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

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “Take a look at their faces and bodies,” Tzefira mentions, nodding her head toward the large crowd. “I see bruises and cuts that are too old to have been caused by this skirmish. They were attacked and forced to join Conrad, which is nothing like his usual tactics. He’s a cunning, power-hungry jerk, but he despises using force to control people. I could call him a lot of names, yet dishonorable bully wouldn’t be one of them.”

  “He’s different,” Tavris reports as he approaches the tent. His face is swollen and his lower lip is split. “I apologize for my role in this. Conrad attempted to recruit me and I refused, so he had his man attack me. I continued to . . . disagree and it turned into this mess.”

  Luke chuckles and grins at the large warrior until Tzefira elbows him in the ribs. She shoots the half-elf a stern glance before turning back to Tavris. Shuffling feet and dull groans catch Luke and Tzefira’s attention and they look around Tavris to see his friends. All of them are covered in bruises and cuts, but there is a sense of pride in their toothy smiles.

  “Remind me to talk to you about your future in my army, Tavris. I sense I’ll have a need for a special squad when this is over,” Tzefira says to the warrior. She places a silencing hand on his wrist before he can thank her. “For now, I want you and your friends to see the healers. This won’t become a full-scale battle, so you’ve done your part. Get some rest.”

  Luke and Tavris shake hands before the mercenary signals for his friends to follow him into the tent. Scanning the area, Luke sees very little space between the two forces and there is no sign of Conrad. He begins to think the calico warrior ran away when the battle broke out, but he doubts the mercenaries would remain in battle-ready positions without their leader nearby.

  “He’s being quiet,” Luke hisses, hoping Tzefira has seen something that he missed.

  “I know and I don’t like it,” she replies. She is about to step forward when Luke moves in front of her. “What is it?”

  “Some of his men are looking above us,” Luke whispers, subtly pointing his elbow toward the healer’s tent. “Conrad is up there with his bow. He’s too far back to get a clear shot, so he’s waiting for you to come into view.”

  “That’s too cowardly for him,” she says in disgust. “I’m sure he won’t try to kill me like that. It would leave a sour taste in his mouth. Thank you for your concern, but I have to show him I’m here.”

  Tzefira steps around Luke, who turns his attention to the tent, his ears straining to sense the pull of Conrad’s bowstring. The surrounding loyal mercenaries divide to let their leader through, several of the larger warriors splitting from the group to walk behind her. Gradually, they move into a diamond formation with Tzefira at the front. A series of shouts and pointing erupts from the opposing warriors, causing everyone to turn toward the healer’s tent. Luke is already flipping his sabers into the air, their keen-edged blades circling as if they were being spun by invisible hands. The sabers rise above the tent where they are struck by an arrow, a ringing traveling throughout the camp. Luke is quick enough to catch his falling swords while the damaged arrow lands at the feet of a dwarven mercenary, who picks it up and hands it to Tzefira.

  “You’re getting desperate and pathetic, Conrad!” she announces, snapping the arrow. “I never expected you to gain a following through force or try to shoot me in the back.”

  “That’s because the situation has become very unacceptable,” Conrad declares as he leaps off the tent and awkwardly lands in front of Luke. The calico is very pale and barely has the strength to shove Luke aside to approach Tzefira. His tail hangs limply behind him and the tufts of hair on his ears have withered. Even with his decrepit appearance, Conrad has a look of determination and strength in his eyes that puts everyone on edge.

  “What situation is that?” Tzefira patiently asks.

  “This job isn’t earning us enough money,” Conrad answers, stopping in front of her protective guards. He flicks his thumb on the readied spear of an elven warrior. “We’ve lost a lot of men, including our only caster. We’ve used three-quarters of our medical supplies with no assurance that Hero’s Gate will restock us. Then there is the inclusion of outsiders who are getting more action than your loyal men. Specifically, you’ve been paying more attention to Nyx and Luke Callindor than us. We should be your top priority, not them.”

