Beginning of a Hero (Legends of Windemere)

by Charles E Yallowitz

  Scattered around the Caster Swamp are the remains of several necrocaster towers, consumed by crushing swamp vines or worn down to rubble by heavy rain. They are the only remnants of a time when the Caster Swamp was ruled by the Necrocaster Council and treated as a kingdom instead of a wild region. It was a time when there were fewer predators among the bogs, but it was even more dangerous to wander beyond the borders. Anyone who entered their domain became a test subject for the council’s experiments. Many believe that the unique monsters were born from these experiments, having escaped into the swamp after the Necrocaster Council mysteriously disappeared overnight.

  A solitary tower has survived, the eerie light of a lantern eternally burning from a wide window at the top floor. It stands alone in a large clearing, dotted with boulders that are smooth and oddly edged. Looking closer, one can see that these piles of rubble are the remains of a vast castle. The black stone tower was once the southwest section of the structure as evidenced by the jagged remains of the wall that hangs off the tower’s sides. An ever-increasing number of giltris and orcs are busy rebuilding the rest of the fallen castle while their master watches from the tower. The Lich drums his skeletal fingers on the window ledge as several cauldrons bubble behind him. Empty cages hang from the ceiling with pools of dried blood, feathers, and fur underneath them. A small bonfire crackles and sparks in the middle of the room as the Lich moves to look over his books and scrolls.

  “Selenia, that destructive wench, thought that she could tear down my home and not suffer any consequences. Now she is retired and no longer at her peak,” the Lich tenderly says to the stone walls. “I will get my revenge on her once I recover my forces and rebuild my castle. If only I could find better help than orcs and those reptilian miscreants. Giltris are so hard to control at times that they are more trouble than they are worth. Perhaps I could summon an army of demonic workers by sacrificing all of them.”

  He immediately waves the idea away and continues speaking to himself. “I must not give in to my impatience this time. Such an act would run the risk of bringing too much attention to my activities. That nosy mercenary must be kept in the dark about my return or I will have to handle too many problems at once. Rushing in this endeavor will certainly lead to failure . . . and severe punishment.”

  The sound of armored footsteps on the tower stairs brings the Lich’s attention to the open doorway. He pulls the Paladin's skull from his pocket and magically floats it to a nearby table. The skull has become black and several cracks have appeared around the empty eye sockets. It takes all of the Lich’s willpower not to smash the lump of bone out of frustrating rage. Part of him is furious about killing the Paladin instead of using him to uncover the heir. It took him days of scrying and hundreds of gold coins worth of components to divine what his obstacles would be if he went after the heir. All he saw was the Paladin, so he saw no problem with disposing of the would-be protector. Now, he had a mysterious forest tracker standing in his way. If there was one thing the Lich despised, it was having an enemy he knew nothing about. He gulps down his rage just as the footsteps stop just outside the doorway.

  “Enter and report your findings,” the Lich demands as the Hellfire Elf ducks to avoid hitting the doorway with its head. The assassin stands at attention, waiting for the Lich to take a seat in a throne made of moldy bones.

  “I am prepared to infiltrate the enemy fortress in a form that nobody will suspect. I will be able to move among our enemies without raising any suspicions,” the Hellfire Elf informs its master. “Even the great mercenary you have warned me about will remain unaware of my presence. I will be able to eliminate her for you as soon as I have accomplished my primary mission. I will be able to make my move within three days after I gather all the necessary information. This is barring any unseen incidents within the fortress, which may delay my actions. Keep in mind that even demons cannot predict every action that their targets will make, master.”

  “Very good,” the Lich says with a fleshless grin. “Though, I would not think of Selenia Hamilton as a simple adversary. Stay on your guard when around her and stay out of conflict with her until you capture the heir. That woman might be able to uncover you from the slightest confrontation or if you avoid her altogether. You must find a delicate balance of behavior when around her. Remember, Selenia is a dangerous opponent who has single-handedly destroyed demons much stronger than your breed. I do not wish to summon another assassin because you found a challenge.”

