Legends of Windemere: 03 - Allure of the Gypsies

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “Bored again,” Yola Biggs whimpers.

  “Then do something else! Nobody is stopping you from leaving the conversation!” the Lich angrily snaps.

  “So, what did you do?” Trinity asks curiously.

  “I left in the middle of the night with some of his treasure,” the Lich answers through small bouts of cackling. “The day I left, I swore upon Lorvis that I would make either his greatest dream or worst nightmare come true. Both scenarios would stem from a fight with Isaiah, which I gave him before he died. I do find it amusing that their fight ended in a draw. I guess in the end, Kalam and Isaiah were nothing more than equals. It’s a shame when I think of all the time that vampire spent preparing.”

  “I think I get it,” Trinity announces with a yawn. She runs her fingers through her hair and lets it cascade down her back. “You did this to give your old teacher his greatest wish. I don’t see how that would benefit us.”

  “With his battle over, he would have no need to keep his most powerful spells from me,” the Lich claims. He sighs and wrings his boney hands. “That was what I hoped when I put this plan together. After all, his spellbook is one of the greatest sources of necromantic knowledge and now it is mine for the taking.”

  The scepter suddenly bulges, expanding into a crackling portal of dark energy that instantly makes the air taste stale. A familiar face slowly emerges from the flat oval. The bloated nose and smooth head of Nyder shine in the bright sunlight, which forces the gnome to squint. He looks around the hilltop curiously before stepping out onto the smooth grass. The Lich is about to say something when the gnome quickly puts a dirty finger to his mouth. Nyder pulls out several bottles from his pockets and begins collecting various plants and insects.

  After ten minutes of watching Nyder, the Lich and Trinity exclaim, “Get on with it!”

  “Get on with what? You two were babbling, so I asked Yola to send me here for some specimen collecting,” the gnome contends with a wide, crooked grin. “It’s been years since I was in this region. I wanted to see if there were any changes in flora and lesser fauna.”

  “We get the point,” Trinity states, hiding an amused smile. “It's time to go home. I have been away from my people for too long.”

  The Lich begins to glide away from the hill. “I will be returning to Shayd soon, but I have some business to attend to.”

  “The master will . . .” begins Nyder, using a long pole with a sticky, glass orb on the end to catch a caterpillar. The insect squirms to escape before getting dropped into a bottle with no air holes.

  “He will understand,” the Lich sternly interrupts.

  “Going for Kalam’s spellbook is suicide,” Trinity warns him, half of her body already through the portal.

  “That is only because you believe that Ionia has the book, but she has left it to Talos, who will destroy it. The caster queen refuses to keep such an evil tome in her kingdom and she cannot bring herself to personally destroy any magical knowledge, including necromancy,” the Lich happily reveals. He floats into the air and his body becomes a heat-like distortion. “Now, I simply have to contact my special agent in Haven and the spellbook is mine. I will see all of you in a day or two.”

  “Special agent?” Nyder wonders out loud. Trinity shrugs in response to the gnome’s question and disappears through the portal.

  *****

  The Green Veil Inn is loud and bustling with customers talking about everything that has happened in Haven. The wordless din of multiple conversations fills the inn, forming a wall of noise that assaults anyone who steps through the front door. Several barmaids weave their way through the crowd with trays of food and drink precariously balanced over their heads. Both of the bartenders are pushed to their limits, serving fresh drinks and making sure they have at least two clean mugs at all times. Loud curses in elven and dwarven can be heard from the kitchen every time a barmaid runs back with an order.

  “Did you see the size of that dragon?”

  “I still can’t believe that priest killed it.”

  “You hear that he lost his legs?”

  “Things have become a lot more dangerous since Luke came home.”

  “That girl caster is pretty cute.”

  “I heard she’s related to a god.”

  The moment a lone figure steps into the doorway, everyone stops talking and glares angrily in his direction. Isaiah makes a polite wave before the crowd goes back to their conversations. He can feel their eyes boring into his back as he makes his way to a corner table. The barmaids ignore him completely even though he waves and gently calls out to them. The fireskin repeatedly raps his claws on the table until somebody jumps into the chair next to him.

