“I already have some ideas for an army and some strategies,” the halfling mentions. “Now, what makes you think that an army can destroy the Callindor? He is more dangerous at close range.”
“Then, we will use a range attack to deal the killing blow. The army will be used to distract Luke and his friends from the real danger,” Nyder explains, rubbing at his throbbing temples. “I suggest using Trinity and her magic to take out the Callindor, but that would draw Nyx away from the distraction. That half-elf will go after our queen without hesitation.”
“You are suggesting that we use another caster to kill the Callindor?” asks the grinning Lich.
“It would be the best course of action. Luke has no defenses against magic,” Nyder claims. He gets up from his chair and begins pacing while flicking his lower lip with his pointer finger. “Also, we have reason to believe that another caster will be watching over our targets carefully. This caster is very old and more powerful than any of us. Only our master has the power to defeat him. We have to find a way to kill Luke while avoiding this caster.”
“Is this Isaiah by any chance?” inquires the undead caster.
“That is what my spies say,” Trinity answers suspiciously. “I’m getting worried that you have a plan, Lich. Most times your plans end in failure.”
“Shut up, woman! Need I remind you that I was commended for nearly killing Nyx and learning that she had lost her magic?” the Lich gloats, reveling in the attention. “Also, it was I who maintained contact with our enemies after they had left the river. Our master even rewarded me with a new wand and extra money to rebuild my castle. I don’t see you with any boons. In fact, I believe you were ruthlessly whipped for your failure, Trinity.”
“Why you . . .” begins Trinity until Nyder snaps his fingers at her.
“Let the creature brag, our majesty. Gabriel only knows how short a time it will be before he is back in trouble with our master,” Nyder says, placing a gentle, oil-covered hand on Trinity’s arm. “So, do you have a plan, Tyler?”
“Never call me that name again! All traces of Tyler have been cleansed from this world. I am forever the Lich,” he snarls. The Lich pulls out a wand of pale green wood with three hippogriff feathers and shreds of zombie skin tied to the handle. He spins the wand in his hand while staring at the gnome.
“I meant no offense, Lich. Please, put that away and tell us your plan,” the gnome politely requests.
The Lich clears his throat, which fills the air around him with a thick cloud of bone dust. “We will need an outside agent to accomplish our goals. One that is powerful enough to keep Isaiah at bay and assassinate Luke. The best thing about this plan is that this agent is expendable, so his failure would not be a loss to our master. The most that we will lose are some gemstones.”
“You have someone in mind,” Vile states, hiding his anticipation.
“There is only one caster who can do this,” announces the Lich. “Isaiah's dearly departed brother.”
“Kalam of the Ruined Road?” Trinity asks in a voice full of doubt. “Rumors say that he is a vampire necrocaster who lives near the border of Serab. He supposedly has an on-going war with Queen Ionia of Darkmill. I think he’s nothing more than a myth. We should ignore this fool and come up with a real plan.”
Vile claps his hands for attention, his curiosity in the Lich’s plan apparent on his face. “I am interested in hearing this out, Trinity. The Lich wouldn’t mention Kalam as a potential ally if he were simply a myth. Ease off the poor grunt.”
“Thank you. Kalam is real and I know where his lair is. Let me just say that my beginnings in necrocasting brought me to his doorstep,” the Lich reveals to everyone. “We have kept in contact with the occasional spell exchange.”
“Awww. How cute. Our Lich has a spell buddy,” Trinity teases him.
Everyone ignores her as the Lich continues speaking. “Now, you cannot deny that Kalam would be a powerful ally to recruit and we will benefit whether he lives or dies. If he is destroyed then we can take his spell notes and assume control of his lair to be used as an outpost. Also, we can save our own resources by letting him use his own army for the attack.”
“I hate to admit this, but I like the Lich’s plan,” Nyder states after some thought. “I hope that the chance to fight his brother and destroy a blossoming hero is enough to gain Kalam’s assistance.”
