“You are a Callindor and that is how everyone should treat you. You deserve the praise and esteem that you receive whether you become a great hero or not,” Alyssa says, a hint of pride in her voice.
Luke sighs to himself and begins to walk toward the marble railing. “Thank you for proving me right.”
Before he can leap to the nearest tree, Alyssa calls out to him. “Is it true that you were scarred by a magical weapon?”
“It was in a fight with a Hellfire Elf. See for yourself,” he offers. Alyssa turns around to see Luke stepping off the railing and undoing his shirt. She timidly approaches him as he reveals the pink scar that runs from his left shoulder to his lower right side. Luke takes in a hiss of air when her cold hand touches his skin.
“Does it hurt?” she asks, her hand still on his chest
“No, but your hand is cold.”
“I guess we’re having a moment.”
Luke smiles as he mentions, “I guess we are.”
“Remember that time when we were in my room and we decided to wrestle? I tore open your shirt and you ripped my dress down the back,” Alyssa whispers, continuing to delicately trace the scar. “Then, my father walked in and thought we were doing something indecent. I was so embarrassed even though I was only eight and had no idea what he was upset about.”
“I remember your dad looked like he was going to toss me through a window before he remembered that we were only kids,” Luke says with a chuckle. “How is your father? I should probably apologize to him.”
Alyssa begins to cry again, her hand shaking against his chest. “He passed away from heart rot a little over three months ago. I guess you wouldn’t know that.”
“I’m sorry, Aly,” Luke whispers, giving her a tight hug. Alyssa resists for a second before she curls against him.
“I’ve been acting mayor ever since he died. I . . . I really hoped that you would come back . . . to help me,” the elf stutters through her tears. “I missed having you around to make me laugh. I even missed when you called me Aly just to get me to chase you.”
“Well, I’m back for a few days,” he assures her, gently stroking her short, blond hair. “I can do what I can, but you know that I can’t stay. I made a promise to help my friend and that promise might take us all over Windemere before we’re done.”
“I want the truth, Luke. Did you ever love me?” Alyssa asks, holding her mouth an inch from his ear.
Luke sighs before admitting, “Yes. I loved you, but I don’t believe it was the type of love that meant we should be married. I was too busy rebelling and you kept trying to tame me. It would have been a disaster.”
“I didn’t know what else to do to keep you,” Alyssa claims.
“There was nothing that you could have done. We would have fallen apart eventually,” Luke says, his breathing getting heavy. “Anyway, all of that is in the past and we’re different people. I’ll come by tomorrow afternoon with my friends to introduce them.”
He is about to let go of Alyssa when she grabs him by the face and kisses him with all her strength. He immediately notices that her lips are soft, but they taste tangier than Kira’s.
The sound of a large sword being unsheathed catches Luke’s attention and he opens his eyes to see a bare-chested man on the balcony. His wrists and ankles are adorned with thick circlets of silver. The brown-skinned warrior is much bigger than Luke and his curved sword makes the half-elf’s sabers look like metal toothpicks. A look of rage fills the man’s deep blue eyes as he advances on the forest tracker. It takes less than a second for Luke to let go of Alyssa, draw his own swords, and back away toward the railing.
“Don’t hurt him, Caspar,” Alyssa pleads to the large warrior.
“I will not let you take advantage of Lady Goldheart’s emotions. Leave here or I will be forced to kill you,” the warrior demands, silently moving toward Luke with surprising grace.
“I wasn’t taking advantage of anyone,” Luke argues.
“It’s true, Caspar,” Alyssa states in a panic. The worry in her voice makes Luke begin to feel that this man is not someone to underestimate. “Luke was hugging me while I cried about my father and I became overwhelmed. I kissed him without thinking. I’m very sorry, honey.”
Caspar grins widely, revealing glistening white teeth. “So, this is the famous Luke Callindor, the boy who I replaced in your heart. I was hoping to meet you after Alyssa and Kira told me about you. I thought you would be shorter from the stories.”
“You’re engaged!” Luke exclaims once the thought pops into his head.