  Tzefira pushes her way through her defenders, forcing Conrad to take a few steps back. “I can only agree that we lost many men, which I take full responsibility for. All of you know I wish to protect everyone, but we’re not in a safe business. We are in the business of violence, so we know that death can claim us at any moment. As for the rest of your accusations, I’ve never set a price on our services because of the difficulty of this job. I will be sending a request for payment to Lord Highrider and Duke Solomon when we are done. I’m sure I can request specific items to restock our medical supplies without an argument from either of them. Both men know the price of combat and have been fully supportive of my actions. It would not be in their best interest to stiff me on the payment or deny me a restocking request.”

  “We’ve received nothing-” the calico starts to say until Tzefira gets in his face.

  “Don’t be stupid!” she shouts, so everyone can hear her. “We’ve been given free food and drink from the local taverns. The local temples have healed our men when our medicines weren’t enough. The guards have been helping us with our hunts without asking to be paid. Those are benefits we rarely receive, so don’t try to tell me we’re getting nothing from Hero’s Gate.”

  “They help us to fill their own needs,” Conrad calmly argues. His statement is met by all of the mercenaries laughing at him, including his own men.

  “We’re helping them for money and supplies, so we don’t have the moral high ground here,” Tzefira reminds him. She carefully eyes the sweating, twitchy warrior and decides to take a kinder tone with him. “There’s something wrong with you, Conrad. You’re not acting like yourself and that worries me. Maybe we should forget this ever happened and I’ll take you to the Neberith temple for a thorough examination. I can ask Lord Highrider to call for a high priest if you need one.”

  “You won’t get me to back down,” Conrad declares, pushing Tzefira away with a single hand. “We can all see you’re injured and weak from trying to save that half-elf from her own stupidity. I can easily defeat you now and take over. That’s the deal we have and I expect you to stand by it.”

  “I stand by it,” Tzefira says with a smile. She steps toward Conrad and shoves him back, the sound of his snapping rib surprising her. “It looks like you aren’t doing any better than me. You’re sickly and frail. I assume you have a fever, which is causing you to act this irrational. I can’t force you to see a priest, but a fight between us will prove nothing. Again, I ask that you let this go until both of us have recovered our strength.”

  Conrad takes a deep breath and puts a hand against his injured side. He notices that the mercenaries are eyeing him with concern, which makes the calico’s tail rise in aggravation. He turns to Tzefira, her muscles tense and her eyes following his every movement. His hand falls to his sword, but he quickly removes it when he realizes she is unarmed. With a muttered curse, he kicks at the ground and throws his longbow to the ground. He is about to draw his sword and try to kill Tzefira where she stands when an idea forms in his mind. Looking at the gathered mercenaries, a cruel grin crosses his face and he raises his hand for attention.

  “You’re right. It would be pointless for us to fight each other. I mean, it wouldn’t endear us to any of the men because we’re both too weak,” Conrad explains as he walks by Tzefira and heads towards his force of warriors. “Still, it’s in my contract that I can take advantage of your weakness and injuries to take control. I find it distasteful that the first chance I have to defeat you has been taken from me because of my own condition. In fact, I would point out that you’re breaking our contract if you don’t allow me to find a solution to this pro
blem. So, I’m challenging you to a battle of champions. They will battle to the death, unconsciousness, or surrender.”

  “That’s a ridiculous idea,” she snaps, biting her lip and flexing her fingers. “I refuse to allow someone to fight on my behalf like some helpless damsel.”

  “Does that mean you lack faith in those loyal to you?” Conrad asks with a wide grin.

  “I trust all of my men!” she proudly declares. She grits her teeth and takes a sharp breath. “Pick your champion, Conrad.”

  Conrad claps his hands over his head and the mercenaries behind him scatter to let a large, lumbering form through. At first, Tzefira thinks it’s an ogre, but the towering warrior lacks the horns and body hair of the primal beasts. All of the mercenaries shrink away from the man, whose body is covered in black, swirling tattoos. His only articles of clothing are a pair of leather boots and brown breeches that are torn in several places. The sun glints off his bald head as if it is made of polished steel, which Tzefira would not be surprised to find is true. This imposing warrior reaches behind his back and pulls out a pair of crimson tonfas. He spins the unique clubs fast enough to send a gust of wind at the mercenaries, who stubbornly refuse to let the show of strength intimidate them.