  “I will do as you ask, master. I pledge my services until I am no longer on this plane of existence,” the Hellfire Elf swears.

  The Lich stands up and slowly glides to the Paladin skull, picking it up and carefully admiring it. An intricate wave of his hand creates a spell that makes the skull glow a dull yellow for a few seconds. The smell of burning bone emanates from the Lich’s hand as he places the skull back on the table. His skeletal hand is charred black from holding the holy item. The Lich faces his servant with eyes that are glowing dimmer than usual. For a brief second, the demon thinks it sees concern on its master’s face.

  “Do you see this?” the Lich inquires, pointing a half-decayed finger at the skull. “A Paladin has an aura of holy magic, which has been awakened by a divine ceremony. As you have just witnessed, this aura causes pain to all unnatural creatures that come in contact with it. Once dead, the holy warrior’s aura becomes dormant. It can still be awakened if one knows the specific spell, but it does not last long enough to be of any use. A more complicated version of this spell allows a caster to see the aura of all living things on Windemere.”

  The Hellfire Elf nods in agreement with its master even though the look on its face is one of boredom. The Lich picks up the skull again and smashes it against the table. Shards fly in every direction, a few landing in a simmering cauldron. The liquid swirls until it turns blood red and bubbles over onto the stone floor. A small uttering and some arcane gestures from the Lich magically evaporates the liquid, filling with a red, salty mist while the Lich calmly returns to his throne.

  “I see that you do not fully understand,” the Lich says disappointingly before growing in size. “I am particularly interested in these auras because they are the source of Windemere’s magic. Every caster understands this, but only a handful of casters delve into their true power. Most arcane masters remain in the tedious realm of their own aura to create their spells. They refuse to tap into the unused power of the masses, which can unlock the truth of these auras. This truth can allow a caster to control life itself.”

  The Lich suddenly pauses in pained disgust. It takes him a few moments to speak again, his voice growing a bitter edge. “These innovators are called necrocasters, which is a name that foolishly focuses on our undead raising origins. We are so much more than corpse shepherds in this day and age. It is true that there are non-necrocasting spells that work off the auras of other people, such as those charm-hurling gypsies. Yet, necrocasters are the true masters of arcane manipulation. This is why we are hated and feared by all who lack understanding and vision. We influence the life force of other beings, but too many brand our art as an invasion of the soul and a violation of life.”

  “What is the point of this lecture on magic?” growl the Hellfire Elf, punching a hole in the black stone wall. “It is merely a tool for casters much like a sword is a tool for a warrior. There is no reason for me to know the workings of auras to succeed in my mission. My people prefer swords and bows over spells.”

  “I will ignore your outburst and continue this lesson,” the Lich hisses, glaring at the demon. “I will concede that I diverted from my initial point. Material objects and spells can be combined to create artifacts of power that any adventurer can use. Most advanced casters of Windemere create magical items, which has been a common practice for centuries. An example is Master Klaken and his damn durability enchantments, which are responsible for everyone and their pets having some kind of magical item. I was very happy to learn that he died in a nasty ac
id-storm accident. I wish I could have been there to spit on the melted puddle.”

  “Get to the point, master!” the Hellfire Elf impatiently roars.

  A glimmer of magic appears between the Lich and his assassin. The shimmering motes grow brighter until they blindingly erupt. Once the spots fade from the Hellfire Elf’s eyes, it sees a solitary translucent form standing before it. The Lich laughs gently as he rises from his throne and wipes sparks from his cloak. He passes through the illusion of Luke Callindor, turning in mid-stride to look at the image’s face. Instead of an aura around Luke, there is an occasional bolt of crackling energy that pulses through his body.

  “There are those who are born with unique auras, which give them the potential to become very powerful. Over time, even those who become warriors will develop some magical abilities. Their main weakness is that until they come into their power, their auras are easy for necrocasters to manipulate and twist,” the Lich calmly lectures the assassin, shrinking to his normal size. “This boy comes from a family of legends who are known for having unique auras. There is no telling what he will become if he reaches his full potential, but I am sure that it would be bad for our plans.”

