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

by Charles E Yallowitz

  Kevin places the jewelry in her palm as she takes her own necklace off. She closes her fist around them and glows the color-changing light of the spell that she cast on Tzefira’s piece of the Tri-Rune. The spell flows quickly, finishing within a few seconds instead of the several minutes it took the first time. With a wide grin, she hands Kevin his necklace and waits for him to put it around his neck.

  “Now, you can talk to me and mom when we’re apart,” Nyx says, ignoring the sudden fear on Kevin’s face. “I can explain how it works later, but mom and I tested the spell while I was traveling.”

  “You want me to talk with your mother,” Kevin responds, rubbing his tense neck. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I really hurt her when I didn’t return and she never accepted my apologies. I’m also angry about her being alive all these years and never telling me about you. The least she could have done is told us about each other, even if she wanted to hide. I wonder what name she’s been going under these days and what she’s been up to.”

  “She still goes by Tzefira and she’s the commander of the Salamander Army,” Nyx mentions with a confused look on her face. “You never heard anything about her?”

  “I haven’t heard her name since the day I was told about her death. In fact, not until you said it a few minutes ago,” Kevin admits, scratching his chin in thought. “I’ve heard of the Salamander Army, but I never knew the name of their commander.”

  “That’s strange. I wonder why you were never told of her until today,” Nyx says as she fingers her necklace. “She’s famous among mercenaries and warriors, so wouldn’t you or Selenia have heard of her?”

  “That is strange. The only way that can work is if somebody put a name block spell on anyone who knew about Tzefira,” he says, stroking his beard. His eyes abruptly blaze with rage and he slams his fist against the desk. “That conniving harpy of an elf woman! The news of her death came from her old teacher, a wandering fireskin named Isaiah. He gathered in Selenia’s office to tell us the news and I don’t remember hearing Tzefira’s name again after that meeting. She must have asked him to cast the spell and that sentimental lizard would have agreed without a hesitation. Probably made it that you interacting with us breaks the spell. The first chance I get, I’m giving that woman a piece of my mind and turning that reptile into a leather raincoat.” He stops when Nyx smiles, tears running down her face. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Nyx declares, fighting back a few sniffles. “I’m happy I have my parents back and we’re going to be a family. Oh, I have to introduce you to my friend Sari. She’s a gypsy I was friends with when I was a child. Her clan was wiped out by the people I’m fighting against, so she doesn’t have any family left. I call her my little sister and I want her to be part of our family.”

  “Let me get used to having one daughter before I adopt another,” Kevin requests with a chuckle. “So, how are we going to catch up? I’m sure you’ve figured out that our family isn’t really emotional, but my side is the worst.”

  Nyx leans forward, excited to hear anything about her family. “What were your parents like?”

  “They were my parents,” Kevin bluntly answers. He sees the disappointment in Nyx’s eyes and clears his throat before continuing. “My father never shed a tear in public unless he was laughing about me getting into trouble. To his dying day, he kept his emotions bottled up and buried under a wicked sense of humor. Don’t misunderstand me, girl. Your grandfather would beat on anything that threatened his family. Now, my mother was the real stubborn boar of the family. I butted heads with your grandmother every day. She was disappointed that I never followed in her footsteps, but I had no talent for magic. I lacked her ability to cast without gestures and incantations, so I could never reach her expectations.”

  Nyx’s excitedly jumps up and down. “I can do that too!”

  “You don’t say,” Kevin mutters as a grin crosses his face. “I know how we’re going to do this.”

  Nyx watches him limp across the room to the cabinets where he reaches behind one that is stuffed with scrolls. She hears a small click and the gentle sliding of a wooden panel before Kevin pulls out a brown bottle of alcohol. He takes two wooden cups off a cluttered shelf and blows the dust out of them. Nyx eyes him suspiciously as he pours the liquor into the cups and hands her one of them. He sits on a tall stool and gestures for Nyx to sit back in her chair.

