“I never look for a fight, but I’m always ready for one,” Nyx states, fingering the golden clasp and grinning. “You seem to take offense at the way I dress, Tzefira. Why does it concern you?”
“I wanted you here as a symbol to the people of Hero’s Gate,” the mercenary says. She approaches Nyx and hands her the magic crossbow, briefly refusing to let it go. “You’re the caster who saved the city and plunged it into chaos. The citizens will let their fear and anger rise to the surface when you’re around until they have to release it. After that, the people can stand up to all the small problems that my mercenaries and the guards are too busy to fix. Whether they realize it or not, the people of Hero’s Gate need you here to lead by example. So, I’d prefer that you stand out by looking like a real caster.”
Nyx ties the crossbow to her belt and fixes Tzefira with a cold stare. “That’s the most idiotic plan I’ve ever heard and Luke comes up with stupid plans on a weekly basis. It sounds like you want me to get lynched.”
“If need be, I want you to be confronted and give the people an outlet for their emotions,” Tzefira admits, taking Nyx by the arm and leading her out of the tent. “I trust you can use defense magic and avoid hurting people.”
“I’d rather not be in that position in the first place,” Nyx contends, slipping her arm out of Tzefira’s grasp. She fixes her sleeve and walks alongside Tzefira, matching the warrior’s quick pace.
“I’ve watched these citizens carefully and I know that the majority of them won’t attack you. Those that would attempt violence will be kept in check by Timoran’s presence,” Tzefira assures Nyx. They stop to let a wagon filled with helmets and breastplates roll by, the orc driver nodding to his leader. “You’re going to be yelled at, cursed at, and possibly spit on. The worst will be a drink thrown at you. In the face of this, you will hold your composure and do what you did yesterday.”
“You mean my outburst?” Nyx asks with a chuckle.
“Call it what you want, but it swayed the minds of an entire tavern without the use of magic,” Tzefira says. She scratches her face and reaches for her jar of ointment until Nyx touches her scars. A soothing coldness flows from the caster’s fingers, stopping the itch faster than the ointment. “Thank you, Nyx.”
Nyx shrugs and walks a few steps ahead of the mercenary as they cross the camp. Tzefira watches the young woman with renewed interest, noticing the blossoming confidence in Nyx’s steps. She can tell there is a deep fear nestled in Nyx’s heart, but there is an incredibly strong will preventing her from giving in. For the first time since meeting the caster, Tzefira feels like she sees a glimpse of the young woman’s true identity. A curious thought occurs to her and she jogs to catch up.
“Were your parents adventurers?” Tzefira asks, caught off-guard by Nyx’s sudden stop.
“I know very little about my parents,” Nyx replies, avoiding eye contact. “Why do you ask?”
“I was thinking that you have the willpower and heart of an adventurer. Most people like that were born into the life, but I sense that’s not the case with you,” the mercenary politely explains. She moves closer to get Nyx’s full attention. “I should be honest with you, Nyx. I asked Luke about your past when you were asleep. I know the basics of your training and your recent adventures, but nothing about your childhood. I prefer to know as much about my soldiers as I can and childhood stories reveal more than people realize. You can learn about habits, crutches, fears, dreams, old injuries, and so many quirks from those stories. It creates a more detailed picture for me to use when considering your role in my plans.”
“What did Luke say?” Nyx nervously asks.
“He told me to go jump in the swamp,” Tzefira replies with a smirk. “You have a very loyal friend in that boy and I’m sure the gypsy is equally dedicated to you. I get the feeling they would lay down their lives for you without a second thought and I know you would do the same for them. That’s a rare level of camaraderie in this world where all too often an adventurer will abandon another to survive. Still, this doesn’t tell me anything I wouldn’t have learned from our encounter with the krypters.”
Nyx and Tzefira walk in silence amid the tents and bustling mercenaries, all of who stop to salute or nod. Nyx is more at ease as they pass the last row of tents and step on the road to Hero’s Gate. The city is barely two-hundred yards away, its looming walls feeling like they are creeping toward the anxious caster. It is a sensation that she defiantly pushes out of her mind. Looking ahead, she sees a small group of guards taking their positions at the western gate.
