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

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “What is she doing?” Tzefira angrily asks as the krypter stomps on a hut. “Her power is making that creature gigantic. It looks like there were multiple krypters before she began blasting them. Why would she make this mess?”

  “I have no idea, but I’m not standing around to see if it works or not,” Luke answers, patches of feathers growing around his neck. “Can you rescue those goblin warriors, Timoran? They’re brave, but they’re going to get themselves killed.”

  Timoran puts his great axe away and runs toward the goblins. They notice the approaching barbarian, confusion and fear in their yellow eyes. For a brief moment, they look like they are going to run away until the krypter lifts a foot crush them. Aware that they cannot fight back, the goblins hold up their weapons and wait for death. A chorus of surprised screeches fills the air as Timoran scoops the goblins up and leaps away from the falling foot. He crashes through the wall of a hut and tumbles into a deep pit hidden inside. The rescued goblins scramble out of his grip to help him to his feet, pushing him to return to the fight.

  The krypter lashes out at Nyx and tries to smack her to the ground, but she manages to float out of its reach. A clawed hand passes close near enough to absorb the magic keeping her in the air, so she plummets toward the village below. Nyx stops her barrage of fire magic to avoid setting the goblins’ huts on fire and killing innocent bystanders. She is surprised when she lands on a furry body and is gracefully flown away from the incoming krypter claws.

  “Rescued by my noble steed,” she whispers, hugging Luke and nuzzling his warm fur. “I need to keep filling the krypter with magic, so dodge those arms. Get me a few more minutes to get everything ready.”

  Tzefira watches Luke elegantly avoid the krypter’s frantic swipes while Nyx continues her magical attack. She hears Timoran roar and looks to see the barbarian leaping at the back of the krypter’s knees, his axe driving deep into the glossy flesh. The giant monster stumbles forward, but quickly regains its balance by growing two new legs. Unwilling to stay out of the fight any longer, Tzefira moves closer to the action and waits for a chance to strike. As soon as the krypter raises one of its new feet to take a step, she plunges her war staff into the ground. The earth between her and the krypter splinters, causing the monster’s foot to slip into the crevice. The elven mercenary is surprised when the yelping krypter frees its foot and there are hundreds of goblins stabbing at the grotesque extremity. Timoran leaps off a hut to severe the foot, allowing the goblins to scurry back into their hiding place.

  “I give them credit for tenacity,” she mutters under her breath.

  “I do not think we are being much help!” Timoran shouts to her while he jumps and hacks at the monster.

  “Not separately, but I can do something if you give me a boost!” Tzefira yells back.

  She runs toward the barbarian, who stops his attacking and rushes to meet with the mercenary. Tzefira leaps into the air, landing on Timoran’s cupped hands and bracing herself for the difficult part of her plan. Timoran uses all of his strength to launch her skyward and she pushes off his hands for an extra boost of force. The mercenary rockets past Luke and Nyx, who are startled by her sudden appearance. Tzefira drives her war staff into one of the krypter’s heads, causing it to cleanly split in half. With the monster thrashing in pain, she holds on for as long as she can before one of the krypter’s hands smacks her. Her war staff is pushed across the monster’s broken face until it pops free and she falls toward the ground. Timoran races to catch her, but the krypter grabs the elf before she lands and starts to crush her. She can feel her bones cracking and the edge of her vision is going black. Tzefira is vaguely aware of the pressure stopping, her body falling into a pair of muscular arms.

  “It is time for us to give Luke and Nyx some space,” Timoran whispers. He tramples the severed fingers of the krypter as he carries the barely conscious mercenary to safety.

  Nyx gradually stops her casting and tightens her grip on Luke while the krypter bloats. She watches for the monster to drift into a state of docile ecstasy, her aura coursing through its veins and organs. She catches her breath when black hair sprouts from the krypter’s heads and its claws retract until they are nothing more than harmless nails. Nyx shudders when the heads merge into one and a pair of violet eyes flutter open in the middle of the looming face.