  “This is the last bottle of my family’s brew,” Kevin states with a solemn voice. He swishes the dark brown alcohol around in his cup. “My old man made whiskey after his warrior days. I planned on following in his footsteps when I finished here, but the family distillery was in your hometown. I was going to save this bottle to drink with Selenia and Duggan when it was near my time to go. Now, I think this is a much better reason to finish off my family’s brewing legacy. Their spirits won’t begrudge me this.”

  “You could build a new distillery and retire with mom,” Nyx suggests, taking a sip of her drink. The strength of the aged alcohol makes her eyes bulge and she nearly falls out of the chair. “This is really strong.”

  “Like you and I, your grandfather didn’t believe in restraint,” Kevin chuckles, taking a long sip of his drink and violently shuddering. “You really want us to be a traditional family? Your father is a damaged, foul-mouthed warrior and your mother is a hardened mercenary commander. I wouldn’t be surprised if she earned the title of Mercenary Queen that Selenia once held.”

  Nyx takes another sip of her drink, finding that she is getting used to the potency. “I want us to talk to each other. If you and mom decided to pick up where you left off then I’ll be very happy. I’ll still be happy if you two decide to simply stay in contact and remain friends.”

  “I promise to do my best,” Kevin swears, holding his drink in the air. “Now, you have a very long story to tell your old man and we have an entire bottle of Masterson Whiskey to drink. Sadly, we’ll probably run dry before we’re done talking.”

  Nyx pulls a slender decanter of Ifrit mead out of her satchel and places it on the floor between them. She grins as she holds her cup out for more whiskery. Laughing loudly, Kevin reaches out to clink his cup against Nyx’s. For the rest of the day, there is nobody in the office except a father and daughter making up for stolen time.

  *****

  “You think Nyx will be okay?” Timoran asks as he glances at the distant administrative building. “She took my Ifrit mead with her for some reason.”

  “If you knew Kevin then that would make a lot of sense to you,” Luke answers with a happy smile. “I should have figured out they were father and daughter long ago. They have the same temper, defiance, and drinking habits. Eh, there’s nothing I can do about it. So, where should we waste the rest of our day? All of these students are in good hands.”

  The familiar sound of wooden swords rapidly clashing catches Luke’s attention and he cuts in front of Timoran to follow the noise. They stop as they turn the corner of the cafeteria and see several students sparring with practice longswords and shields. Nodding his approval, Timoran watches their organized drill, but he senses that something else has caught Luke’s attention. The half-elf is staring at the handsome sergeant instructor wearing a blue shirt and black breeches. The young man yawns as he scratches his unkempt, brown hair and lazily yells a few orders to the students. Timoran soon realizes that what he mistook for the instructor’s laziness and apathy is nothing more than an air of pure relaxation. The longer he watches the ice blue-eyed warrior, the calmer and more serene he feels. His trance is so strong that he barely notices that Luke is approaching the instructor.

  “Tavris says hello,” Luke announces, interrupting the class. He catches the instructor’s hand for a shake and meets the man’s lazy smile with a charming grin. “Delvin Cunningham, I’m surprised to find you teaching. Why did you quit the mercenary life?”

  “My teaching shouldn’t be much of a surprise. After all, Selenia was a mercenary before starting this
academy and she is my mentor,” Delvin states as he signals for his class to rest. “So, who are you and how do you know me?”

  “That’s Luke Callindor!” shouts a female student.

  “Oh, I’m sorry about that. I’m horrible with names and faces unless I spend a lot of time with a person,” Delvin admits, giving another shake to Luke’s hand and letting go. “Anyway, my men and I nearly died after I made a very bad decision. It involved a crew of pirates that kept two trolls in their hold to protect their treasure. Everyone was angry, so I decided it was time for me to retire as the Mercenary Prince. The men weren’t happy with me, but I was getting bored with the lifestyle and I couldn’t risk their lives again. I’m sure you got a different version from Tavris. Where is he these days?”

  “Tavris didn’t tell me anything beyond you disbanding the group,” Luke whispers, surprised that Delvin is openly admitting to his mistakes in front of the students. “They’re part of the Salamander Army and I believe Tavris gained a top position after helping Tzefira with a few problems.”