“I know very little about my parents,” Nyx softly repeats, holding Tzefira by the wrist to stop her from walking away. “My human father was killed in battle before I was born. I never met anyone who knew him, so I only know he was some kind of a warrior. As for my elven mother, I think she was a simple baker. Our village was destroyed by monsters when I was very little, so my memory is fuzzy. A fireskin named Isaiah rescued me, but he couldn’t save anyone else. He brought me to Rainbow Tower where I was adopted by Cyril and Willow. My magic appeared soon after that and I was trained as Cyril’s apprentice.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your losses,” Tzefira whispers with a gentle sigh. “Losing one’s parents at a young age leaves a deep scar. You grow up wondering about them and you’re never able to recall their faces.”
“You sound like you know the feeling,” Nyx quietly says, holding back a few warm tears.
Tzefira pats Nyx on the shoulder and frees her wrist from the half-elf’s loose grip. “I trust you can get to Hero’s Gate without me. I have a krypter hunt this morning and I’d like to get moving within the hour. Don’t forget to contact Timoran Wrath if he isn’t waiting for you at breakfast.”
Nyx watches Tzefira walk away until the mercenary disappears among the tents. Taking a deep breath and straightening her back, Nyx turns toward Hero’s Gate and heads toward the intimidating wall. She stops when the guards draw their swords, but most of them quickly drop their weapons to let her approach. The few that keep their blades trained on her make no attempt to get within striking distance.
“I was hoping one of you could tell me where my friends are staying,” Nyx says, bowing to the guards and flashing them a warm smile. “They’re the young forest tracker and the blue-haired gypsy. I was told to meet them for breakfast and then I have to meet with Timoran Wrath. He’s been asked to keep an eye on me while I’m in Hero’s Gate. You really don’t want to keep him waiting.”
“Poor Timoran finally got a bad assignment,” one of the guards claims with a hearty laugh.
“I should be offended by that,” Nyx mutters. She sees a few of the guards smirk and realizes her voice was louder than she expected.
“Our apologies, but you’re not very popular here and the person who has to guard you will have a difficult time,” another guard politely explains. He snaps his fingers at the guards with their weapons drawn and they swiftly stand at ease. “As for Timoran, he has been shown a lot of favoritism by Lord Highrider. It’s entirely well-deserved, but we get so few chances to tease him that we need to seize the opportunities when they appear.”
“I’ll be sure to make his assignment as difficult as I can without causing your city any grief,” Nyx promises with a playful smile. “Now, can you please tell me where my friends are staying?”
“They’re staying at Timoran’s apartment while he bunks in the barracks,” the talkative guard replies, pointing toward the north side of town. “If you make the third left and follow the road, you’ll come to a building with a helmet sign. His room is three flights up and six doors to your left. I should warn you that Timoran got your friends out of jail after they started a bar fight. They might be sleeping off the alcohol.”
“Thanks for the directions,” Nyx says with a tired sigh.
The guards let Nyx to pass, but none of them move to open the door for her. She pushes it open with a barely audible grunt and lets it slam shut behind her. The busy citize
ns of Hero’s Gate try to ignore her as she swiftly walks along the edge of the road. She can feel their eyes subtly bore into her, so she focuses on what she is going to say to Luke and Sari when she finds them. She is not very surprised that her friends got into trouble considering Luke and Sari always set off each other’s playful nature. She grins at the memory of Sari pushing Luke too far in Haven, which resulted in a day of messy, exhausting chores around the town. With any luck, their time in jail will make them behave and they will stop forcing Nyx to act more like their mother than their friend.
After an uneventful walk, Nyx arrives at the helmet-signed building, pausing at the sight of the guards milling about the front door. They look at her with expressions ranging from anger to curiosity to blunt apathy. As she enters the building, Nyx pulls out her necklace to rub the amethyst between her fingers. Her nerves on edge, Nyx takes the stairs in twos and threes until she gets to the third floor. The hallway is empty as she counts the doors, stopping in front of Timoran’s room.