“Caspar and I have been together for six months and we were betrothed last month. I guess I should have told you,” Alyssa apologetically admits.
“That information would have been nice to know. I notice that he is aware of our secret meeting place. You really did go ahead and replace me, Alyssa,” Luke says, his eyes never leaving Caspar. “So, you’re name is Caspar. From your appearance, I take it you’re from Bor’daruk like Kira Grasdon.” He starts to circle around the southern warrior, hoping to find a blind spot, but the large man turns with him cautiously.
“Yes, but that isn’t where I met your woman,” explains Caspar with a wide, goading smile. “She was at a celebration in Gaia a week ago where I was working as a bodyguard. Her father was there and persuaded her to . . . try out other men instead of waiting patiently for you. Both of us have sworn our hearts to others who are not ready to settle down, so we had no misgivings about the situation. It is a shame that you refuse to share our tradition. It would certainly relieve some of your stress. I recommend that you find another woman to be with even if it is just once, Luke. It is the only way that you will be sure that Kira and you are meant to be. That look in your eyes tells me that you aren’t happy.”
“It’s your culture, but that doesn’t mean I have to enjoy hearing about Kira sleeping with other people,” Luke says through clenched teeth.
“Do you wish to kill me?” Caspar asks.
“No. You and Kira merely upheld your cultural traditions,” Luke answers, his anger evaporating into the cool air.
“That is a shame,” Caspar declares in disappointment. “I wished to see you in action after all the stories that I have heard. I did not expect you to be so . . . accommodating and understanding after Alyssa described you as a heartless, temperamental boar. It would seem she was exaggerating, but I can understand where her venom for you comes from.” He fluidly sheaths his sword and folds his arms across his chest. “Now, I must repeat my demand that you leave the manor at once. Return in the morning if you wish, but know that at this time of night you are not welcomed.”
Alyssa punches the muscular warrior in the arm. “Don’t listen to him, Luke. You can visit here as long as I’m not busy. We should mend our friendship for our parents’ sake. Just don’t expect me to meet you here ever again. We aren’t children and we aren’t betrothed anymore. You and I are no longer anything special to each other. We are barely friends.”
“That’s how it should be,” Luke states, averting his eyes from Alyssa. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Caspar. Maybe we can spare before I leave.”
He sheaths his swords and silently walks to the railing. Alyssa is about to walk over to him when Caspar puts a gentle hand on her shoulder. She looks up at him with tears in her eyes and lets him hold her against his side. She watches Luke out of the corner of her eye as he dives into the surrounding pine trees and swiftly climbs to the ground. Luke darts into the shadows as soon as he hits the ground. He turns around to see Caspar silently watching him until he completely vanishes into the dark forest.
The quiet forest gives Luke time to reflect on his thoughts, which are torn between relief and worry. On one hand, Alyssa is happy and she doesn’t entirely hate him. Given time, they might even be able to return to being friends. Though, he did get a sense that she was not entirely over him. It wasn’t a sense that she was still in love with him, but a curious desire for what might have been. If he stayed
around too long, he could unintentionally cause trouble between her and Caspar. The last thing he wanted to do was get into a fight with Caspar over a misunderstanding. Even worse, a fight with the desert warrior could cause a problem between himself and Kira.
By the time he reaches the backdoor of his parents’ house, Luke makes a relaxing decision. “I’m just going to go about my life and let it play out around me.”
8
Ilan doesn’t flinch as a hissing veil of sparks erupts from the blazing forge. A thin layer of sweat is on his brow while he checks the hot, white metal bars sticking out of the fire. He delicately turns them over in the forge with his right hand as he reaches to a nearby table with his left. Ilan gropes blindly for a second before grabbing a frost-covered enchanted mug and taking a deep drink. A wisp of cool breath escapes his lips and he puts the mug back on the table. When he is satisfied with the progress of the bars, he turns to the quiet figure sitting in the coolest corner of the shop.
“I am honored to observe you work, sir,” Aedyn states, intently watching the hard-working elf.