  “That thing wants to replace me,” the caster says. She growls as the monster shrinks and its skin shifts to a porcelain hue. “Isaiah said these things feel and learn from the experiences of each other. So, I’m going to teach all of them a lesson about messing with me. Put me on the ground, little brother.”

  Luke lands about twenty yards away from the transforming krypter and Nyx swings off his back. He returns to the air as the caster’s body is enveloped by raw aura, drawing the attention of the krypter. The creature turns toward her and takes a single step, but freezes when it senses a change in the air. Tiny bits of its body drift off and evaporate into dust as the energy around Nyx grows brighter and thicker. She opens her arms as if to embrace the creature that now resembles a naked, long-haired version of herself.

  “I’m taking me back,” she hisses while hovering off the ground.

  Nyx lunges at the krypter and plunges her hands into its chest, her aura wrapping around both of them. A hideous shriek bursts from the krypter’s mouth as its body fades into black mist, which Nyx absorbs through her skin. Her eyes turn a putrid black and red, the infectious darkness of the krypter trying to take control of her body. Using a powerful levitation spell, she soars above the womb tree and screams at the sky. Focusing on the darkness squirming inside her, Nyx purges the krypter’s energy from her body and blasts it into the heavens. Several cocky comments run through her mind as she passes out, her limp body tumbling toward the womb tree. She is unconscious by the time Luke catches her by the shoulders and carries her back to the goblin village. Timoran is waiting patiently with Tzefira in his arms, the happy goblins swarming around him. The barbarian releases a long held breath as Luke transforms back into his true form, cradling Nyx like a sleeping child.

  An old goblin limps out of the crowd, approaching Luke to put a wrinkly hand against Nyx’s forehead. He looks up at Luke with a warm smile and respectfully bows his head. “You can tell your friend that her offering has been accepted.”

  9

  The healers patiently wait outside of their tent, listening to the muted sounds of an argument. They stand to the side of the tent flap, the older man keeping their healer’s flag tenderly folded and tucked under his arm. It is a standard precaution for military healers when they feel their place of business is in danger. The younger man occasionally tries to enter the tent only for his wiser companion to place a firm hand on his shoulder. A loud crash makes both of them cringe and catches the attention of a few passing mercenaries. A wooden stool flies through the flap, the brief opening allowing the voices inside to ring clear. The mercenaries laugh at the flood of curses until they are scared off when a plume of fire rockets through the top of the tent. A gentle rain falls on the fire before it can spread, but now the yelling can be clearly heard from outside.

  “You’re an idiotic child!” Tzefira shouts from her side of the tent. The mercenary leader is heavily bandaged under her thick, black robe. Her skin is still damp from the herbal soak used to mend her cracked bones. She feels an irritating numbness to her body and the smell of sugary medicinal herbs is stuck in her nose. Only her rage gives her the strength to sit up in her cot and yell at the defiant half-elf sitting on the other side of the tent.

  “I knew what I was doing,” Nyx declares, fighting against a wave of dizziness and nausea. She fails and abruptly leans over her bed to retch into a bucket. “Ugh, it’s still black and gross.”

  “That would be the evil aura you absorbed from the krypter,” Tzefira bluntly states, wrinkling her nose at the foul stench in the tent. “You should be thankful your body is purging you of the toxins. The krypter aura could have corrupted you and then
we would have a crazed caster on our hands. I’m sure the people of Hero’s Gate would have been happy for their entire town to be destroyed by an evil Nyx.”

  Nyx vomits again and wipes her mouth with a rag before she finds the energy to speak again. “You’re being overdramatic. The krypters were born from my magic, so I knew how to handle it. I admit it didn’t go exactly as planned. I thought I could cleanse the aura and reabsorb it, but it’s been altered just enough to be considered a foreign aura by my body. Still, it wasn’t strong enough to defeat me and now I know how I can fight them. If I can find a way to synch with the stolen aura, I can pull the krypters to pieces.”

  “I forbid you from ever fighting them again!” Tzefira announces, pushing herself to her feet and cringing from a burst of pain. “For the rest of your time here, you will remain in Hero’s Gate under the protection of Timoran. I thank you for settling our problem with the goblins, but I won’t let you face the krypters again. There’s too much risk to yourself and everyone around you. Windemere itself could be in danger if they devour you.”