“We are not that fortunate,” the Lich says with a small sigh. “He requires ten thousand gold coins worth of gemstones and a few slave girls when hired for a job. I can provide the gemstones, but I no longer have an agent to get the girls.” The sound of voices in the distance carries on the wind and Vile draws his shortsword.
“The soldiers will be here in five or six minutes from the sound of their voices on the wind. I suggest we finish this quickly,” hisses General Vile, nervous sweat forming on his tan brow.
“I agree. Here are your orders,” announces Nyder, the purple portal reopening behind him. “The Lich will bring the gemstones to Kalam and secure his assistance. The slave girls can be brought to him in a day or two. Yola Biggs can handle the kidnapping without being caught. I will tell her to take the girls from the brothel section of Gaia. Nobody will miss them except for the few perverts who think the girls love them. That is all that has to be said. This meeting is concluded. Vile and Trinity will follow me back to Shayd.”
“I won’t be returning with you,” Trinity declares as she watches Vile enter the portal. “There is a loose end that we can use in our deal with Kalam.”
“What might that be?” Nyder asks.
Trinity tightens the laces on her boots and magically erases their tall, narrow heels. “That runaway gypsy girl will be more appealing to Kalam than some used brothel girls. She is bound to have more long-term use since gypsies are known for their stamina and hardiness. I will send a message to the Lich once I retrieve her. I can’t make any promises that it will be a quick capture. Gypsies are infamous escape artists.”
“Very well,” mutters the gnome, stepping into the portal. The crackling gateway rolls into itself and vanishes with a small pop.
“I look forward to meeting your elusive prey,” laughs the Lich.
Trinity growls at the condescending Lich before she leaps into the air. She shimmers for a few seconds before disappearing from view. A few moving branches betray her passage through the forest. The Lich can hear armored footsteps beyond the trees to his left before he can sink into the ground. He stalls his escape while he considers using his new wand to send the soldiers into a panic. It is a short-lived idea after he imagines the punishment he would receive for such unnecessary actions. A few soldiers think they see a cloaked head dropping beneath the grass as they enter the clearing, but the only proof they find of the Lich is a diseased elm.
*****
The ground rushes to meet her beautiful face after Sari trips over a tree root that she could not see through her tears. Dirt joins the twigs and leaves that are caught in the dark blue waterfall of hair that cascades down to her thighs. She scrambles to her feet before wiping the dirt and tears from her puffy eyes. Their emerald glow, that her partner had written songs about, is barely a glimmer amid a cloud of terror. A tear down the arm of her dirty, white blouse makes her grumble incoherently as she rips the sleeve off. She whimpers at the sight of her bright red skirt, shredded up to her knees by the forest’s underbrush.
Sari takes a moment to rub her bleeding feet before sprinting forward like a hunted rabbit, ragged breaths escaping her smooth lips. Her direction is a mystery even to her. Her only hope is that her path takes her away from the slaughter. Sari can still hear the final scream that ripped through the air and announced the demise of her kin. It took all of her strength to leave her hiding place and run for her life.
“I don’t want to . . . waugh!” exclaims the fatigued gypsy as she blindly rushes to the edge of a steep hill and tumbles over the side. Bushes slap at her skin and rocks tear at her dirt-covered skirts until sh
e skids on her back into a small river. The running water helps to wash some of the dirt and blood off her as she lies as still as possible. Only her face remains above the river’s surface while she catches her breath.
“I would have expected more grace from you. A gifted dancer and knife-fighter falling into a simple river is beneath you, dear,” sings a female voice from the muddy shore. “On the positive side of things, you are now clean.”
“Are you with them?” Sari asks, getting to her feet and backing away. A rotund woman with dark skin and a cloud of silver and dull yellow hair sits on the shore with a fishing pole stuck into the soft ground. Her dress is gold and looks like an intricate tapestry that a noble would put on their wall. Sari is more interested in the glittering jewels that cover the woman’s fingers and ears.