  “They really don’t like you around here,” Sari mentions with a warm smile.

  “They believe that I’m partially responsible for Luke’s death,” Isaiah says, his reptilian eyes scanning the room.

  “Having a hand in the death of a local hero doesn’t help your reputation,” the gypsy agrees with a friendly grin. “If it makes you feel any better, Luke will probably try to fix this when he finds out.” She snaps her fingers, creating a small orb of light, which she flicks at the nearest barmaid. The young woman jumps in surprise and looks around until she sees Sari waving two fingers.

  “Thank you for the drink,” Isaiah whispers.

  “You’re thirsty too?” Sari asks in surprise. She holds up a third finger before the barmaid turns around and disappears into the crowd.

  Isaiah stares at the gypsy in amazement. “You’re too small to drink so much.”

  “Obviously, you know nothing about my people,” she proudly scoffs.

  “My experience with gypsies is limited, but that’s by my own doing,” the caster admits with a grin. “I never had a reason to interact with them before.”

  “Who needs a reason to learn about another person?” Sari asks when the barmaid arrives with their drinks. The young woman blindly slides Isaiah’s drink to him, but she smiles warmly at Sari when giving the gypsy two cold mugs of ale.

  “I’m not a very social person, so I require a reason,” Isaiah claims, gripping his warm mug.

  “Then, why are you here?” Sari asks curiously, quietly deciding which mug she should drain first. “I would think that an anti-social person, such as you, would avoid crowded taverns, especially in a town that dislikes you. Maybe you’re just being delusional.”

  “Delusions of what?” the caster laughs, sipping his mediocre drink.

  “I don’t know. You’re the one not making any sense,” Sari answers with a casual shrug.

  Isaiah smiles while he watches the gypsy pick up one of her drinks. She gently places the mug against her lips before violently throwing her head back and chugging all of the cool ale. A dainty burp rumbles out of her mouth as she puts the mug down. Sari wipes her mouth with a light blue handkerchief sticking out of her sleeve. She waves happily to a pair of elves who are staring at her from the bar. Both of them turn to the nearest bartender, urgently whispering while pointing to the smiling gypsy.

  “And that’s how you get free drinks in a crowded tavern. Well, it’s one of the ways to do it. I’d go the other route if I knew when I was leaving,” Sari proudly announces. Two barmaids arrive with four more drinks for the gypsy. She quickly gulps down her second mug of ale and waves at the elves again. “Also, I don’t want to hear Nyx lecture me about public decency because then I’d have to remind her that she’s worse when she’s drunk. I merely flirt, get naked, and dance on tables when I get drunk. Nyx gets violent and . . . competitive, I guess.”

  “What do you plan on doing now?” Isaiah asks.

  Sari shrugs and begins drinking her third ale. “Probably drink my weight in alcohol, sleep with a cute boy, and wake up for breakfast.”

  Isaiah levels a stern gaze at the girl. “I meant your long-term plans.”

  She eyes him suspiciously without taking the mug away from her lips. “There isn’t any point in those.”

 
“Why not?” Isaiah asks in surprise. “You have many years ahead of you.”

  “I’m hungry. Let’s have some food. They have these honey-covered chunks of cooked beef that are very yummy,” Sari says with an exaggerated lick of her lips. She waves down a barmaid by jumping on her chair and yelling her order to the girl. Sari spins the chair under her before she flops down and leans on its back.

  “You’re avoiding the subject,” Isaiah points out after finishing his drink.

  “I’m not avoiding it. I really am hungry and they have good food here,” Sari declares with a small shudder. “If I don’t have any use for long-term plans then there isn’t much to talk about. I will take what life gives me and . . . move on.” Her face contorts in an effort to hold back a sudden desire to cry. The gypsy takes a deep breath before rapidly gulping down two more beers and letting a belly-shaking belch escape her lips.