“It’s Nyx,” she says as she gently knocks on the door.
A minute passes without an answer, even though Nyx is sure she hears someone mumbling and moving. The voice is faint and melodic, which means Sari is still in the room. Nyx knocks again with a little more force, earning an obviously male groan and the muffled sound of a pillow striking the door.
“It’s time for breakfast, so deal with your hangovers and let me in,” Nyx demands. She repeatedly knocks on the door for a few minutes, her strikes getting harder as her frustration grows. With an angry shout, Nyx kicks the wooden door and bounces away after a rush of pain shoots through her foot.
“What in the world am I doing?” she asks herself with a roll of her eyes. Nyx gently places her hand against the doorknob and focuses her aura on the lock. She can feel invisible strings grow from her palm, slip inside the keyhole, and wrap around the inside bolt. With a slow, steady movement, she pulls the bolt out of the doorframe and the door swings open.
Nyx is about to gloat in a loud voice, but she stops in mid-step. Her eyes lock on Luke and Sari who are naked in bed, their clothes scattered across the minimally furnished room. The pair are barely awake with Luke’s arm draped over Sari’s shoulders and his face partially masked by her curtain of hair. Sari nuzzles Luke’s forearm like a content cat until she reaches back with her other hand and stretches. Nyx can only assume that the gypsy’s hand is on Luke’s, most likely, bare butt. A mischievous expression crosses Sari’s face, but she pauses when she sees Nyx staring at them.
“Good morning,” the gypsy cheerfully says.
“What happened last night?” Nyx calmly asks.
Before Sari can answer, Luke’s eyes flutter open and he sits up to get out of the gypsy’s hair. He glances down at the bed and shrugs when he sees that Sari is naked. It is when Luke senses the warm sheets on his bare skin that his eyes grow wide and he jumps out of bed. His panic explodes when he sees Nyx staring at him, causing him to swiftly grab the nearest article of clothing for cover. Unfortunately, it is Sari’s dress, so he looks even more ridiculous.
“I have no idea what happened,” Luke blurts out, his face red with embarrassment.
“I’m guessing you two had sex,” Nyx states. She is unable to hide her amused smile at not being the one caught naked. “I heard about you two getting into a bar fight, but I never expected to find you like . . . this. I would say you kissed and made up, but this goes so far beyond that.”
“There was a kiss,” Sari slowly says, trying to remember what happened. “I kissed Luke by surprise, we fell back, and then everything went black.”
Luke inches toward his pants as he thinks back to last night. “I remember that too. I think we knocked our heads together and passed out. We couldn’t have had sex after that, especially with all the Ifrit mead and wild rum we drank with Timoran. That stuff is tasty, but rough.”
“Trust me, Luke, we didn’t have sex,” Sari assures him. She slips out of bed and takes her dress from Luke before he is done putting on his pants. “If we did anything like that, you wouldn’t have forgotten and you would still be smiling.”
“Timoran gave you wild alcohol after you’d been drinking ale in a tavern?” Nyx asks, her temper starting to flare. “That barbarian must be an idiot if he let you lightweights near those drinks. Experienced drinkers know not to go from tame brews to the heavy stuff in the same night. People have been hospitalized for trying to make the switch in one night without sobering up first. You two are a pair of lucky idiots.”
“I don’t think he meant any harm, Nyx,” Luke feebly insists. “He was only being a good host while he listened to our problems.”
Nyx shows no sign of having heard Luke, a crown of fire growing from her ebony hair. “Then he leaves you two here naked and unsupervised. That’s just asking for something stupid to happen. The least he could have done is put one of you in a cot or clothed you. Instead he puts you in the same bed.” Nyx turns on her heel and heads for the door. “I’m going to have some words with my bodyguard.”
Sari glances at Luke to whisper, “Should one of us stop her?”
“My skull feels like it’s about to burst through my eye sockets,” Luke replies, rubbing at his aching temples. “I won’t stop you from chasing her down and trying to calm her, but I’m useless for now.”
“I’m sure Timoran will be fine.”
