“Amazing,” Luke gasps.
“You may be faster and more nimble than me, but my skill and control makes up for that,” the mercenary declares, advancing on Luke. “We appear to be equals.”
“No, we’re not. You’re holding back,” Luke accuses him. The forest tracker bounds away and begins circling his opponent, gently spinning his blades.
“I’m not the only one.”
“Then, let’s do this for real.”
Both warriors clash with a noise that resembles two rams butting heads. Wooden blades swing with precision and speed that the gathered audience can barely keep up with. The cheers and taunts of the crowd are ignored as the young warriors continue to fight with all of their strength and skill. It is unclear if the people are more into the wild, acrobatics of Luke’s style or the perfect sword and shield style of the mercenary. With amazing speed, Luke charges in with a roar which is met with an equally loud shout from his opponent. After several savage strikes of their weapons, the dusty air is filled with an explosion of splinters that were once practice weapons. When the dust settles, people look into the street to see the young swordsmen standing with matching punches stopped an inch from their faces. They have wide grins plastered across their faces.
“So, how is our dear Selenia?” the young man coughs, looking at Luke’s graduation ring.
“She's still a very dangerous woman. When did you graduate?” Luke asks, looking at an identical ring on the mercenary’s fist.
“Three years ago. I was one of her pet projects,” he answers proudly.
“I guess that explains why you’re so good,” Luke states with a smile.
“Were you the same?” the mercenary asks.
Luke blushes and chuckles at the question. “I was more of a troublemaker than a serious student. I was trained to be a forest tracker before I was sent to her school for some advanced courses. There’s more to the story, but it gets complicated.”
“Stories like that are best shared over some relaxing ale,” the mercenary says with a lazy grin and a yawn. They finally drop their fists into a firm handshake.
“My name is Luke Callindor.”
“Ah, the name explains it all. I’m Delvin Cunningham.”
“A name I won’t be forgetting.”
Both of the dust-covered fighters laugh while they walk toward the cheering crowd. They can already see Tavris, Scorpion, and Gerdo bringing Pelo into the tavern. Luke takes his sabers from Fritz and follows Delvin inside where the next two hours are spent with stories and free ale. The end of the party takes the form of everyone drunkenly praising Luke and Delvin as heroes even though they are both passed out on the floor.
*****
“You simply do not give up,” the fireskin says while he sits on his bed and thumbs through a leather bound spellbook.
“I only want to talk!” Nyx shouts from the other side of the caster’s door. She keeps her ear to the door in case he tries to cast an escape spell.
“I don’t see what it would accomplish. You assume that I’m someone you met as a child, but I have never seen you before,” the fireskin firmly states without looking up from his book. “Please, let me study my spells in peace.”
“I know you’re the one who saved me when I was a child!” Nyx exclaims in an excited, child-like voice. “One of my earliest memories is of being carried away from my burning village by a caster in red. He had a staff exactly like the one you have and I know that fireskin casters create their own staff when they turn twenty-five. That staff means you’re the caster in red. Please let me in.”
The caster sighs as he repeats himself for the tenth time. “I see no reason why I would save you. There is nothing unique about you or your aura. Go home, child.”
“That’s it. I’m not yelling through this door anymore,” she announces. Nyx starts to spin her mourning star and takes careful aim.
“You’re bluffing. Put your weapon away,” the caster warns her.
“I’m coming in!” Nyx yells, putting all of her strength behind the swing. The door opens before she hits it and the force of her swing sends her crashing into the room.
“My name is Isaiah. Please, close the door behind you,” the caster requests without looking at the half-elf.
“Yes, sir,” she says. Nyx shuts the door gently and stands nervously in front of the fireskin. She shifts from foot to foot while he continues his reading. Minutes pass before he finally looks up at her.
“You’re correct that my staff was created by my own hand, but I am not the one who saved you,” Isaiah insists, his reptilian eyes glistening in the torchlight.
Nyx clenches her fist and takes a deep breath. “I know it was you, sir.”