  “Is your mask back in place?” Isaiah mockingly inquires, pulling out a long pipe and sticking it in the corner of his mouth. He begins puffing on the pipe, creating a stream of smoke that writhes in the air above his head.

  Sari slams the empty mugs on the table and glares at him. “My feelings are none of your business.”

  “Your feelings are of no concern to me if you don’t feel that I am worthy of hearing them. It is your right to keep them hidden from those around you, but your friends might decide to be more intrusive than I,” Isaiah explains, his deep voice becoming low and stern. “I’d especially watch out for Luke if you want to keep your pain a secret. He has a nasty habit of getting involved in things that do not concern him, including fights between powerful siblings. He jumped in when I didn’t ask for his help, yet I get dirty looks for his death.” His free hand scratches against the thick table top, leaving a few narrow gouges as his annoyance flares up.

  “If you don’t like dealing with people then you shouldn’t care what they think and do,” Sari says, diverting the conversation back to Isaiah. “You would make a horrible gypsy. We don’t care about the perceptions of those outside the clan because there is no way for them to truly understand us.”

  “Doesn’t that result in a rather narrow-minded mentality?” Isaiah asks curiously.

  Sari refuses to answer as her food is quietly placed in front of her and the empty beer mugs are refilled. She can’t stop herself from loudly enjoying every bite of her small meal. A trickle of honey runs down her chin for a second before her tongue whips out and wipes it away. By the time Sari is done eating, Isaiah has put his pipe away and is calmly leaning against the wall. The gypsy tosses the plate onto a passing barmaid’s empty tray and rubs her stomach in exaggerated delight.

  “My mother always told me that everyone is narrow-minded to some extent,” Sari states, slurping the foam off one of her drinks. “If a person is truly open-minded then they would be accepting of every action including murder and, even worse, rape. I would hate to meet a person who keeps an open mind to something like that.”

  Isaiah laughs gently. “I can’t argue with that logic.”

  “I still can’t figure out why you’re here,” Sari says with a drunken smile and a sudden slur to her voice. “The barmaids won’t acknowledge you and the townsfolk keep glaring at you. The only reason you haven’t been lynched is because I’m sitting here and they know how strong you are. You don’t strike me as the type of person who loves to be surrounded by those who hate him.”

  Isaiah leans toward her to whisper directly in her ear. “It is better to show you than to tell you.”

  “Wha . . .” Sari starts before Isaiah’s eyes flash brightly.

  The gypsy’s eyes become glassy as a terrifying vision replaces the sight of the warm tavern around her. She witnesses a barren landscape covered in black flames and rotting corpses. Several columns of armored warriors appear in the distance with hundreds of flying beasts circling above them. Sari is horrified as she watches the army march over the horizon, leaving a path of bodies behind them. She can’t imagine how the vision could get any worse when a shadowy form materializes to her right. It rushes toward Sari with its piercing, yellow eyes locking her body in fear. A quick movement of what she assumes is the figure’s arm is the last thing she sees before her fear snaps her out of the vision. She gasps for air, clasping a hand on her neck where she finds a thin line of fresh blood. Tears trickle down her face as she furiously looks at Isaiah who hands her an amber handkerchief.

  “What was that?” she asks after she regains some of her composure.

  “That is what I need to talk to you and the others about,” Isaiah sincerely answers with a sense of urgency in his voice. “It is time for all of you to know the truth about your destiny. Will you listen to me?”

  “After something like that, I should walk away and never look back,” the gypsy growls, patting the handkerchief on her cut.

  “I should point out that your existence is already known to your enemies, so they will search for you,” Isaiah warns her. He gets to his feet and squeezes his bulky body around the table.

  “Then, I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t make any long-term plans. You decided to make them for me,” Sari complains, slipping off the chair and following Isaiah to the door.

  “The coming events have little to do with me.”

  “Liar.”

  Isaiah steps out into the warm air. “I am merely a messenger.”