  “Choose your champion,” Conrad requests, reveling in the fear-filled expressions of his enemies. “If you can even find one brave enough to fight my man.”

  “I’ll be her champion!” Luke shouts, cutting Tzefira off from speaking.

  “You’re not eligible,” the calico quickly states. His tail twitches nervously as he watches the half-elf. “You’re only a temporary member of this army.”

  “He’s still a member, Conrad, so I can call upon him to be my champion,” Tzefira points out while stepping in front of Luke. “Unfortunately, he quit before your revolt began, which eliminates him.”

  With a victorious sneer, Conrad leans forward and licks his lips. “Then you must choose a new champion.”

  “No she doesn’t,” Luke says as if the reason should be obvious. He can see the confusion on the faces of everyone around him. “Your guy isn’t a member of Salamander Army either. Don’t try to tell me he is, Conrad. You would have taken a monster like him on the krypter hunts and I never saw him there. That means being a member of Salamander Army isn’t a requirement to be Tzefira’s champion. If that isn’t enough to convince you, I should point out that you didn’t initially state that the champion has to be one of her men. You simply said she needed a champion and I’m more than qualified to accept the title.”

  “He has you there,” Tzefira mentions. She turns on her heels and quietly goes back to the safety of her loyal army. “Feel free to continue arguing with him, Conrad, but you can tell the young man has made up his mind. Slaughter that monster, Luke.”

  Conrad scowls at Luke before snapping his fingers and pointing in the forest tracker’s direction. The large man spins his tonfas faster and charges at the smaller warrior. It is an amazing speed for someone so tall and massive, forcing Luke to clumsily jump to the side and block one of the unique clubs. The glancing force is enough to buckle his knees, so he rolls away instead of blocking another attack. He watches the tonfa smash into the ground, sending chunks of earth flying in every direction. With a fluid motion, the large man twists and leaps into the air, his weapons raised above his head. Luke dashes under the tonfas and slams the hilt of one of his sabers into his enemy’s exposed stomach. It feels like he punched a castle wall as a numbing quiver runs up his arm. Luke dances away from the warrior, struggling to keep away from the constantly spinning tonfas.

  “Something isn’t right here,” Luke mutters as he runs and slides between the man’s legs. He flips to his feet, spinning around to kick the back of the other warrior’s knee. A dull pain tells him that his foot is broken while his enemy barely stumbles forward.

  “What’s going on here, Conrad?” Tzefira asks while she watches Luke frantically hop away from another attack.

  “My champion is very strong and durable,” Conrad cheerfully answers. “It’s not my fault your champion is fragile.”

  Luke rushes toward Conrad with the tonfa-wielding warrior a few steps behind him. He skids to a stop in front of the calico, nimbly stepping around him and crouching. The mercenaries laugh as Conrad topples over Luke in a panicky attempt to get away from his own champion. Luke rolls toward his opponent as the tonfas strike the ground between Conrad’s legs. The forest tracker slams his heels into the big man’s groin, which has less of an effect than his previous attacks. Luke gets his sabers up in time to block another strike, the earth sinking beneath his feet. Forcing the tonfas to the side, Luke leaps away and cautiously eyes the stone-faced warrior.

  “Not even a grunt of pain,” Luke whispers to himself as he moves further away. “This man is either a mute eunuch with magical enhancements or he isn’t human.”

  “Stop muttering to yourself,” Conrad snaps at the young warrior.

  “How much trouble will I be in if I kill this guy, Tzefira?” Luke asks with a worried glance. “I really don’t want to, but I don’t think he’s giving me a choice.”

  “You can kill him, but you’ll have to live with it,” she answers, concerned that Luke is hesitant to kill his opponent.

  “I think I can live with it,” Luke says. He does not see any emotion in the man’s cold eyes. “Let’s see how fast you really are, big man.”