  “Who are you to forbid me from doing anything?” Nyx angrily asks.

  “I am the commander of the forces of Hero’s Gate,” the mercenary answers in a predatory voice. Her eye narrows into a slit, challenging Nyx to continue arguing with her.

  “Temporary commander,” the half-elf obligingly retorts, emphasizing the first word for extra effect.

  Tzefira furiously glares at the half-elf while she forces her body to stay standing. The mercenary is struggling to decide what to do with the defiant caster. She briefly considers locking Nyx in a dungeon, but she knows it would not stop her. The half-elf is not one of her mercenaries or a member of the guard, so she technically has the freedom to do whatever she wants. Now that Nyx has figured out a way to fight the krypters, Tzefira is even more worried about containing the caster. The last thing she wants is for another incident like the genocide spell. As it stands, she has very little proof for the citizens to show that Nyx is being careful.

  “Do you realize we no longer know what the krypters are capable of?” Tzefira asks, hoping to make Nyx feel guilty about her actions. “You were told that the first taste of your aura changed all of them. That was a single spell and all of them grew stronger from it. Now you pushed raw aura into one of them until it was nearly unstoppable. There’s no telling what the remaining krypters can do after that, but I can assure you that isn’t good.”

  “Maybe they’ll finally stop hiding in the swamp and turn this into a real fight,” Nyx states in a low voice.

  Tzefira bites her lip, drawing a trickle of blood. “That would be a disaster.”

  “Your tactics of hunting them in the forest and not venturing into their territory isn’t making progress,” Nyx says, trying to get to her feet and quickly falling back onto the cot. “They still come to the city at night when they have the advantage and there doesn’t seem to be any lack of them. For all you know, the krypters are rapidly reproducing in the swamp. There could be hundreds of them in there and you let their numbers grow because you’re too scared to take the fight to them.”

  Tzefira throws a metal cup at Nyx’s head, hitting the girl between the eyes. “Don’t you ever accuse me of cowardice! You insolent, irresponsible, selfish, horrible child! You’re concerned with nothing beyond you and your friends. To you, my men and the people of Hero’s Gate are simple bystanders for you to show off in front of. Not once have you considered backing out of this mess for the sake of others.”

  Nyx rubs at the bump on her forehead and tries to think of an argument to use against Tzefira’s accusations. The victorious smile of the elven mercenary makes her too angry to focus her thoughts. She hits her fist against the cot and lies down with her arms crossed behind her head. The sudden motion makes her dizzy and she immediately turns over to retch into the bucket. Nyx rolls back and closes her eyes to help her ignore Tzefira, who has gone back to her cot. The words of the mercenary echo in the caster’s mind, making her wonder if she really is a horrible person. Her recent actions make her believe she is a kind, giving person. After all, she nearly died protecting the goblins and she sacrificed her hair for Stephen. Those actions should prove that she shows concern for other people.

  “You’re thinking about your hair and the goblins,” Tzefira says from across the room. She grins at the shocked look on Nyx’s face. “I guess you believe those actions are enough to prove me wrong. They would be if you only looked at their surface. You were in danger when the goblins were attacked, so you would’ve had to fight anyway. I’d consider that more of an act of self-preservation than heroism, even though the goblins say otherwise. As for your hair, only a pampered child would think sacrificing her hair should count as caring about an individual. It will grow back, so it’s not like you really gave up anything.”

  “You keep calling me names and criticizing me,” Nyx interrupts before Tzefira can continue. “I’m trying to put an end to all of this. I want this to be over, so nobody else will die and that includes your men. You may think that your methods are safer, but they’re only delaying the krypters. Eventually, an army of those monsters will attack Hero’s Gate and you’re going to be blamed for letting them get so strong.”

  “I can assure you that they don’t have the numbers to do that,” Tzefira contends, though her voice holds a hint of doubt. “We never saw them in groups bigger than eight until you arrived. It is obvious that your presence has stirred them up.”

