Legends of Windemere: 03 - Family of the Tri-Rune

by Charles E Yallowitz

  Tzefira takes a bite of the pear and feels the watery juice flow down her throat. “I learned that already. Anyway, we should leave that problem for when we get back to Hero’s Gate. I don’t like that we’ve been out here all night and found no sign of Conrad. Do you think we should go back or keep searching?”

  Timoran takes a deep sniff of the air as he munches on his pear. Luke tears off a piece of the hare to eat, blushing when his stomach roars. Tzefira patiently waits for one of them to answer, but they continue enjoying their breakfast in silence. She can tell that Timoran is thinking about what to do next by the way he glares at the sky. She guesses the barbarian has been unable to pick up Conrad’s scent again and Luke cannot find Conrad’s tracks, which have been devoured by the murky swamp by now. Tzefira smiles at the thought of trying to recruit Timoran and Luke into Salamander Army. This setback aside, the combination of their tracking skills would make an impressive scouting party to position at the head of her army. Unfortunately, hiring Luke would mean bringing on Nyx and she does not want her daughter entering the difficult life of a mercenary.

  “Would you three stop sitting around and moping?” Nyx asks in exasperation as she leaves the willows. “Let’s move out, so we can finish off the krypters and I can get away from this place. I have more important things to do than waste my time in a swamp with a trio of long-faced housemaids.”

  “She’s definitely Kevin’s daughter,” Luke whispers with a grin.

  “With the added threat of my temper,” Tzefira says while she watches Nyx flex her fingers and juggle a few fireballs. A smile of pride crosses the scarred elf’s face. “My daughter could conquer the world.”

  “If she does not blow it up first,” Timoran mutters with a mouth full of bog hare and water pear.

  *****

  “I was wondering when I’d visit my first lost graveyard,” Nyx says with a nervous laugh before Tzefira clamps a tight hand over her mouth.

  “Keep your voice down,” the mercenary urgently whispers. “We don’t know what’s out there.”

  Luke and Timoran ignore the brief exchange as they scan the eerie landscape that is still cloaked in a thinning fog. The swamp opens up to a vast graveyard that Tzefira swears is not on any of the maps of the area. Scattered about are gnarled trees with white moss hanging from their leafless branches. Most of the gravestones have been reclaimed by the swamp, their carvings eroded by wind, rain, and time. A few areas have been completely covered by water, causing several wooden coffins to float on the surface and gather plants on their cracked covers. One of the nearby coffins has a skeletal arm sticking out of a hole, but the limb is only a jagged-edged stump due to something biting the rest of it off. A low grunt from a hidden predator startles a flock of black-feathered vultures that surge into the sky and patiently circle until they feel safe enough to land. Several of the vultures look in the direction of the four intruders, the birds’ eyes shining an unsettling white before returning to their natural yellow.

  Luke taps Timoran on the arm and points to where the thickest gathering of fog is starting to clear. They can barely make out the silhouette of a large structure with twisting spires and an oddly-shaped roof. As the fog vanishes, they see it is a huge mausoleum that is missing sections of its roof. The sun bounces off a few remaining shards of a stained glass window, broken long ago by a storm. Several giant lizards are crawling around the face of the building, preparing to enjoy the warmth of the sun as it cuts through the remaining fog. Luke squints when he notices there is a strange look to the walls of the mausoleum, but he is too far away to see any details.

  “Do you sense any krypters?” Timoran asks Luke in a low voice. “Are they the vultures or those big lizards?”

  “They’re all over the place,” Luke answers through clenched teeth. His ears and eyes strain to scan as much of the area as he can. “A lot of them are disguised as insects and frogs, but I think they’re asleep because they aren’t moving. Their steady breathing reminds me of something sleeping instead of a predator waiting to pounce. The only active krypters are the large reptiles on the mausoleum. As for the vultures, they’re not krypters, but their heartbeats are odd. I’ve never heard a heartbeat move so quickly without fear or excitement involved. Though, they could be natural, given the dangers of their territory.”