  “Oh, that does sound rather trivial after all,” Sari mutters mockingly

  “I said that events had little to do with me. Not that my role is unimportant,” the caster declares. “In fact, my role is crucial.”

  Sari scratches her head in confusion. “If it’s crucial then you have a lot to do with the events that you are currently involved in. Unless you’re part of a secret society whose members tend to act humble. Then, you simply don’t know your own worth and believe yourself to be expendable.”

  “Is that right?” Isaiah asks, intrigued by Sari’s insight.

  “Maybe,” she answers, popping a few pieces of candy into her mouth.

  Isaiah carefully watches Sari as he leads her through the moonlit streets. He finds her to be a very strange girl. Unlike Luke and Nyx with their easily gauged personalities, Sari comes off as fickle and chaotic. Her emotions seem to change sporadically from one moment to the next. Even her intelligence and insight appear to be in a constant state of flux. The unnerving part of this observation is that Isaiah cannot be sure if she is acting like this on purpose or if she’s truly a flake.

  A sudden realization comes to Isaiah’s mind upon feeling Sari take his hand and hold tightly. For a gypsy who has lost her entire clan, Sari has shown no sign of grieving. He guesses that such grief must be tearing her apart without the slightest chance to release it. Isaiah silently fears that Sari could already be too damaged to be an effective champion, but he holds onto a glimmer of hope for the girl. He knows Luke and Nyx have battled through their own traumas since setting out on their path. The half-elves could be the key to Sari finding peace. After all, the gypsy would not be chosen by the gods and continually rescued from death if they did not think she could endure.

  He looks up to the stars for a sign that everything will be fine only to find that there are no stars in the sky. Isaiah can feel his ebony scales tighten when he remembers the dazzling array of stars he had seen prior to entering the inn. It is as if someone has stolen all of the stars while his attention was elsewhere. All he sees is Ult, the autumn moon, basking the ground in dark yellow light. He is beginning to rethink his plan to meet with Luke, Nyx, and Sari until the gypsy interrupts his thoughts. Something about her words calms him and pushes his paranoia away.

  “It looks like rain,” she sighs sadly.

  *****

  “You have my deepest thanks for this, Nyx,” Aedyn whispers as he is gently placed on the roof. The priest stares up at the handful of stars circling Ult and takes a deep breath.

  “Don’t mention it,” Nyx says, making sure the ladder is secured to the side
of the roof. A dull pain in her back causes her to cringe, so she leaves the ladder alone and takes a seat next to Aedyn.

  “Here,” he says, reaching out and touching her shoulder. Soothing warmth spreads through her muscles and the aches dissipate. When she can roll her shoulders without pain, Nyx lies down and folds her arms behind her head.

  “Thanks. I didn’t think carrying you up a ladder with help from a double strength spell would hurt so much,” Nyx admits with a friendly grin.

  Aedyn sighs sadly and avoids her gaze. “Who would have thought a man with no legs would weigh so much?”

  Nyx picks up a lonely acorn and throws it at the priest. The nut hits him between the eyes where it leaves a small, red welt. Aedyn rubs at the spot with a look of mild annoyance, which fades from his face when he makes eye contact with Nyx. The caster’s eyes are narrowed slits and her cheeks are flushed with anger. Before Aedyn can say anything, Nyx gets to her feet and grabs him by the shirt collar. She yanks him a few inches off the ground until her arms throb. With a look of pained frustration, Nyx lets the priest gently drop back to the roof.

  “You’re an idiot,” she states, sitting next to him.

  “And you are far too violent for my health,” Aedyn retorts.

  “Well, somebody has to knock some sense into you,” Nyx loudly declares, her voice at near shouting volume. “Whining about your missing legs is pointless since there are several ways to fix this problem. You can find a person to regenerate them or you can find a necrocaster who is willing to build you a new pair. These ways won’t be perfect, but they are viable options. So, stop feeling depressed and decide on how you’re going to solve the problem. Be a man for Gabriel’s sake.”