“I must admit that I was surprised to hear about a priest of Durag traveling with my son,” Ilan says, his voice revealing no emotion. “I was led to believe that the members of your temple are patient and calm. It must be very hard on you to travel with someone who is so reckless and impatient,” Ilan goes back to tending the forge, but Aedyn can see that he is still paying attention.
“Well, it has not been easy,” the priest admits with a chuckle. “Your son is very quick to throw himself into harm’s way when anyone is in danger. I think he takes his desire to be a hero too far at times. Still, Luke and I have become close. I know he has my back and I, in turn, will protect him in kind.”
“I heard from a priest of Durag that my son saved you from a goblin stampede in Hero’s Gate. He wanted to bless our family in return for Luke’s actions,” Ilan claims, a faint smile on his lips. “I wasn’t one to say no, but I was curious as to what exactly happened. I would appreciate an explanation.”
“I was protecting Kellia Solomon when the goblin swarm attacked. They were magically enraged and unleashed upon the city while the city guard was hunting a group of orc bandits,” Aedyn explains, shuddering at the memory. “Luke and Nyx went with the guards, so I was alone with Kellia. We ran until we found an abandoned Durag temple, which I planned to use for my final stand. I had used the last of my power to put a magical shield around Kellia before the goblins overtook me. It was then that Luke broke through the glass dome in the ceiling and began to rampage his way through the goblins. I still have dreams about him tearing through them like an angry demon.”
Ilan gives the priest a worried glance before taking another drink from his mug. “May I ask you some more questions about my son, Mister Karwyn?”
“Of course, but I do not see why you should ask me instead of Luke. He is your son after all,” the priest points out. He shifts nervously on the metal stool that is magically keeping him cool.
Ilan breathes deeply, inhaling some of the rich smoke. “I want some honest and neutral answers to my questions.”
“You mean that you wish to know about your son without risking an argument with him,” Aedyn states with a knowing stare.
Ilan laughs gently and turns to the young half-elf. “You are very intuitive.”
“I guess you can say that,” Aedyn says, his voice choking up slightly. “My father and I are barely able to speak with each without raising our voices. It has made me far too knowledgeable of the dynamics in a father and son feud.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. A father and son should always maintain a bond even if they disagree,” Ilan claims. He pulls two of the hot bars of metal out of the fire and places them on an anvil. The elf puts the bars end to end before grabbing several clamps to lock them in place.
“What are you making?” Aedyn inquires, wanting to change the conversation.
“It is a special weapon for a man named Caspar,” Ilan explains, grabbing a hammer and pounding the hot metal into a long pole. He gently dips the metal into a barrel of water and puts it deep into the forge. “This will be the middle, staff-like section. The remaining bars will be used to make wide, curved blades that are popular in the south. There will be a blade on each side of the staff. I believe the swords that this weapon is based on are called scimitars. I have never made anything like this before and I have only seen a scimitar twice, but I’m always up for a challenge.” Ilan stops working and turns to the priest. “Is my son any good at what he does, Mister Karwyn?”
Aedyn coughs in surprise at the question. “That is rather difficult to answer, sir.”
Ilan sighs and turns to the priest, his face is covered in sweat. “I want to make sure he is able to protect himself and that he isn’t making a fool of himself.”
“He is definitely a skilled swordsman and he is quickly learning how to fight with his bare hands. I would not say that any of his skills are that of a master, but he should never be underestimated in a fight,” Aedyn says. He racks his brain for anything else to tell Ilan. “Luke has a great sense of direction and an amazing nature sense, which has helped us when traveling. I would follow him through a forest instead of a road any day. I do not know if any of this answers your question, sir.”
“I’m sorry,” Ilan apologizes with a polite nod. “I should have been more specific. I’m just a little distracted by this project.” He pulls out two more bars of metal and begins pounding them together until they are a single, wide bar. Ilan grunts and grits his teeth with every ringing strike of the hammer.