  Delvin arches an eyebrow and crosses his arms. “They’re working for the Mercenary Queen? She runs an excellent army and pays well. I’m happy for them.”

  “So, why are you teaching?” Luke bluntly inquires.

  “I’m just watching the class for Selenia while she gets everything ready for her first strike,” he replies with a shrug. He snaps his fingers and the students go back to their sparring. “I heard Selenia was having some problems and decided to help. I owe her a lot for taking me off the streets and turning me into the man you see before you. There’s also my dream from Ram and Ehre telling me that I’m desperately needed in Visindor Forest. I’m not one to question the gods. You ever meet a god?”

  “Months ago, I was sent here by Zaria and I met Gabriel before I ventured into the Caster Swamp. I got to meet Uli while I was a wandering spirit,” Luke gloats, grinning with pride. His grin fades when Delvin casually nods and goes back to watching the students. “Sorry, I forgot about introductions. This is Timoran Wrath of the Snow Tiger Tribe and a close friend of mine.”

  Delvin barely hides his expression of awe at the large man who steps in front of him, a huge hand extended for a greeting. The warrior accepts the hand and lets Timoran control the shake while he sizes the big man up. He always thought of Tavris as being huge, but Timoran’s height and muscular bulk dwarfs his old ally. Glancing at the slender forest tracker, Delvin can easily imagine the devastation the pair could cause on the battlefield.

  “Pleased to meet you, Timoran,” he says after his hand is released. “So, how do you get along with the gnome and woman this guy runs with? At least, I think I remember there being a woman with you when we met on Freedom’s wall. I never caught her name or figured out what her purpose was. I’m sorry that sounded rude. I meant I never figured out what type of warrior she was.”

  “Nyx is a caster and she’s with her father at the administrative building,” Luke politely replies. He rubs his palms against the pommels of his sabers to stop himself from getting upset. “The gnome was Fritz Warrenberg, who was a teacher here. He was killed in Freedom the night after you and I met. I . . . I don’t really want to get into the details.”

  “That was Fritz? I thought he looked and sounded familiar. I’m such an idiot for not recognizing him,” Delvin says, gently knocking the fleshy part of his palm against the side of his head. “I heard he died when I arrived here, but I never asked about it. They made the girls’ dormitory the Fritz Warrenberg Memorial building. Supposedly, Selenia was against the idea until a teacher named Theresa Marley and the entire female student population petitioned for the honor. That crazy gnome made this academy such a bright and fun-filled place. I’m really going to miss him.”

  “He was a great friend,” Luke adds, turning to watch the students sparring. He wipes at a few tears and takes a shuddering breath. “Never be another like him.”

  The three warriors stand in silence, each one observing the students and making mental notes about where they need improvement. Occasionally, Delvin nudges Luke and nods toward one of the students. Most times it is to quietly point out a mistake in their movement, but a few times it is because two students are having impressive exchange. The calm atmosphere is shattered when a female student tries to bounce off the academy wall to get over her sparring partner. The young calico slips on the wall, her ankle snapping under her weight and the force of her impact.

  “Everybody stop!” Delvin shouts, running toward the injured student. His face is full of concern and annoyance instead of his mask of calm. “What were you thinking, Nadia? There’s no rational reason for you to use the wall when sword-fighting. It’s reckless, a waste of motion, a waste of energy, and it leaves you open to attacks. You might as well have impaled yourself on your enemy’s sword.”

  “Doesn’t he fight like that all the time?” she asks with a grimace of pain. Her clawed finger is pointing at Luke, who coughs and shifts uncomfortably. “I heard stories about how he leaps and flips all over the place. His enemies can never touch him because his movements are so fast and random.”

  “She has a point,” Timoran whispers to Luke.

  “My movements aren’t random!” Luke exclaims, ignoring Delvin’s attempt to wave him away. “I was trained to stay in motion, so my enemy has a difficult time predicting where I’m going to strike. Every move flows into the next and has enough leeway to allow me to react to whatever my enemy is doing. Random jumping around would have gotten me killed long ago.”