  “You sound worried, master,” the demon mentions, his deep voice subtly rising in pitch.

  ”I have personally come across several warriors like him. They were weak and posed only a small challenge to my ancient magic,” the Lich responds, grinning at the memories of his past victories. “This one seems to have already acquired enough skill to protect himself. Even more disconcerting, his aura has developed a resistance to scrying spells. I do not like him being here even if he is a simple whelp. We must remove him before he becomes a serious problem. Strong aura or not, this boy can still be killed by the blade and arrow. Duke Solomon’s heir is the perfect body for me to use in our plans and . . .” The Lich visibly chokes down his anger before he can continue. “I will not let some young forest tracker stop me. Have you learned anything about him?”

  The Hellfire Elf takes a few steps toward the window, pulling out its compound longbow. The demon nocks an arrow and takes aim before firing at one of the distant orcs. A hideous death shriek echoes through the air, causing the Lich to take a look outside. By the time he reaches the window, a few of the orcs are moving their fallen comrade, the arrow still embedded between his eyes. The Hellfire Elf snorts and turns back to its master.

  “Just like that worm, this boy is of no consequence,” the demon calmly declares. “From his own lips, I heard that he is there to protect the heir and he is aware of your existence. So far, this child has spent most of his time getting into trouble with his superiors. He has only been there for a day and the mercenary woman has already spoken with him about his conduct twice. If the boy gets physically involved in my mission then I will dispose of him with ease. Slaying zombies is one thing, but defeating a Hellfire Elf is no simple task.”

  “Fool! Obviously that cherry-sized brain in your skull is not working,” the necrocaster chastises the demon, his voice filled with frustration. “This boy has power and he might be stronger than we think. For all we know, he is playing the fool to trick us into revealing ourselves. His kind has a reputation for being crafty in the face of stronger opponents. Have you seen anything that could be of importance or are you so arrogant that you have let him go unchecked?” The Lich reaches behind his throne and pulls out a long box made of solid gold. There are several thick chains wrapped around the box with a central lock that has been magically welded to the lid.

  “It would appear that he has made friends with one of the instructors. This instructor is a halfling who teaches the useless trade of how to build things out of wood. This halfling has been told of the mission and has agreed to help the boy,” the Hellfire Elf reports, its eyes locked on the mysterious chest. “During their exchange, I overheard the boy mention that he is unaware of the heir’s identity. He is not even aware of the gender or exact age of our target, but he is trying to find out.”

  “Good. Then, we have the advantage of knowledge,” the Lich says, his body relaxing slightly.

  “I will spend this evening searching the surrounding forest for the best place to make my ambush,” the demon announces, bowing toward its master. “Now, I must be going. The night creatures of Visindor have given me some problems. They are more perceptive than the forest dwellers of the daylight, so I must work in alternate forms to avoid killing too many beasts. I do not wish to alert the guardians of the forest to my existence.”

  “One moment,” the Lich whispers.

  The Hellfire Elf turns as the Lich casts a spell, dissolving the lock and chains on the golden box. The undead caster gingerly holds the box out for the demon to open. Inside the box, the demon finds a serrated sword of black steel that is about four and a half feet in length. Four bloodstones are embedded in the obsidian and pearl hilt, which is shaped to look like a winged demon swallowing, what the Hellfire Elf guesses, is a gray moon. A dull hum emanates from the weapon as it is taken out of the box. The sword leaves a brief distorted path behind it when the demon makes a few experimental swings.

  “What is this?” the Hellfire Elf asks, a drop of drool falling from its chin to the stone floor. It can feel the sword’s power tug at its heart and sing to its primal bloodlust. If the demon was to describe the feeling, it would be like finding a piece of its soul.

