Legends of Windemere: 03 - Family of the Tri-Rune

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “If we get out of this, I promise to only fight with you in private,” Luke whispers when the drunks release him. He can feel Sari’s arms shift a little, signaling him to hop them away from the crowd before she has to become immovable again.

  “I’m not done yet,” Sari mutters before chanting an incantation.

  Her blue hair whips in the air as it becomes a nest of terrifying horned vipers. The deep emerald of her eyes melts away to reveal the blood-curdling white of a rotting corpse. Sari’s teeth grow sharp and jagged while her head slowly spins on her stretching, twisting neck. A hideous screech rips from her throat as her body bloats into a blob-like mass that can no longer be recognized as ever being human. Her head hungrily weaves through the air, snapping at several drunks, who scramble into the crowd. With a sudden jerk of her neck, Sari bites Luke’s head off and lets his body slump to the floor. The crowd stampedes out the doors and windows to escape the screeching monster. The clatter of pots and pans can be heard as the waitresses and kitchen staff race out the back.

  “Idiots,” Sari laughs as her illusion fades and she releases Luke’s arms.

  “Why didn’t you let me see the illusion?” he asks, flexing his shoulders. “I felt a little silly standing there looking lost.”

  Sari is about to answer when the front door is kicked open and a squad of armed guards enter the tavern. They point their weapons at Luke and Sari, who slowly raise their hands over the heads and smile in embarrassment.

  *****

  “Both of you are very lucky that the bartender came forth to tell us about the crowd attempting to hack off Luke’s arms,” Timoran informs the prisoners before he opens the cell door. He smiles as Luke and Sari drag themselves off the stiff beds and rub at their aching bodies. “Though, he is expecting payment for the broken furniture.”

  “I can take care of that when I have some free time,” Sari whispers. She limps and stumbles forward until Luke scoops her off her feet. “This is awkward. Can you put me down?”

  “Your legs are hurt from those guys pulling at you,” Luke says. He begrudgingly puts her down when she angrily flicks his nose. “Thank you for getting us out of here, Timoran. We should head to our rooms and stay out of trouble.”

  “We don’t have any rooms,” Sari sheepishly mentions. “I went straight to the tavern when I got back to the city. So, we’re kind of out on the street for tonight. On the plus side, it’s not raining or snowing. It’s only cold and there are thieves lurking in the shadows.”

  Luke stares at her, struggling to choke down his frustration. “Why didn’t you get the rooms?”

  “I knew you were going to want to talk,” Sari admits, inching her way toward the exit. “I planned on waiting to see if I needed to rent one room or two. If things went well between us then we would’ve ended up in bed together, so I didn’t see a reason to waste money on an unused room.”

  “So, you decided that wasting money on alcohol was a better idea,” Luke contends, trying very hard to keep his voice calm. “I don’t want to fight again, Sari. I’m tired and bruised, so I want to go to bed.”

  “I’ll have you know that all of my drinks were free!” Sari proudly announces.

  “If you are looking for a place to stay then I have an apartment you can use while I am in the barracks,” Timoran politely interrupts. He watches as an awkward expression cross Sari’s face and Luke merely shrugs. “You would not be causing me any trouble since I only use the room for my belongings. I prefer to sleep in the barracks in case of emergencies, so you will have privacy. Also, I can assure you that the bed has never been used and the sheets are fresh.”

  “That’s very nice of you, Timoran,” Luke declares with a small bow. “Do you happen to have a cot that I can use?”

  “Of course. I will take care of that and leave a message with the on duty guards to let Lady Nyx know of your location,” the barbarian says. He leads them onto the dark streets, the air filled with the krypters’ screeches. “May I ask how Lady Nyx is doing? Conrad told me that she was badly injured today.”

  “Nyx is resting in the mercenary camp, so the healers can finish tending to her wounds,” Luke replies, shivering at the sounds of inhuman krypters. A vague sensation of ruffled feathers appears on his neck and he scratches the area until the feeling goes away. “She’s going to be sent back to the city tomorrow morning. Do you want to join us for breakfast since you’re her bodyguard for the next couple of days?”