“Then, why did you stare at me with a hint of awe when we first met? It’s obvious that you have never seen a fireskin before,” he says, his voice surprisingly soft and kind. “That is another reason why it could not have been me. You would have remembered seeing one of my people, but you were surprised by my appearance.”
“An experienced caster can take many forms,” Nyx contends, unable to hide the look of victory in her eyes. “All you need is a transformation spell and you could look like anything. A large human with that staff saved me, but it could have easily been you in the shape of a human. A perfect transformation spell would change your voice as well as your appearance.”
“So, you know about magic even though your aura is barely accessible,” Isaiah responds, his mild interest quickly fading. “That is slightly intriguing. Only dedicated casters would bother to learn some of the knowledge that you’re spouting.” He goes back to thumbing through his book and whispers a spell that brings a bottle of wine to him. Not wanting to waste another spell, the caster uses his claw to pull the cork off and starts drinking from the bottle.
“It’s a temporary problem,” Nyx sheepishly mutters.
“I’m sure. How exactly did it happen?” Isaiah asks.
Nyx nervously glances around the room before she explains, “My friends and I were in Hero’s Gate and our enemies set a trap for us by enchanting a swarm of goblins. Our enemies sent the goblin swarm into the city with orders to destroy everything in sight. I was already injured from a fight with some orc bandits and trolls, but I went to find a friend who was lost in the city. I found him and we ended up getting surrounded. The goblins swarmed us after I grew too weak to cast spells thanks to severe blood loss. So, I kind of panicked when they started biting and then I . . . cast the forbidden genocide spell.”
Isaiah’s mouth slams shut on the wine bottle, which shatters and sends pieces of glass down his throat. The caster hacks and coughs in an attempt to either spit out the shards or swallow them without too much pain. Steaming, orange blood trickles down his scaly chin as he moves his spellbook off of his lap. Nyx rushes to get him something that looks like rags and presses it to his mouth.
“You cast a god-sealed spell and lived?” Isaiah asks, managing to cover his surprise with an amused tone.
“Yes, sir, and I still have nightmares about it,” Nyx timidly admits. She shuffles her feet and stares at the ground for several minutes before she speaks again. “A priest that I travel with says that I have to work this out on my own and my magic will return when I’m ready. I hope he’s right because I have my doubts.”
“Your friend sounds very wise, Nyx,” Isaiah mumbles, continuing to pat the rags against his bleeding gums.
“He . . . I never told you my name.”
“Of course, you did.”
“When?”
“You called it to me while you were following me.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Of course, you did.”
“Did not.”
“You sure?”
Nyx beams with triumph. “I knew it! You were the one who saved me and brought me to Rainbow Tower. Guess you aren’t so smart after all.”
“Sadly, my intelligence tends to drop after I swallow glass and nurse multiple lacerations to my mouth,” I
saiah says with a friendly smile. He beckons for Nyx to take a seat on the corner of the bed. “I was the one who saved you from your burning village and gave you to my friends in Gaia. It never occurred to me that you would remember anything about that day considering the chaos around you. I assume that you have a question that has been burning in your mind for years. One that you believe only I can answer. Go ahead and ask it.”
“What were my parents like?” she excitedly blurts out.
“I was expecting you to ask why I saved you,” Isaiah replies.
“I already have a basic idea of why,” Nyx admits, her voice rapid and filled with happiness that she hasn’t felt in days. “Cyril told me about the great darkness that I will face and I can tell you’re as strong as he is. That means you can sense what is coming too. Apparently, I will be the one to stand against an ancient evil that has been erased from the history of Windemere. Hearing that explanation again would be pointless since I’ve heard various versions of it at least a hundred times over the years.” She absentmindedly lets her hand trace the binding of a nearby spellbook before Isaiah pulls it away with his tail.
“Those spells are too strong for you,” the fireskin says with a polite smile. “At least, I think they are. It seems that you have more information than I expected, but your destiny is about more than facing an ancient evil, my dear. So much more than even the gods can predict.”