“To be honest, I am not sure that I could explain everything that has happened to your son. It has been a wild adventure up until we left Freedom,” Aedyn admits, thinking about all his adventures with Luke.
“Are you and Nyx the only friends that he’s made?” Ilan asks, his voice starting to sound hoarse. “I had hoped that he would make more than two friends while he was on the road.”
“Did you know that he would eventually leave Haven?” Aedyn counters, his ears picking up a secret in Ilan’s voice.
“Far too intuitive for me to speak with when I’m working,” Ilan mutters under his breath. He stops working and holds a steady, defeated gaze on the priest. “I have known that he would leave home since his second birthday and I tried very hard to prevent it. He took to swords and being in the forest as if they were as natural as blinking. It truly scared me. I didn’t realize how selfish I was being until Luke ran away and stories of his adventures reached Haven.”
“I thought you were furious with him,” mentions the priest.
“I was and I still am,” the elf declares. He finishes banging the metal into the proper shape and returns it to the forge. “He ran like a petty child and made many of us look foolish. A year of keeping my feelings bottled up is what you saw at dinner last night. It was unavoidable.”
“So that was nothing more than pent up aggression,” Aedyn says, nodding his understanding. “This explains why you never sent anyone to bring him back. You knew his departure was coming and stopping it was impossible.”
“Honestly, I sent a few people to bring him back,” Ilan says with a half-smile. “They lost track of him and had to settle for half the promised pay. It took a week for my father to stop gloating about Luke evading capture. Now, can you please answer my initial question about Luke’s friends?”
Aedyn leans back until his shoulders touch the stone wall. “There is Kellia Solomon who he met at Hamilton Academy. They got off on the wrong foot, but it became a friendship after he saved her life from a demon. She is a very stubborn and short-tempered woman, which made her interactions with your son very entertaining. We travel with a drite named Fizzle, but he had to return to Visindor for his yearly slumber. Fizzle is very powerful, which one tends to forget because he has a very limited grasp of human tongue. Then, there was Fritz Warrenberg, the wise and womanizing gnome who we met at the academy. He left with us to escort Kellia to Gods’
Voice. Fritz . . . was killed in Freedom by a former ally and Luke’s supposed best friend. He was a halfling thief named Nimby. I would rather not talk about Nimby if you do not mind.”
“I understand, young man. I still have difficulty talking about the people from my past who wronged me. It comes with the life of an adventurer,” Ilan admits. He takes a seat at a nearby table and stares at the sparks popping from the forge.
Aedyn smiles weakly. “It is a shame that the world works that way.”
“You aren’t completely right,” the elf responds thoughtfully. “When you live as long as I have, you realize that Windemere doesn’t work the same way that its people do. The world merely exists and allows us to exist upon it. There is no greed and no disloyalty in the heart of Windemere. Negative emotions and thoughts like that are found only in self-centered sentient beings like us.”
“Yet, the world still gets angry and acts with malice,” Aedyn says, accepting the philosophical challenge.
“The ancient elves believed that we bring the wrath of Windemere upon us when we forget to respect her,” Ilan counters.
“So, you are a blacksmith and a philosopher.”
“Reading helps me pass the time between projects.”
“I hope you talk to your son like this before he leaves.”
“No offense, young man, but I will handle my son in my own way.”
“I’m sorry. I spoke out of line,” Aedyn apologizes with a polite bow. “Do you have any other questions about your son before you go back to work? Otherwise, I will leave you to your project.”
Ilan thinks for a few seconds and wipes the sweat from his brow. “Is my son happy?”
“That is a tough question,” the priest replies while he strokes his chin. “I am sure there are some things that he wishes he could change, such as the incident with Nimby, the death of Stiletto, and when he was forced to kill a griffin.”
“I have yet to meet anyone whose life was perfect, so your response doesn’t answer my question.” Ilan gets up and limps over to a pegboard on the wall where he grabs a pair of tongs. The elf goes back to the forge in order to check the heated metal. He carefully flips the pieces while orange and white sparks fill the air around him.
Legends of Windemere: 03 - Allure of the Gypsies Page 18