  “If they are not krypters then I believe they are lycanthropes,” the barbarian claims. He watches the vultures and nods his head in agreement with himself. “They are were-vultures. You can tell by how they walk more like a man than a bird. Were-vultures are not aggressive and will leave us alone as long as we stay away from their offspring. I have a feeling they were here before the krypters and they successfully defended their territory. There are usually a lot more of them in a flock, so they took heavy losses in the fight. They might help us if a fight breaks out with the krypters, but I would not depend on it.”

  Tzefira pulls Nyx behind her as she leans in to join the conversation. “Can we move forward or are we in trouble?”

  “We should be able to reach the mausoleum without a problem as long as we move carefully, silently, and Nyx avoids casting magic,” Luke replies, crouching down to press the moist earth at his feet. “The ground gives a little more than I expected for a swamp, so there are probably sinkholes to worry about. I can take the lead on all fours and guide us around those areas, but it’ll be slow going.”

  “I don’t like this place,” Nyx mutters, rubbing at her arms and looking around the graveyard. “Something doesn’t feel right and it isn’t the krypters.”

  “I have to agree with Nyx,” Timoran says, kneeling down so everyone can hear his concerns. “There is an acrid smell in the air, but I see no source. We must stay on our guard, especially Luke, who is going to be in the most danger. I will take the rear guard position with Nyx between me and Tzefira. I know you are a strong woman, Nyx, but without your magic, you are the most defenseless of us. Also, if things go wrong, you have the power to escape and return with Lord Highrider and the knights.”

  “I don’t think knights would do well here,” Luke quietly mentions, continuing to press on the malleable earth. “This area is a deathtrap for anyone in platemail. The pools are deep and the sinkholes would lead to tight shafts filled with water. The krypters only need to knock the knights into the water where they would drown or get eaten by predators. Lord Highrider couldn’t take them further than where we’re standing now. If you have to leave us here, Nyx, tell him to bring archers, lightly armored warriors, and priests instead of knights. The heaviest armor I would suggest is a chainmail shirt like the one Tzefira has on and that’s pushing it.”

  “Got it, but I’m not going to leave you guys,” Nyx adamantly claims while Luke starts to crawl forward.

  “You might not have a choice,” Tzefira tells her, turning to follow a few yards behind Luke. “Let’s move before trouble finds us.”

  They quietly follow Luke as he crawls along the ground, his arms pushed out ahead of him to test the moist earth. Tzefira and Timoran keep their weapons out while cautiously scanning the sides of the path, their eyes always returning to Luke. Nyx tucks her hands into her pockets to help fight the temptation to cast magic. Feeling useless, she focuses entirely on Luke, whose movements remind her of a creeping spider. It is an amusing thought that nearly makes her laugh, but she is quick to bite her lower lip until the sensation fades away. She blushes when Timoran leans over her to see what caused her odd, jerky movement. He smiles and pats her on the head before returning his attention to their surroundings.

  Everyone stops when they hear a gentle splash to their left, but Luke watches their right instead. Timoran points his axe at a glossy hump rising and disappearing under the water, the faint image of a tail fin below the surface. Everyone holds their breath as a large form swims under the path, pushing the ground a few inches into the air. When the creature passes underneath their feet, a large, smooth-skinned tail emerges from the water. It crashes down to send a wave of hissing swamp
water over the small group, leaving them drenched and reeking of sulfur. The stench brings tears to Timoran’s blue eyes until Nyx gives him a scented handkerchief to hold over his nose. Luke watches the barbarian for a few silent seconds then goes back to leading them around the gravestones.

  They get a few yards further before Luke presses a section of ground and nearly topples through a sinkhole. Tzefira dives and catches his ankle, helping Luke scramble back to the solid part of the path. His breathing is ragged and he looks too terrified for them to believe he found a simple shaft of water. Tzefira crawls forward to look into the hole, her right hand tightly gripping Luke’s forearm, who braces himself. Her eye widens and she mutters a curse when she sees the churning liquid far below. Sticking her head into the hole, she can see that most of the graveyard is sitting on tightly packed earth ranging from several yards to a few inches thick. The only solid piece of ground is under the mausoleum, but the yellowish green liquid is slowly eroding the pillar. A strange system of earthen pockets runs along the ceiling, which Tzefira guesses is why the graveyard still has pools of water. She wrinkles her nose when a sulfuric belch erupts from the lake of acid below and she tightens her grip to let Luke know to pull her up.