Nyx eyes Isaiah suspiciously as she argues, “If this evil is so strong then I shouldn’t be facing it alone. A single caster like me would be destroyed if this evil is powerful enough to scare the gods. I can’t even use this stupid mourning star without feeling like I’m throwing out my shoulder. They can’t expect me to win by myself.”
“Such a childish thought,” Isaiah claims, partially amused. “Have you not figured out that you are one of many chosen who will be called upon?”
He quickly waves away her brewing questions with a sharp-clawed hand. “I would explain more about your purpose, but I am tired from my castings. I must get sleep. Maybe I will find you tomorrow and finish this conversation. I congratulate you on your progress and I’m confident that you will regain your magic, dear Nyx. Some day soon you will become a formidable caster once again.”
Nyx smiles sheepishly as she gets off the bed and takes a few steps toward the door. She stops and turns to Isaiah with a few warm tears in her eyes. Without saying anything, she walks back to him and gives him a hug. Nyx lets herself cry when he hugs her back.
“I always wanted to thank you for saving me,” she whispers.
“You’re welcome,” Isaiah says tenderly. He pushes her back, so he can look into her violet eyes. “To answer your question, I never had the pleasure of meeting your father. I heard stories of his prowess in combat and his intimidating strength. It is said that it took an army of giltris to bring him down in the Caster Swamp. A hero’s end to be sure. Your mother is a different story. I met her quite a few times and I can honestly say that you have her heart and her willpower. She was a talented caster and a good friend. Saving you was the least I could do to honor her memory.”
Nyx lets go of Isaiah and wipes the tears from her face before smiling again. Isaiah smiles back at her and watches as she leaves the room. He can hear her outside his door with her staggered breathing until she composes herself and walks down the hallway. A worried smirk crosses his face and reveals his sharp, blood-dotted teeth.
Isaiah leans back on his bed, his tail curling around his waist. “That girl is more cunning than I was led to believe. It might be the influence of that halfling, but I wasn’t prepared for her intuition. Then again, I was never told that she was in the city. I think it’s time I set up a meeting with that boy and school him in giving proper reports to his superiors.”
14
Sweet music and exquisite aromas flow through the elegant ballroom of Silverstar Manor. Most of Freedom’s nobles and merchant leaders discuss politics and business as well-dressed servants weave through the crowds with trays of food and wine balanced on their hands. The polished dance floor is hidden beneath the spinning debutantes and the young men who seek their affections. A trio of silver and glass chandeliers rain warm light on the crowds as they gently sway in the breeze that enters the open windows. The wide stairs of red marble that lead to the entrance are kept clear of guests for any nobles who decide to arrive fashionably late. The trumpeters at the top of the stairs look bored as they wait to announce newly arriving guests. An occasional glance at the crowd below gives the trumpeters a clear view at the vast array of expensive clothes that the sea of high society is wearing.
“Lord Gideon and Lady Adara, may I present the final members of my personal escort. This is Luke Callindor, Fritz Warrenberg, and Lady Nyx of Rainbow Tower,” Kellia announces, her voice rising above the noise of the crowd. A flowing gown of sapphire silk with removable sleeves brings out her noble heritage. Matching sapphire jewelry and a crown of blue coral finish her transformation into a completely different Kellia.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Lady Adara says, her smooth, red hair woven into a style that resembles a waterfall. The slender woman is in an elegant dress of velvet and diamonds with a high collar and no sleeves. It parts at the knees, showing off her dainty slippers of crystal that softly clack against the ground.
The Lady of Silverstar Manor raises a delicate hand to the portly, gray-haired Lord Gideon who politely bows to the three guests as if they are nobles. He looks to be twice as old as the youthful Adara and his clothes are nothing more than a royal blue shirt and black pants. The only article of clothing that catches a second glance is his leather boots. They shine with a mystical sheen and lack any sign of wear. Nyx can feel herself get pulled into the depths of the boots’ shine until the lord takes a step and breaks her trance.