  “You are overly flashy when you fight, Luke,” Delvin contends as he stands to face the forest tracker. He gestures to Timoran, who nods and picks up the injured student. The barbarian looks from one glaring warrior to the other before making his way to the infirmary. Delvin whistles for Timoran to turn around, so that he can point him in the right direction.

  “Overly flashy?” Luke asks, crossing his arms. “The spinning and flipping helps create distractions and gives me an element of constant surprise. It isn’t like I have a shield or heavy armor to hide behind.”

  “It doesn’t look like you wear any armor.”

  Luke glances down at his dark green shirt and brown breeches. “I had no reason to wear my armor today. You know I wear leather armor patches, Delvin. I was wearing them when I nearly beat you in Freedom.”

  “That wasn’t a fair fight,” Delvin claims with a chuckle. “I’d been defending the city from pirates and I was drinking beforehand. I wasn’t at my best, which gave you an edge.”

  “I was on the defensive wall too. I had to get myself and Nyx out of a gaping hole with a bad shoulder,” Luke arrogantly argues. He jabs a finger into Delvin’s chest and nimbly avoids the warrior’s attempt to swat his hand away. “We were both drinking that day and I had to fight your friends first. If anything, I was in worse shape than you and you had a chance to analyze my style beforehand. So, don’t make it sound like I had an advantage when you had a lot going for you.”

  “Were you this annoying and cocky when we first met?” Delvin asks. He kicks Luke on the side of the knee, causing the half-elf to buckle. With a lightning fast grab, he catches Luke by the wrist and tosses him onto his back.

  “Were you this arrogant and stuck-up?”

  Delvin is about to twist Luke’s arm when the forest tracker flips up and kicks him in the chest with both of his feet. Wrenching his arm free, Luke makes several backflips before unbuckling his sabers from his belt. He lays them on the grass and advances toward Delvin, who is patiently waiting for him. Luke charges, ducking low and preparing to leap at the last second. Delvin takes a stance resembling a knight holding out his shield, his other hand raised to deliver a downward strike to Luke’s head.

  “Selenia doesn’t allow this kind of fighting,” an elven student mentions.

  All of the students cringe as Luke tries to skid to a stop, instead falling to the ground and rolling. It happens so quickly that Delvin is unable to react, his legs taken out from underneat
h him. His knees slam into Luke’s stomach, which causes the half-elf to abruptly sit up, banging his head into Delvin’s side. Both warriors are curled on the ground while the students whisper and laugh amongst themselves, one of the students running away from the class.

  “I think we need to settle this without getting Selenia mad,” Delvin groans, rubbing his ribs and patting Luke on the shoulder. “I heard detention in this academy is really bad and we aren’t students. She’d probably do something worse to us.”

  “You’re telling me . . . that you never got . . . in trouble with Selenia,” Luke gasps, cringing with every staggered breath.

  “I was a model student, so it never came up.”

  “We’re taking care of it,” one of the students says after they help the aching warriors to their feet. “Joshua went to talk to Thomas about setting up a demonstration. Take these healing potions.”

  “I don’t like the sound of a demonstration,” Delvin declares, drinking the amber potion handed to him. “Those need to have Selenia either involved or judging. She’s locked in her office and is not to be disturbed.”

  Luke greedily downs his potion, licking his lips for the final drops. “I don’t like the idea that Thomas is involved.”

  “You are two of Selenia’s greatest students,” states a blushing female orc. She gingerly takes an arm of Delvin and an arm of Luke, turning to grin at the other girls, who are jealously glaring at her. “Everything will be fine and organized.”

  *****

  Luke and Delvin groan as every student and teacher gathers to watch their sparring match. Both warriors sit on the edge of the fountain, which is the only structure within the circle of excited observers. They stand when Thomas Strogan places wooden weapons at their feet. He flashes a wide grin and slaps them on the arm before returning to the edge of the crowd. A handful of students laugh when he stands in front of Timoran, whose massive frame makes the towering instructor look small and scrawny. With a snap of his fingers and a stern point toward the back of the crowd, Thomas sends the heckling students deeper into the audience where they struggle to see the action.