“Am I with whom? Oh. Them. No, dear. I am perfectly harmless to you,” the woman pleasantly says. “In fact, I believe you called out to me about ten minutes ago. Lucky for you, I was in the area trying to catch something.”
“I called for you?” inquires Sari. She wades out of the river and wrings the water from her hair.
“Yes. You thought that you were going to die and wished that Cessia would come to make things right,” states the woman. Her smile gives Sari a warm sense of hope and determination.
Sari can’t stop herself from smiling back. “You’re the Luck Goddess, Cessia? Wow.”
“Wow? You stand before a goddess and that is all you can say? I would be hurt if I wasn’t so amused,” the goddess claims.
“I’m sorry. It’s been a terrible morning. My partner and I were united last night. Then, there was a lot of drinking. I remember dancing on top of a wagon with only half of my clothes,” Sari explains, her body shivering from the cold water and the terror in her bones. “Then, the attack this morning happened and I saw my partner get captured by a halfling in armor. I have no idea if anyone else from my clan survived after I ran away. Also . . . I keep crying.”
Cessia grows an extra pair of arms to hug the gypsy girl. “Just keep crying, dear. You cared a great deal for your clan and now you are the only one that is left.”
“I’m the only one?” Sari asks.
“I am afraid so. Those who survived the dragons were eaten by the zombies or killed by that halfling. You are the last of your clan, dear,” Cessia answers with a touch of sadness in her voice. “I would tell you what to do next, but I can’t. Then again, I believe you already know what you have to do.”
“I have to keep running. That’s all I can think of,” the girl whispers.
“That you do, but stay for another minute or two. Give your muscles a chance to rest. I don’t mind the company and there is no law against idle chit-chat between a god and a mortal. I get so lonely and bored among the other gods,” Cessia says, patting the ground next to her. Sari sits down obediently, but she remains tense, ready to run at any moment. “Would you believe that Ram has not danced in twenty centuries? He considers battle to be the only dance that he is good at, but I know better. That horse-headed man drank too much at Zaria’s three-hundredth birthday and ended up dancing with every goddess at the party. He ended the night doing a delicate waltz with the equally drunk Holy One, the stern and powerful god of the dwarves. Apparently, he is a stunning dancer once he removes his platemail. We don’t let either of them forget that night.”
Sari laughs along with the goddess as she imagines the war god and the dwarf god dancing together. It is almost enough to make her forget about why she is on the run.
“There we go, dear. A pretty thing like you must stay strong in a time like this. You can cry later, but now you must survive. After all, there could be other survivors who are beyond my vision. Even a goddess can be wrong,” Cessia says while her fishing line goes wild. “The truth is that you never saw that Kayn boy die. If it gives you hope then I will tell you that he may be alive. Then again, he may be dead, so don’t pin all of your hopes on my words. Excuse me, dear, I have a bite.”
“Do you want any help?” Sari asks, watching in awe as the goddess struggles.
“No. No. Yes? No. Maybe. No thanks,” the woman grunts. A mighty tug rips a halfling-sized salmon out of the water. It thrashes about in the mud while Cessia walks over to it.
“Wow. That’s huge,” gasps the gypsy, her stomach growling.
Cessia looks at the fish with dismay. “Yes, but not what I’m looking for.”
“What are you trying to catch?” Sari asks. The goddess unhooks the large fish and casually flips it into the water where it darts toward the distant entrance to the L’dandrin River.
“Nothing, but that wasn’t it. Oh dear. You look like such a wretch with only one sleeve. It is painful for me to see one of my favored look so . . . disheveled,” Cessia admits as she goes back to fishing.
Sari can feel panic setting into her chest and begins rambling. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any clothes to change into. I tore my sleeve off because the hole in it could have gotten caught on something, which could have caused me to break my arm. At least, that is what I was told could happen whenever I ripped my sleeves as a child. Come to think of it, I don’t have any weapons. How am I supposed to survive without any way to defend myself? My illusions and heart magic can only get me so far.”