  “It is a rare type of magic weapon known as a Chaoswind,” the Lich softly explains, watching the demon get a feel for the weapon’s weight and balance. “All Chaoswind weapons have been infused with the power of a demon through the forbidden art of blood forging. That particular blade was forged in the blood of an Eblem while she was in heat. The magic inside it is incredibly potent even by Chaoswind standards. The weapon causes paralyzing pain and mental suffering to any good-natured creature that it cuts. The more good-natured and pure the creature, the greater the pain. A being that is truly pure, such as a newborn, can be killed in one strike. A Chaoswind will be just what you need if that boy or Selenia become more trouble than you give them credit for.”

  “Can it kill demons?” the assassin cautiously asks.

  The Lich grins as he answers, “Demons, undead, and all those whose hearts are entirely blackened are immune to that weapon. It will harmlessly pass through.”

  The Hellfire Elf lets a wild grin cross its face as it straps the leather sheath to its back and puts the blade away. The demon shivers as it feels the blade bond with its lifeforce. It makes a low bow toward the Lich before silently diving out the window. Several giltris look up to see the demon transform into a greenish-blue sparrow and fly toward Visindor Forest. The Lich cackles, envisioning the heir of Duke Solomon in his grasp and the young Callindor writhing in pain at his feet.

  *****

  “Hey! Wake up,” whispers a small voice. The words fall on deaf, pointed ears, so the shy halfling decides to violently shake his classmate by the face. It takes a few minutes for Luke’s eyes to flutter open. Ignoring the small face before him, Luke looks around as if lost and confused. It is not until he hears Thomas yelling from the back of the dorm that he remembers where he is.

  “I’m awake,” Luke mutters, batting the older student’s approaching hand away. “You can stop poking me.”

  Luke opens his wardrobe as he lazily rolls out of bed. He grabs his academy uniform, laying it out as Thomas starts walking toward him. The half-elf fails to stop himself from yawning and rubs at his sleepy eyes. Looking at his fully dressed classmates, he doubts that he has the time for a bath to help wake up. A bowl of water near his bed is the closest thing to a bath that Luke can find, so he dumps it over his head. Some of the other students begin laughing at him as he shakes the water off his hair.

  “Ten minutes until the run,” Thomas announces, looking directly at Luke. “I suggest that you dry off and head out to the front gate. The rest of us are heading there now. Well, all of us, except Wallen.” Luke looks over at the young dwarf who is shuddering in his bed
and mumbling incoherently.

  “What happened to him?” Luke asks, getting his boots on.

  “I hope you realize that you will have to clean up this puddle right after breakfast, fresh meat,” Thomas snaps. He glances with concern at the terrified dwarf. “We don’t know what happened to Wallen. It looks like he had a nightmare that shook him up pretty badly. Things like this happen a lot around here. Not everyone can handle the pressure that we place on them and about half of the students break down at some point. He should be back on his feet after a day of rest. It’s nothing to worry about unless he gets worse. If that happens, Selenia and Kevin will take care him.”

  Thomas turns to the rest of his students. “Now, let’s go to the front gate and show Selenia that Elfstar can run like wolves!” All of the students shout in agreement and they follow Thomas out the door.

  Students from the other dormitories swarm into the courtyard as the Elfstar students jog toward the front gate of the academy. Luke calmly walks in the rear of the pack, trying to memorize as many faces as he can. Even with his attention elsewhere, he is barely a step behind the other students. By the time they reach the starting point, the students have become nothing more than a thick mob of groggy, excited bodies. A ripple of silence envelopes the crowd as the students in the front shush the students behind them. Many of the taller students point toward the silent figure standing just outside the academy walls. A shiver runs up Luke’s spine when he sees Selenia waiting with a cold, predatory grin on her face. Kevin and Duggan are standing off to the side, discussing their plans for classes and complaining about their daily administrative duties. Selenia holds up her hand to make sure everyone is paying attention to her. Luke takes a deep breath and weaves his way to the front of the mob where he finds Nimby sitting on the ground. The halfling is dressed in an olive green nightgown with a matching cap and one fuzzy, blue slipper. His other foot is bare, except for the thick, brown fur on top, which has been neatly braided.