how much the safety of everyone in his path had relied on luck.

It had been worth it when he parked in the underground garage of Winstrom Academy and carried his shamanic attire into the auditorium with minutes to spare. His mother would have winced to see him changing into his traditional clothes while on the run to the venue, but he didn't share her compulsion to shy away from attention. People laughed and clapped as he ran by, trying to pull off his pants from beneath the hastily donned kilt. His classmates were used to such hilarious displays, but he would be taking the secret that none of this was planned to his grave.

David was desperately upset.

But he bore his shame with a jocular grin, knowing that it would take a flawless presentation to save his cultural studies grade. He was still running at full sprint as he tore off his shirt and threw the leather harness straps over his shoulders. He stumbled through the back door of the auditorium with a sigh, with only three minutes remaining. He took a few slow steps away from the door and set the heavy wooden chestplate down against a wall to fasten his harness to the kilt. He then picked up the chestplate with a grunt and stumbled toward the stage entrance to await his presentation.

Though he was still panting at first, he needn't have worried from the moment he set foot in the building. His class were meant to be discussing their family bloodlines and their historical contributions to Resta. But David wasn't the only Harret in the class and the culture of his grandparents was far more relevant to Restans than a populous name pinned to the lapel of every generic soldier. The history of Katrine led to his mother, who had a direct hand in shaping the course of Restan history before becoming one of its provincial governors. It was going to be easy to keep the class enraptured, but his report and its delivery had to be perfect. He had been preparing for longer than he cared to admit for this. He studied at home for nearly a month to memorize every aspect of his grandparents' culture. He'd even practiced a bit of storm magic and invited his arcane studies professor for an attempt at extra credit in his class.

When it was finally time for him to present his account of the island-dwelling tribe of Katrine, David started with the moon goddess of the same name that is worshiped there. He went on to explain the shaman and storm mages who band together to protect its people from the vicious thunderstorms and hurricanes that regularly threaten the land, and the pride Katrineans have in taming such a hostile landscape. Like in most cases, all who beheld him were enraptured by his voice. He sometimes called it a curse, but he could never seriously deny the comfort he felt in the spotlight. When he concluded his story, he sighed and walked away without talking to anyone. He was sure he'd be passing cultural and arcane studies now, but he was far too tired to celebrate.

The drive home had been far less urgent, so David allowed himself to meld into the leisurely flow of traffic this time. As twilight set over the city, though, he found himself drowsy. Remembering his mother's "basic common sense" rules, he pulled over by a country road separating the estate from the rest of the city. Under the shadow of two evergreens, he sighed and tilted his head back, debating whether to take a quick nap or pull himself together. But his mind was already set on the former from the moment he stopped, so he closed his eyes.

Later, David was awoken by an urgent tapping on the window. He jumped awake with a start to find his mother standing outside, her blonde hair stained with an unknown color. He looked around and groaned, realizing it had grown quite late while he slept. There was only just enough light to make out those familiar facial features on her pale face.

"What are you doing out here?" She demanded.

David bit his tongue, holding down the urge to act on the crankiness he felt at having been awoken so abruptly and having been previously let down. He rolled down the window slowly and rolled his eyes.

"Just following basic common sense. I was too tired to drive, so I pulled over."

"Get out of the car!" she ordered.

Knowing better than to make the woman repeat herself, David pulled off his seat belt and pushed the door open slowly before stumbling out of the car, still drowsy. But before he could clear the numbness that sleep had brought to him, he was swiftly enfolded within his mother's arms. This was unusual itself, but as she pulled him close to her, he could clearly smell blood on her.

"Mum, what's going on? Are you okay?"

David extricated himself from her as gently as he could and looked her over in the moonlight. She seemed to have a hole in the leather jacket she wore and was bleeding through her lower right abdomen. The stains in her hair could more clearly be seen as blood.

"I wasn't having the best day until I found you," the mother admitted as she slumped against the car. "I've handled worse than the initial attack, but when I got to the house, I couldn't find you. Professor Hawke said you already left school, so I thought the worst had happened."

"Didn't Lisa give you the note I left this afternoon?" David said with a more subdued tone than was usual for him. "I was upset earlier because she forgot to bring my costume!"

The mother shook her head. "David, Lisa's dead. I just thought you were too!"

David went silent in shock at this revelation. Less than a day ago, he silently screamed for Lisa's sacking, but to be told she was now dead brought back the affection he had felt for the housekeeper. But more importantly, nothing made any sense to him. Who would want the famous Champion of Salica and her household dead? How did he not notice that Lisa was gone?

Mia took the boy back into her embrace. "I'm so sorry for everything! If I told you more about myself, the two of you could have been prepared for what happened today! Lisa is dead because of me!"

David struggled to free his face from the stench of her blood-soaked arm and gasped. "Why?"

"I live a more dangerous life than you've ever known," the mother said with a tearful sniff. "The biggest mistake I've ever made is trying to keep my work a secret from you!"

"What work?"

Mia shook her head and nuzzled the crown of his head with her chin. "We'll talk later. We need to get to the house and call a healer. Help me get in the car."

David nodded and hastily stuffed his shaman garb into the trunk of his car before guiding his mother into the backseat. As he began to drive once more, the Champion mumbled something so quietly, it was very well possible he was never meant to hear her.

"I'm going to do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Always."