******
Nyx is calmer by the time she reaches the long, brick building that acts as the city barracks. Now her mind is clear enough to realize that Timoran is not entirely at fault. The barbarian has proven to be a kind and helpful person in their two brief meetings, so it is more believable that Sari convinced him to share his alcohol. Luke would have gone along considering he has very little knowledge of alcohol and is too polite to refuse a drink. Still, Nyx is sure she should punish Timoran for letting her friends wake up in a confused, naked state. A mischievous idea forms in her head as she enters the barracks and strolls up to the front desk.
“Excuse me, but I’m looking for Timoran Wrath,” she says to the bored halfling sitting behind the desk. “He’s been assigned as my bodyguard and I have some errands, so I would like to take him with me now.”
“Sir Wrath should be in the lounge,” the halfling tells her without looking up from his paperwork. He points to his right where Nyx can see a distant sign with a simple chair drawn on it.
“Thank you.”
Nyx cracks her knuckles as she walks down the hallway, ignoring the guards that are nervously staring at her. She gets slightly flustered when an elven warrior steps into the hallway wearing a loose towel, but he leaps back into the changing room as soon as he sees her. Nyx can hear several of his friends laugh at him and pelt him with wet towels.
“Timoran!” Nyx shouts as she steps into the lounge.
The large room is dotted with tables, couches, and chairs that were obviously donated since none of them match. Two bay windows take up the back wall and the other walls are covered in portraits of fallen guards. A small kitchen is set in the far corner where a dwarf is making some pancakes. Nyx scans the faces of the resting guards, who are confused and a little annoyed at the sudden intrusion. Only Timoran stays in his chair and cautiously stares at the half-elf, a few beads of sweat trickling down his nose.
“Is there a problem, Nyx?” he asks, his deep voice shaking slightly. He slowly gets to his feet and approaches Nyx, his hands held out to show he is not armed.
“I just came from visiting my friends,” Nyx replies, crossing her arms and tapping her foot on the ground. “They were naked. All I could get out of them was that you gave them Ifrit mead and wild rum. They said they passed out and woke up naked in bed together.”
“I assure you, Lady Nyx, that they were fully clothed when I placed them in bed,” Timoran declares, gathering his courage in the face of the angry caster. “I will admit to giving them the drinks, but I warned them to drink slowly. They did not listen and had an accident, which resulted in the
m falling unconscious. I administered first aid and requested that some of my fellow guards check in on them every hour.” Timoran’s eyebrows arch as he turns to two guards sitting on a nearby couch. “You were the ones I asked to check on my friends. Please tell this young woman that they were clothed when you saw them last.”
“Uh, they were both naked when we checked on them,” claims the male guard. The female guard urgently nods in agreement, inching away from the barbarian looming over them. “We swear on Ram that was how we found them, Sir Wrath. I know we play tricks on each other, but we’d never involve people outside of the guard unless they agreed to help. Maybe they stripped in their sleep because of the alcohol or woke up to get naked and . . . do stuff.”
“My friends being naked isn’t the point,” Nyx interrupts before Timoran can respond to the guards. “I’m annoyed that you let them get into that position after bailing them out of jail. They obviously can’t be left unsupervised. What were you thinking, Timoran?”
The barbarian grabs a wooden chair and moves it to a table for Nyx to sit down. He pushes her in and sits in a plush chair across from her. Nyx leans back with her arms crossed and patiently waits for his explanation.
“Your friends were having an argument, so I offered my council,” Timoran calmly explains, placing his elbows on the table. “In my culture, we drink when we give council. I made sure to give them half-glasses once I saw their tolerance and self-control were low, but I would never deny a drink to a healthy person who requests it. If my actions resulted in problems for you and your friends then you have my deepest apologies.”
“Those two would have ended up in that position at some point,” Nyx assures him, her expression and voice softening. “Still, I don’t appreciate you giving wild brews to my friends. Both of them are very impulsive and when together they have a habit of getting into trouble. I would request that you watch out for them in the future if I’m not around.”
Legends of Windemere: 03 - Family of the Tri-Rune Page 12