  Too queasy to throw anything heavier, Nyx magically hurls a pillow at Tzefira. “I remember being told that a certain temporary commander requested I be brought here as a symbol or a weapon. So, blame yourself for that problem while I work on destroying the krypters for good.”

  “I’m already regretting bringing you here,” Tzefira admits. She adjusts her eyepatch before removing the pillow from her face.

  The healers cautiously wander back into the tent to check on their patients. The older healer checks Tzefira’s bandages and gently pushes around her body to see what hurts the most. She tries to hold back her reaction to the pain, but the old man can see a few tears in her eye. He ignores her scowl as he picks up a pot of herbal salve and spreads a thick layer of the mixture over her bandages. The healing slave sinks into the porous cloth, turning it from white to a dark tan. Tzefira feels several cracks in her bones mend as the salve seeps through her pores. The sensation is not painful, but the repairs are exhausting enough that she feels her remaining strength vanish. Her eye barely stays open until the healer puts a few drops of a sour tasting liquid on her lips. The potion sends a ripple of energy through her body, granting her enough strength to stay awake.

  Across the room, the younger healer is tending to Nyx, who has been propped up against the side of the tent. She watches the young man use a long stick to examine the contents of the bucket, which makes her want to vomit again. She chokes down the impulse since she would have to shove the healer out of the way and she does not want to upset him. With a growing interest, she watches the young man get a stubby, green candle and light it, the flame a mysterious blue. He mutters a short incantation and unceremoniously drops the candle into the bucket. The contents hiss and spark as the magic candle devours the dark aura of the krypters. Turning back to Nyx, the young healer gently lays her down on the cot and slips a golden pill into her mouth. It tastes sweet enough to be candy, dissolving in seconds. She can already feel the medicine clearing out more of the magical ooze in her stomach and sinuses. She groans at the thought of more vomiting and retching.

  “You two must save your energy for healing,” the old healer suggests in a stern voice.

  “If you keep wasting your strength, we will be forced to medicate you further,” the young healer warns them.

  “Do you think we should use the steam pot?” the old healer asks, his eyes falling on a large clay pot in the middle of the tent.

  “It couldn’t do any harm,” the young healer replies with a smile. “I’ll have one
of the men patch up the roof as the tent fills.”

  The healers work together to remove the heavy lid, leaving it propped against the pot. They cover their mouths as they leave the tent and clip the flap closed behind them. A rolling, white steam emerges from the pot and swiftly coats the ground. Tzefira leans over the edge of her cot to breathe in the healing vapors while Nyx eyes the growing fog with suspicion. The steam eventually reaches her nose and she can feel a lightheadedness wash over her. The magical steam makes her feel oddly giddy and relaxed with no signs of a magical rebound. She glances at Tzefira, who is smiling on her cot and looking a lot more comfortable.

  “I don’t hate you,” Tzefira calmly announces.

  “You could have fooled me,” Nyx responds, amazed she can still get angry when she feels so good.

  “You irk me with your childish actions. I think I would’ve preferred you stay scared and timid,” Tzefira admits, taking another deep breath of the soothing steam. “I feel that you want to get this over with as soon as possible and move on to your next adventure. I expect that from your friends considering forest trackers and gypsies aren’t known for staying in one place for very long. You, on the other hand, are a caster, which is a profession that depends more on stability than wandering.”

  “I’ve become a lot stronger since I became an adventurer,” the half-elf insists. She is tempted to create fire on her hand to emphasize her point, but she is suddenly worried that the healing steam might be flammable.

  “I’m sure you have, but it’s only your magic that has grown stronger,” the mercenary states as if her opinion is an obvious fact.

  Nyx rolls onto her side and fights against the loopy feeling in her head that threatens to take her out of the argument. “I’ve gained a lot more control and restraint with my magic since I left Gaia. I’ve learned about other cultures by interacting with them instead of reading about them. I don’t see how I could have become a better person by staying in Rainbow Tower. Trust me when I say that I thought of a lot of reasons for me to stay until I actually left. Then, all of those reasons floated away.”