“It is an honor to have one of the legendary Callindors in my home,” Lord Gideon admits, his voice deep and warm. “Though, I do wish you wore something more refined than a green shirt and traveler’s pants. This is a noble party after all. Then again, you have been on the road for many days and bringing clothes for such high society events would be an unnecessary burden.” Lord Gideon gives Luke a hearty slap on the back before the half-elf can defend his clothing. “We should find some time to talk business at a later hour, young man. Now, let me greet your friends before I am considered rude. It is a pleasure to meet a gnome of such a ripe old age, Mister Warrenberg. I bet you have some stories to tell. I look forward to your stay in my home, so that I may speak with you at length about your thoughts and dreams. I always believed that a true business man should never give up the chance to speak with a gnome. And you, my lady, are simply . . . stunning. I can barely believe that you were on the road or that you are a caster.”
Nyx curtsies low to the ground once Lord Gideon turns to talk directly to her. Her fiery dress has thousands of tiny sparkles within the fabric and it shimmers as she lets the skirt flow back into place. The edge ends just above her red shoes with purple dragons running along their sides. Her black hair is tied up using two sticks of polished wood with an orange and black pattern along them. The amethyst triangle and ring charm from her necklace has been attached to a clear ribbon, so that the charm appears to be hanging on her neck by magic. She smiles sweetly at the masters of the house.
“I must say, dear, your eyes are hypnotic. Are they natural?” Lady Adara asks Nyx, who blushes immediately.
“Yes, milady,” Nyx politely replies.
“I’m honored to be a guest in your home, Lord and Lady,” Fritz says with a bow. The gnome is wearing a simple suit of gray cloth with brass vines embroidered around the wrists and collar. “Now, I believe that I will wander off and find something to eat. I rarely get to enjoy the hospitality of nobles. The food and wine is never disappointing. Good day.”
“It’s evening,” Luke says with an eyebrow raised in confusion.
“It’s a way of saying good-bye that is more refined than simply saying good-bye,” Fritz explai
ns, fighting the urge to tease the obviously uncomfortable warrior. “I’m giving you etiquette lessons tomorrow after I get back from my errands.” The gnome kisses Lady Adara on the hand and bows again to Lord Gideon before vanishing into the crowd.
“We thank you for allowing us to stay in your home,” Nyx declares, her nervous breathing slightly labored. “It’s gorgeous.”
“You’re acting odd, Nyx. Did that caster do anything to you?” Luke asks in a low whisper.
Nyx glares at him and subtly stomps her heel into his foot. “As I was saying, I’m very impressed with the pieces of art that you have around your home. My master owns a tapestry that matches your ceiling mural of the dragon flights. He always said that it was his favorite masterpiece.”
“Your master has good taste,” Lady Adara happily responds. “Kellia said that you come from Rainbow Tower in Gaia. Is your master Cyril or Willow?”
“Cyril is my direct master, but I took non-magical instructions from Willow. I’ve been under their tutelage since I was two,” Nyx answers, her voice full of pride.
Lady Adara’s eyes grow slightly with a burning fascination. “You must be the magical prodigy who they have spoken of for the past sixteen years. I am a caster as well, so I travel in the same circles as your masters. We meet once a season for tea. They think the world of you, dear.”
“Thank you, milady,” Nyx says, trying to hide her face by staring at her shoes.
“Excuse me, but I think I will go mingle with some old friends,” Kellia politely interrupts before turning to walk away.
“Please, tell your cousins to come here and meet our esteemed guests. Be sure to advise them to be quick in obeying their father,” Lord Gideon sternly requests. “It is not every day that a Callindor and a magical prodigy visit our home.”
A loud trumpeting draws everyone’s attention to the stairs as an elven couple enters the room and practically dances down the stairs. Nyx can barely hear their names over the ding of glasses that greet the couple. She looks away in time to see a frown of disappointment fade from Luke’s face.
Legends of Windemere: 02 - Prodigy of Rainbow Tower Page 36