  “Move extremely carefully, Luke,” Tzefira whispers, her lips against his ear. “I can’t tell if there are more sections of fragile earth along the path. Give me some rope and tie one end to your waist. I’ll give my end to Timoran who will pull you up if you fall.”

  “At least we know what that horrible smell is,” Luke says with a forced smile. He pulls a long rope out of his magic pouch and ties it around his waist. He blushes when Tzefira takes the rope and makes an extra two knots. She squeezes his shoulder and hands the rope to Timoran, who looks at Luke with an expression of calm confidence. The forest tracker feels a sense of relief when Timoran wraps the rope around his left hand and clenches his fist. Luke glances at the gaping hole in front of him and carefully crawls around it to continue on his way.

  After another hour of making progress by agonizing inches, Luke abruptly stops and drops to his belly. He waves for the others to join him by a tight collection of tall moss-covered gravestones and white-leafed bushes. Everyone finds a small gap in their cover to watch two figures talk on the other side of a shallow pool. Nyx and Luke recognize the cloaked form of the Lich, who has his back to them. His companion is a fat-nosed gnome who repeatedly runs a dirty hand over his bald head. The gnome’s clothes are garishly colored with bright yellows and greens beneath thick smudges of oil. The annoyed look on his face makes it obvious that he is tired of listening to the Lich. The tense intruders can barely hear their enemy’s words when a strong, mysterious wind blows in their direction.

  “-is still around and not helping me,” the Lich complains with a voice that has reached a high-pitched whine. “Find him and send him to me, Nyder.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” the gnome snaps in exasperation. “Nobody tells him what to do except the master. If he wants to help you then he will. It isn’t like he’s going to destroy a plan that he started.”

  “You have no proof of that,” the Lich quickly contends, wringing his boney hands. “I know he wants to embarrass me. He never liked me to begin with, so he has been sabotaging my plans. I know he was the one mutilating animals around Visindor Forest in an attempt to bring Selenia’s attention to me.”

  “Then accuse him and be done with your whining,” Nyder says with a roll of his eyes.

  The Lich clears his throat and looks away from Nyder’s bored stare. “That would not be wise.”

  “Guess you aren’t as stupid as I thought,” Nyder claims, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “I have some very important, time-sensitive experiments to work on, so I would like you to get to the point. I swear I will send Yola to help you if you tell me you only wanted someone to complain to.”

  “One of my agents in Hero’s Gate has given me a curious report,” the Lich gleefully declares. “It seems the gypsy’s power is growing faster than the others. I believe she’s reaching a point where her control will be minimal at best. We may be able to push her into a situation that causes her self-destruction or even the destruction of her friends.”

  “What are these powers and where is this agent?” Nyder asks with a voice full of doubt and annoyance.

  “Unfortunately, my agent had the misfortune of being eaten by the krypters upon her arrival,” the Lich begrudgingly answers. He glares at the sound of a cicada to his left. “I attained her report by capturing her spirit before it could depart. All she could tell me is that the gypsy is gaining control over ice. She heard the word naiad, but I know the girl is human. I will have to spend more time interrogating my agent to gather more information.”

  “In that case, don’t bother me again until you finish,” Nyder angrily snaps. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pinch of silver dust. “It’s interruptions and overreactions like this that get you in trouble. If you want any of us to respect you, Tyler, then I suggest you think before you act.”

  Nyder throws the dust into the air and it creates a swirling portal that he steps through. The portal noisily swallows him and vanishes in the blink of an eye. With a muttered curse, the Lich turns around, casually looking around the area with a frown. His red eyes glow brighter under his cowl as he thinks of ways to torture his agent’s disembodied spirit. The thoughts are so enjoyable that he is barely aware of a sudden, unexpected outburst.