  Luke sidesteps another attack and immediately spins back toward the man, his sabers slicing into his enemy’s exposed side. A spurt of black blood erupts from the man, causing all of the nearby mercenaries to back away. With a wide grin, Luke gracefully dances around the man, rapidly slicing into him. The man roars and jumps high into the air, flipping backwards to attempt a quick strike at Luke’s head. The half-elf flips to meet his enemy, feeling a tonfa graze his chin as he plants his feet into the man’s surprisingly malleable face. The mercenaries cheer as the large man’s body twists awkwardly and Luke uses him to launch higher into the air. As the man crashes to the ground, Luke spins with his swords out at his sides. Before the fallen warrior can get up, a spinning saber cleanly slices through his head and Luke lands on his twitching body.

  Everyone is quiet as the body shrinks and the skin takes on a familiar black and red pattern. Luke hops off the corpse and watches the headless krypter dissolve into the ground, leaving a puddle of black ooze. Its severed head continues to open and close its toothy mouth until a mercenary smashes it with a mace. Luke jumps when Tzefira pats him on the shoulder and points to the healer’s tent. He silently nods, but instead of heading to the tent, he pulls a rag out of his belt loop and cleans his messy sabers.

  “I think you have some explaining to do, Conrad,” Tzefira announces, turning to face the calico. She freezes when she sees he is nowhere to be found. “Where did that cowardly pussycat go?”

  “He probably retreated to his new friends,” Luke answers, sheathing his spotless sabers. “We’re going to have to go into the swamp and put an end to this. If they corrupted Conrad and snuck a krypter into your camp then our enemies have become too strong for us to handle with daily hunts. Even your magic defenses are useless now.”

  “This also means any of Conrad’s followers could be working for the true enemy or be a krypter in disguise,” Tzefira whispers, her eyes scanning the men before her. “I’ll need to leave most of my men here to keep an eye on the potential threats. There have to be more guards than inmates until I can figure out what is going on. I’ll send Tavris and his friends to Hero’s Gate to speak with Lord Highrider about mobilizing his knights for an assault on the swamp. Unfortunately, that will take him most of the day to set up. It looks like the two of us are on our own for hunting Conrad. We’ll leave as soon as your foot is fixed and I take some of our rare medicine to heal most of my injuries.”

  “We’re going to need help, Tzefira,” Luke says with a stern expression. “We need Timoran, which means we’ll also get Nyx.”

  Tzefira thinks for
a few minutes and looks up to the cloudy sky. “I’m not happy about this, but you’re right. I’ll send a runner to bring them here while we’re being healed. Can I trust you not to cause any trouble when Nyx arrives?”

  “I make no promises,” Luke admits before leaving for the healer’s tent.

  “That boy must be my punishment sent by the gods,” she growls.

  *****

  Nyx and Timoran are confused when they enter the mercenary camp and see a mass of stripped warriors corralled in a cleared space. The rest of the mercenaries are camped around the area, most of them keeping their eyes on the prisoners. A few of the more relaxed mercenaries wave to them as they make their way to Tzefira’s tent, but most are stoic and grim. Nyx wastes no time entering the tent while Timoran stops to stare at the low roof, remembering the last time he visited the mercenary leader. He sighs at the thought of his head hitting a support pole and collapsing half of the structure again. The barbarian is still deciding on how he can safely enter when Nyx walks back out and grabs him by the arm. With magically enhanced strength, she drags the redheaded warrior into the tent.

  “I trust you will watch your head, Sir Wrath,” Tzefira says as she pulls a chainmail shirt over her head. “We have an urgent situation to take care of. I can’t afford to waste time or manpower on fixing my tent.”

  “I will be careful,” Timoran promises, immediately sitting down.

  “Thank you,” the mercenary says before clearing her throat. “As you have already been told, Conrad has joined the krypters and left me unable to trust a third of my army. I must leave the rest of my men here to watch Conrad’s followers, so it’s up to us to track him into the swamp. I would prefer we remain as scouts, but we need to be prepared to hold out until Lord Highrider and his knights mobilize. That’s why Luke and I want you with us. Timoran is a strong warrior and the krypters are scared of him. Nyx’s magic can keep their master busy.”