  Sari abruptly stops walking and turns to smack Luke across the face, catching him off-guard. “That’s for all those mean things you said to me in the tavern. Now, why do you want a cot when I’m pretty sure a bed that can fit Timoran can easily fit the two of us?”

  “I thought sharing a bed would be awkward after our fight,” Luke calmly admits, shaking his head clear of the stars.

  “It is best to settle personal problems before sleep,” Timoran suggests with a friendly smile. “I offer my ears and wisdom to help you settle your differences. If you wish, I can offer you some Ifrit mead and wild rum.”

  “What makes you think we’re drinkers?” Sari asks, trying to sound insulted and flustered. “I’m a proper lady who has never . . . I can’t even playfully fake that lie. Not unless my life depended on it. You’re my new best friend, Timoran. Please lead the way to your alcohol and wisdom.”

  “I like this little gypsy, my friend,” Timoran declares, gently slapping Luke on the back. “She has a fiery spirit that can never be tamed. To earn the loyalty and love of such a creature is a blessing from the gods. Never let this girl leave your side because you will regret losing her.”

  “That’s part of the problem,” Luke mutters under his breath. He glances at Sari, who is happily skipping and spinning ahead of them.

  Luke trails behind Timoran and Sari as they walk through the huddling city. Every window is lit to brighten the eerie atmosphere created by the krypters. Guards patrol the streets, but Luke can tell they are giving the alleys a wide berth. Several times, the alert half-elf sees movement in the shadows or a crouched figure briefly appearing on a rooftop. It reminds him of Rodillen with its thieves constantly on the hunt for easy prey. Luke is so lost in thought that he nearly passes Timoran and Sari, who have stopped in front of a red-brick building. The creaking of a helmet-shaped sign hanging above the metal door is what snaps him from his trance.

  “This building is reserved for the guards, but you will be welcomed,” Timoran promises as he opens the front door, which scratches against the stone floor. “All I ask is that you do not make loud noises or enter any rooms other than mine. I do not wish to offend you, Sari, but gypsies have a reputation much like barbarians. People will be cautious.”

  “I promise to behave,” Sari swears with a low curtsey.

  Timoran nods and leads his new friends to the stairwell where he greets several guards on their way to their posts. All of the male guards take a few seconds to ogle Sari, who impishly waves to them. She revels in the slack-jawed looks they shift from her to Timoran, a quiet question in their eyes. The redheaded barbarian refuses to acknowledge their silent assumptions and continues up to the third floor. By the time they exit the stairwell, Sari is gleefully dancing into the hallway while Luke trudges behind her like a prisoner on his way to be executed.

  “I apologize for my room’s simplicity, but I was on my life journey when I agreed to assist the guards. My people travel light for such a rite,” Timoran explains as he opens the door and lights a large candle in a high alcove. “All of my belongings are in that locked chest, which I request you not pry into. The wardrobe and dressers are free if needed. There are extra pillows and blankets in the bottom of the wardrobe for when it gets cold. The cot is stored in the broom closet.”

  Timoran walks around the barely furnished room to light several candles along the walls. Luke and Sari quietly watch him prepare the room as they remove what little gear they are carrying. They toss their magical pouches on the dresser before taking a seat at the low, s
imple table. Sari moans softly as she pulls off her dark velvet and leather boots, wiggling her toes in the cool, soothing air. Timoran glances over his shoulder as he unlocks his chest and notices that Luke is still carrying his sabers.

  “You may hang your weapons in the wardrobe if you wish,” the barbarian politely suggests. He turns around with a cask, a decanter, and three large cups in his arms. “Now, you are the son of Ilan Callindor from Haven, correct?”

  Surprised by the question, Luke eyes the large man as he unstraps his sabers and places them in the wardrobe. Timoran’s great axe is suspended on the door, the candlelight glinting off the black and orange head as the door swings open. As Luke examines the weapon, the light gives it a familiar shimmer. A knowing smile crosses the half-elf’s face when he finds a few tell-tale etchings along the handle. He hangs his sabers on a hook in the back of the wardrobe before gently closing the doors.

  “I’m guessing my dad made your axe,” Luke answers, accepting a cup of Ifrit mead from Timoran. “I recognize my dad’s blacksmith runes, but I never knew he could change the color of metal. Do you know how he made the tiger stripe pattern?”

