Off to a great start.
“At least,” she amends, “not in the way that you believe it to exist.”
She eyes her friends, gathered at the very front of those assembled. Kain wears his billowing pants and leather harness across his always-bare chest. Morgana is decked head to toe in shadow-black armor. In one glance alone, Jaylie counts six knives on her person. Someone let Loren borrow a breastplate of his own, and somehow he’s managed to make the dark boiled leather look stylish when paired with a forest-green shirt and knee-high boots. Morgana looks doubtful of Jaylie’s pep talk, but Loren offers her a wink and a thumbs-up.
“Many people believe that luck is random. They believe luck is as simple as something wonderful happening to you when you least expect it. Some people even come to rely on it, gambling away their hard work and hoping—always hoping—that one day they’ll finally have their lucky break.
“But luck does not find those who sit around waiting for it. Luck is for the seekers, the adventurers, the lovers, and the dreamers. Luck is for those who chase after it, those who open themselves up to new experiences and new challenges every day of their lives. As one of the great clerics of my order once said, luck is where preparation meets opportunity.”
Years ago, trapped in her tower, Jaylie had wished every night on the brightest star that she would be freed from her father’s plans. Nothing happened.
It wasn’t until she made her escape to the well, when she had taken the first steps toward freedom, that luck had truly found her.
“Luck is for all of you, my friends, if you are brave enough to seize it,” Jaylie finishes, spreading her arms wide. “May Marlana bless us all today.”
She’s met with a roar of approval and dozens of coins tossed into the air. Shortly after, the portals begin to open. To Jaylie’s right andleft, teams of wizards led by Shira step forward to activate the runes carefully chalked into the earth during the early hours of the morning. One by one, the runes light with an electric-blue glow, and arches erupt out of the dirt and tear holes in reality. Through the portals, Jaylie can see the familiar sight of Donati’s wrought iron gates and his garden beyond.
Shira is the first to step through, but Jaylie, her party, Alora, and all the others are not far behind.
Just as Shira suspected, Donati waits for them behind the gates, his arms crossed over a beautifully designed blue-and-white doublet with lilies embroidered along the sleeves.
His eyes, bloodshot and violent, are trained on Shira.
“You were not invited,” he says through clenched teeth. “But I’ve been expecting you.”
It’s obvious he’s bolstered the ranks of his guard, but Jaylie notes the absence of anyone from the City Watch.That’s a good sign,she thinks.Perhaps they took our story seriously, then.
Perhaps we will not be arrested after we are done with him.
“I think I’ve had quite enough of you for one lifetime, Shira Soros. We’ve had our fun, but I tire of our games. This will be the last.” Donati lifts his hands upward. It’s a clear day, cloudless and beautiful, but lightning spears down from the sky all the same. Beyond the gates, every bolt lands at the same exact moment with a resoundingcrack,each one striking a different statue.
Jaylie watches in horror as every statue in the garden comes to life. Razor-sharp teeth sprout from grinning mouths, and stone fingers grow into long black claws. They leap from their foundations—a Donati wielding a wand, a Donati with a pair of bat wings, a Donati three times the size of the wizard himself, and at least a dozen others—and surge forward.
“You can try to kill me,” the true Donati says, seething, his eyes alight with a new red glow. “But you’ll have to find me first.”
And with a snap of his fingers, he turns invisible.
Surprising Jaylie not in the least, Kain leads the charge. Spit flies from his mouth as he opens his jaws in a bloodcurdling roar. Over and over again he clashes his great axe against the estate gates, joined soon after by the front lines. Eventually the metal bends to the barrage and the gates crumple and fall. Shira’s small army rushes through.
“Remember your orders!” Shira bellows as adventurers, guardsmen, students, and more race past her. “Stay together, stay smart, and everything in his fucking castle isours.”
Jaylie, having never been in an actual godsdamnedbattlebefore, is grateful for Shira’s level of organization. Keeping to the discussed strategy, she hangs back as the fighters spill into the gardens, weapons at the ready. She trusts that Kain will command them wisely while Morgana leads a small strike team through the estate, keeping to the shadows as they track down the true Donati.
Meanwhile, Jaylie stays close to what Shira lovingly referred to as “the support group”: the healers, most of the bards, the youngest volunteers, and a very grumpy Alora. “Shira didn’t want me to come at all,” Alora told Jaylie earlier that morning. “But I’m not about to let you fight on my behalf without lending a hand.” She’s frustrated that Shira forbade her from joining the front lines, but she loves her well enough that she agreed to stay near the back.
She understands, too, just how much of a target she is.
The gardens are chaos as Jaylie and her team are the last to enter. She spots a trio of Alora’s guardsmen hacking ineffectually against a gray Donati statue wielding a lance. Farther down, a blond dwarf with two swords strapped to her back wrestles with a grinning stone Donati in the shallow waters of a fountain while a bald halfling fires arrows from the hedges. Jaylie’s head snaps to the side when she hears Kain’s familiar roar again, and she grins to herself as a statue shatters under his axe. In the far distance, she hears and then feels the rumble of massive magical explosions. Shira’s doing, she expects.
Perhaps they do stand a chance.
Jaylie and her group back up into a small clearing where all of the hedges have been carefully trimmed to resemble an array of magical creatures: a gryphon, a unicorn, and a particularly thorny and large dragon. As Loren and a few of the students launch spears of ice and fire at any guardsmen who try to approach, Alora weaves a complicated spell that immediately summons three seething fire elementals. Her scales glow as she casts, and she laughs when Jaylie asks where she learned such a spell.
“Spellbooks are for fucking nerds,” she brags. “I wasbornwith my magic.”
Eventually, word spreads of the support group’s location, and bloodied warriors limp toward them in search of healing and sanctuary. Jaylie aids as many as she can, though she’s careful to keep a few emergency spells on hand. As she tends to a wound on a tiefling’s shoulder, she sees a ripple of shadow out of the corner of her eye.
“There!” she shrieks, pointing ahead.
