“Well, it sure was real nice knowing you, lad,” John teased. “I hate to see it end this way.” He stared at him deadpan for a moment, then broke out in uncontrolled laughter.
“I really hate you, you know that?” Lyrad spouted, giving John an icy glare.
“Hey, I was just joking around with you, man. Lighten up,” John said, holding his hands up defensively. “Good luck and I’ll see you soon. Don’t take too long, though, ‘cause I have a date this evening.”
“Now that is a joke,” Lyrad fired back. John’s smile faded quickly, which made Lyrad laugh and forget all about his anxiety. “See you on the flipside, my friend.”
With that, he triumphantly thrust open the double doors of the testing chamber and plunged in. He was immediately engulfed by the ensuing shadows.
“Are you ready to take the final test of Priesthood?” a voice emanated from a dark corner of the room.
Lyrad couldn’t see the speaker, but knew the question was aimed at him. “What? Are you doubting my skill?” he fired back at it, briefly forgetting where he was. Then, with more humility, he said, “Yes, I am ready.”
“Step onto the platform,” the voice commanded.
Lyrad did as he was bade. He stood, feet planted firmly in the middle of the platform, ready for all dimgate to break loose.
Instantly, he was teleported to somewhere he had never seen before. He took a look around and saw that the area was ringed about by tall, beige-colored walls. Atop the walls stood rows and rows of stone seats, where people sat staring down at it with odd expressions on their faces.
A sense of wonder filled him at the sight of them. There must have been a thousand people up there, more than he’d ever seen in one spot before.
Beneath him, the ground was a barren wasteland of hard-packed, dry dirt that was cracked in several places like it had been sitting out in the sun for thousands of years.
He recognized the area at once. It was the arena! The same one that fully-trained Dragons fought in to train and earn fame and fortune during times of peace. His memories of his previous life came back to him for a brief moment. Somehow, his old dreams had come true for him at last.
He had no time to sit around and think happy thoughts, however. A man dressed in all in black came out of the shadows and took advantage of Lyrad’s moment of awe, knocking him to the ground with a powerful roundhouse kick.
Lyrad had come prepared for dimgate, and from the looks of things, that was exactly what he was up against.
Chapter SixThe King is Dead, Long Live the King
“Forgetfulness is where
The real danger begins.”
Book of Gallian, 3:7.
Year 4978 (Twenty-one years ago)
Young Christopher glared briefly at his father. He wasn’t sure why, but his father’s words sounded a little too rehearsed. Almost like he’d heard them before, but he wasn’t sure where. It didn’t make a lot of sense to him, since he’d never invited his advisor or bodyguard to a banquet before, and had only done so tonight as a way to get back at his father for their argument earlier. It simply wasn’t possible for it to be a memory.
At length, he uttered the words, “They are my guests, father. I wanted to invite someone, too, okay? It is my birthday, after all.”
King Richard looked confused. “I see,” he said slowly. “If it will make you happy.”
“How are you, Father?” Christopher asked. It was more a formality than anything. King Richard started to respond, but he cut him off. “Oh, and how many nobles are coming this evening?”
His face contorted into a grimace. That question was very unlike him. He didn’t care about that kind of thing. Never did. And he couldn’t figure out why he would have asked about it.
“Well, let’s see . . .” King Richard replied, his eyes rolling back into his head like he was thinking hard. “I believe there will be 147 nobles seated with us tonight. Quite a few have decided to turn out for your birthday celebration, I would say. That should make you happy.”
Christopher gave a slight nod.
“Now, if you will all take your seats, we will be starting soon. The chefs have prepared a fine meal, I’m sure you’ll all enjoy it,” King Richard assured them.
“Yes, of course, Father,” Christopher replied, trying to be as polite as possible. He still couldn’t shake the feeling of déjà vu, but decided to sit down and not argue. With any luck, the events of the evening would be over faster that way. If only he could be so lucky.
He sat back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the table. His father glared at him, but he didn’t stop. It wasn’t like his father would do anything about it anyway.
As the nobles started to filter into the room one at a time, a growing sense of unease washed over the young prince. He had seen all of this before. He was sure of it. Of course, he went to banquets most nights, and the nobles always filtered in single file, so he thought maybe it was just the overall familiarity with the custom, but no. This time it was different. It was too similar. But how, he wasn’t certain.
At last, all the nobles had come in and taken their seats. The festivities could start. Not that Christopher was feeling all that festive.
“Waiters!” King Richard barked at the servants standing in the back without even looking at them. “Change of plans! Bring out the finest wine we have! Nothing but the best for