  “It was a coming of age gift from my tribe, so I was never able to question your father about the process,” Timoran admits with a heavy sigh. “I am fine with not knowing the details. I am content as long as my axe is sharp and my arms are strong. Now, let us talk about your relationship problems.”

  “I wouldn’t say we have problems,” Luke contends, letting Timoran lead him back to the table. The half-elf takes a deep drink of the Ifrit mead and immediately breaks into a coughing fit as the alcohol rips down his throat. Sari laughs before chugging her cup of wild rum, which makes her rapidly blink until she can see again.

  Timoran watches her with concern before pouring her half a cup of Ifrit mead. “Please do not drink so recklessly, little one. You may be able to handle the ales, meads, and wines of taverns, but these drinks are wild brews.”

  “He has a huge relationship problem and it isn’t just with me,” Sari drunkenly declares, brandishing her drink at Luke. A splash of Ifrit mead splashes out of the cup, but she quickly catches it in her mouth. “This idiot was arranged to be married and ran away from home on the day of the wedding. Then, he finds a girl he thinks is his true love and they promise their hearts to each other. Sadly, our hero has to save the world and his true love is from Bor’daruk, so now he finds himself in an open relationship. This brings him to me who is more than willing to play this game until I have to stop. Yet, this moron keeps rejecting me and acting like his world will end if he shows even the slightest bit of affection toward me. If I was his pet dog, I would have crawled into the forest and died from abandonment days ago.” Sari pauses when she sees the tears forming in Luke’s eyes. “Sorry! I should have said a cat, Luke. Forget I said anything about a dog.”

  “You’re the fool, Sari,” Luke says, gulping down his Ifrit mead and extending his cup for a refill. “You make it sound so simple. Well, it’s a complicated mess. You constantly act like you won’t be hurt at the end of this, but I think you’re lying. Actually, I know you’re lying! I’ve been spying on your heartbeat whenever we talk about this. It stutters as if you’re trying to remain calm and not cry.”

  “It stutters because I’m getting frustrated with you,” the gypsy retorts, her cheeks blushing. She looks at Timoran who watches her with a friendly smile until she rolls her eyes and turns back to Luke. “You win, hero. I’m scared that I’ll fall in love with you and ruin your life. There’s always that risk, but that doesn’t mean we should let it stop us. I fully accept that Kira claimed you first and I’ll personally thank her for sharing you with me. If I fall in love with you then that’s my fault and my problem. I refuse to stand in your way of happiness even if it means I’ll be alone again.”

  “This is very complicated,” Timoran admits, pouring himself another cup of wild rum. “Am I right in assuming that Sari has lost her clan? She embodies the gypsy spirit with such vivacity that I find it hard to believe that she willing left her clan. From the way you talk, I assume they were killed and you are not an exile, little one.”

  Sari chokes back tears and drinks her Ifrit mead, her coughing fit hiding the whimpering that grows in her throat. “My clan was murdered by two Weapon Dragons, zombies, and an armored halfling. I survived and was given to Kalam the vampire as a servant before Luke and Nyx rescued me. Now, I travel with them and they are my new family, which helps me sleep at night.”

  “This is why I don’t want to continue toying with her,” Luke adamantly states, his voice slurring slightly. “Sari has been through enough in her life. I don’t want to be responsible for hurting her again.”

  “That isn’t your decision!” the gypsy snaps.

  “Of course it’s my decision,” the half-elf argues, staring at her in frustrated confusion. “It isn’t like we can have this relationship against my will. At least, not without pissing Nyx off and hating yourself in the morning.”

  “He has a point, Sari,” Timoran kindly points out. He gently puts his hand on Sari’s shoulder. “Just as you can decide to let yourself be hurt, Luke can decide not to hurt you. It is like in battle when you must decide between defending yourself and attacking your enemies. If you defend then you will remain safe, but you will never make progress in the battle. If you attack your enemies then you will make progress, but you increase your chance of getting hurt or killed.”

  Sari and Luke glance at each other and shrug before Sari says, “I think we’re too drunk to understand what you mean.”