“You could . . . excuse me, dear,” the goddess apologizes. She gives a violent tug to the fishing line, which produces a finely crafted chest from the water. The piece of luggage crashes to the ground in front of Sari, who stares at it with an open mouth.
“That’s my chest,” the gypsy happily gasps.
“I see. I guess one of the dragons threw your wagon and the chest fell into the stronger part of a nearby river. You are a very lucky girl,” Cessia says with a beaming smile. “Now, I must be moving on to better fishing spots. This area still doesn’t have what I’m looking for. I wish you good luck, dear.” The goddess reels in the empty hook of her fishing pole and puts the damp tool over her shoulder. The shiny goddess waves at the gypsy girl before disappearing in a shower of spinning coins.
Sari rummages through her damp belongings as quickly as she can. A dark yellow dress with red trimming and multiple skirt layers is the only one that is dry enough for her to wear. She finds a tattered travel pack among her belongings and hurriedly stuffs two days’ worth of damp clothes into it. A fake compartment in the bottom of the chest reveals a collection of finely crafted knives and various types of sheaths. She continues looking through her personal effects while she conceals the knives around her body. Sari grabs two empty waterskins before she lets the top of the chest slam shut, a strange hollow sound echoing from its right side. The curious gypsy gives it a gentle kick and a compartment clicks open. She reaches in to pull out a pair of knee high boots made of dark velvet and leather.
“These are my mom’s favorite boots. She must have hidden them in here as a partnership present,” Sari whispers, her voice choking up and cracking. With a few tears forming in the corners of her eyes, Sari puts on the warm boots. It feels like minutes pass as she ties up the amber laces and the boots magically mold to fit her tiny feet.
“Thanks for the boots, mom. I guess there is only one thing left to do before I head out,” Sari claims, drawing a dagger from her thigh sheath. “I swear that I will survive the trials ahead of me. No matter what, the blood of our clan will live on.”
Sari gently cuts her finger with the dagger and lets her blood drip into the river. She watches the path of her blood until she is startled by the snap of a twig in the forest behind her. She leaps from rock to rock across the river with incredible grace and vanishes into the trees like a lonely ghost.
1
“We have been cowering here for nearly a week. Do you plan on taking me to Gods’ Voice after I die of old age?” Kellia rudely asks. She lazily pokes at the last piece of egg on her plate, which she would gladly eat if it had not gone cold.
The early morning sun bathes the beautiful dining porch with warmth and dissolves the remaining
wisps of ocean fog. A soothing breeze from the distant ocean helps prevent the fuming heiress from losing her temper. She curls her heavy bathrobe around her and tries to keep her bare feet from touching the cold marble floor. Kellia notices a few cracks in the floor from where a chandelier and part of the balcony had fallen. She has no doubt that the incident involved her escort, but refuses to uncover the details.
“We will be leaving Freedom this afternoon, Kellia,” replies Nyx with a yawn. Her black hair is neatly braided down to the small of her back. The caster touches a plate of fresh bread and heats the dish until she has made toast. She offers the food to Kellia, who ignores her.
“I don’t understand why we couldn’t leave right away,” Kellia admits, bored and exasperated. “The enemy was weakened. Staying in Freedom must have given them time to regain their strength. You, Aedyn, and Luke are being sloppy.”
Nyx fights the sudden urge to flick a minor spell at the heiress. She had met the real Kellia a week ago and it did not take long for her to miss the doppelganger masquerading as the heiress on their voyage down the L’dandrin River. During their first encounter, the real Kellia attempted to start a fight with the caster. It began with Kellia insulting Nyx and continued with small punches to the half-elf’s arm. Nyx could not understand why the heiress wanted to fight her, but she was more than happy to oblige. Thinking about it now, Nyx is glad that Aedyn stepped in to stop what could have been an easy, boring victory for her.
Legends of Windemere: 03 - Allure of the Gypsies Page 2