  “Monster!’ Tzefira screams as she leaps through the bushes. She thrusts her war staff ahead of her, which parts the shallow pool between her and the Lich.

  “What’s she doing?” Nyx asks. Luke and Timoran are already scrambling to their feet and readying their weapons. “Don’t run in until we know what’s going on. Besides, I’m here to handle the Lich and I can’t do that if I have all three of you in my way.”

  Tzefira leaps at the Lich, spinning her war staff over her head. The Lich mutters a spell and jabs with a clenched fist that detaches from his wrist. The boney projectile strikes Tzefira in the face and she lands in a crouch, blood dripping from her nose. She swings her war staff to take out the Lich’s legs, but her weapon harmlessly passes through his robes. Before she can attack again, he rises above the ground and makes a quick, circular gesture. A circle of acid that erupts from beneath Tzefira, trapping her inside. The ground is about to fall away when the acid transforms into fresh water and Timoran barrels through to tackle her to safety. The barbarian stays on top of Tzefira while keeping his eyes on the hovering necrocaster, who is staring at them with intense amusement.

  “This is an unexpected visit,” the Lich announces with joy. His happiness melts into caution when he sees Luke and Nyx walk into the open. “I’m unclear as to what the point of your pathetic attack was, Tzefira. Such an act of recklessness from a woman with your reputation makes me uncomfortable. Maybe I should destroy you now instead of taking you prisoner. My newest minion should have your mercenaries under his command by now, so I don’t need you as a bargaining chip. Not when I have two champions and the great hero of the guard.”

  “Touch her and I’ll pull your soul out through your eye sockets!” Nyx shouts, pointing her finger at the Lich. Everyone sees a strange quiver run through his body and the glow of his eyes dim slightly.

  “I applaud your ruthlessness,” the Lich admits, slowly drifting to the ground. He grins as the air fills with the noise of angry insects. “Unfortunately, I think you’ve caught the interest of my pets.”

  Luke puts a hand on Nyx’s shoulder while Timoran struggles to restrain Tzefira. He drags the thrashing mercenary toward Luke and Nyx, hoping to avoid being separated if a battle erupts. They watch as krypters appear around them, the slavering creatures shedding their tiny insect forms. Within seconds, the entire graveyard is filled with krypters that inch closer and closer. They stop their approach when the Lich rises from the ground behind Nyx and puts a skeletal hand on her arm.

  “These are my prisoners!” he loud
ly announces with a menacing stare. “I order you to take them to the mausoleum! Do not eat the girl! I will destroy any who try to eat her!”

  “Should I thank you?” Nyx growls, her flesh itching under the Lich’s touch.

  “If you wish,” the necrocaster whispers with a grin.

  *****

  The krypters gather around the mausoleum where the Lich has ordered them to stay. A few of them climb the walls to peer through the windows, but most sit on their haunches with the maddening hope that their master will throw Nyx to them. Every few minutes, more of the creatures arrive from the direction of Hero’s Gate. The only other creatures in the graveyard are the were-vultures, who have retreated to the skies. Occasionally, one of the curious lycanthropes dives low enough to peek through a window, swiftly returning to tell the others what is going on.

  Inside the mausoleum, the floor is littered with chunks of fallen roof and the crushed remains of marble coffins. Swamp plants have grown through cracks in the floor and walls, every surface showing signs of water damage. The remnants of several statues are sticking out from under piles of rubble and the paintings on the walls have long since eroded into oblivion. Several small rooms are attached to the main chamber, but they are too dark to see what lurks behind their splintered doors. Carved into the middle of the chamber’s floor is a flight of stairs leading to a basement. Set into the eastern wall is a long staircase that goes to an attic, which can be seen through the holes in the ceiling. It is on the stairs to the attic that the Lich calmly stands, enjoying the perfect view of his prisoners.

  “This might not be the gift I thought it was,” he quietly mentions to himself.

  “Then let us go!” Timoran shouts from where he is suspended above the floor. Ten thick, sturdy chains have been wrapped around his body and attached to the least damaged parts of the mausoleum.