  “I warned you to take it slow with these drinks,” Timoran laughs with a warm smile. “Now, I believe I see why you two are in such a situation.”

  “It’s because she’s too clingy and stubborn,” Luke declares.

  “It’s because he’s a worrying wimp,” Sari retorts.

  “Horny wench.”

  “Gutless coward.”

  “Idiot.”

  “Moron.”

  “Ahem!” Timoran interrupts, making his guests jump in their seats. “I believe the real problem is that you two are trying to protect each other at your own expense. Both of you are kind and loving people who put the welfare of others ahead of their own. Yet it seems that the situation turns more in Sari’s favor. She is doing what is right by Luke’s true love and not just pursuing what she obviously desires. On the other hand, Luke is right that you cannot force him to do anything that he is firmly against.” Timoran pauses, stroking his dented chin in thought. “Truthfully, I believe you two are already in love with each other, so your arguments are moot.”

  “It’s more lust than love,” Sari timidly whispers into her drink.

  “I think it’s more of a protective instinct,” Luke half-heartedly says.

  “It could be,” Timoran admits. He chugs a cup of wild rum and places his empty cup upside down on the table. “I am sure Luke and Kira love each other in the truest sense, but all three of you are at the age where love is always true. This is not to say you are wrong, Luke, but you are not the first to be in this type of situation. Yes, you will have to make a decision that will result in feelings being hurt. It is inevitable. Both of you must decide if you want to cause the pain now or wait until all three of you are more mature to handle the situation with care.”

  “So, what do you think we should do?” Luke asks, dropping his empty cup on the table. He slumps in his chair and expectantly stares at the barbarian.

  Timoran gathers the cups and alcohol, returning them to the chest. “I have learned to never tell a person what they should or should not do unless a life is at stake. There is no life at stake here, so I will not push a decision on you. My humble suggestion is that you rest and continue this private discussion at a later date. For tonight, I must return to the barracks and run a surprise inspection. Should I request that you kiss and make up before I leave?”

  “I like that idea,” Sari excitedly says.

  Before Luke can react, S
ari pounces across the table and wraps her arms around his neck. Timoran is about to interrupt when Sari kisses Luke as hard as she can, causing his chair to fall backwards and land with a rattling crash. Sari feels her teeth bite into Luke’s lip as their heads knock together and everything goes black. Timoran rushes to check the unconscious pair and administer basic first aid. After checking their pulses and assuring himself that they will be fine, the barbarian picks them up in his arms.

  “I do not believe you two will ever be rid of each other,” he whispers while tucking them into bed and blowing out the candles.

  *****

  “Finish your breakfast and get dressed, Nyx!” Tzefira shouts as she enters the tent. The elven warrior is already wearing her chainmail and her war staff is strapped to her back. She is tightens her red bandana while glaring at Nyx, who is lazily sprawled on the cot.

  “I was realizing that this is the second time my magic has backfired on me and left me in bandages,” Nyx casually says while staring at the cloth ceiling. “Both incidents have been in Hero’s Gate, so I’m starting to wonder if I’m destined to have bad luck here. Maybe it would be better for me to stay in camp until everything blows over.”

  Tzefira marches over to Nyx and roughly grabs the top of her bandages. She violently yanks the sticky wrappings off Nyx, leaving the young woman exposed and in pain. The half-elf scrambles out of bed, rubbing her red chest and backing away from the mercenary. Tzefira takes Nyx’s shirt from the support beam and tosses it to her, smirking as Nyx lets the shirt hit her face and flop to the ground.

  “That was unnecessary,” Nyx angrily snaps. She glances down at the red shirt, which rises into the air and lowers onto her. The sleeves slip over her arms and the fireball-shaped clasp at the collar closes with no effort on her part. “You fixed my shirt and put a pretty clasp at the neck? I guess I should say thank you.”

  “Then I guess I should say you’re welcome,” Tzefira replies, picking up Nyx’s crossbow and examining the simple weapon. “The clasp makes you look more like a caster and less like a common traveler. You have to learn that image is essential on the road. Common thieves avoid robbing a caster, but they will have no qualms about robbing an ordinary young woman. That is unless you’re purposely setting yourself up for fights.”