Legends of Windemere: 03 - Allure of the Gypsies Read online

  Legends of Windemere:

  Allure

  Of

  The

  Gypsies

  Copyright © 2012 by Charles Yallowitz

  Kindle Edition

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design & Illustration by Jason Pedersen

  Legends of Windemere

  Beginning of a Hero

  Prodigy of Rainbow Tower

  Dedication

  To everyone who has entered Windemere

  And left their mark upon its soul

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Prologue

  Dawn has barely emerged when the deadly Weapon Dragons swoop from the sky and wake the gypsy caravan with their steely roars. The smoky, metallic hides of these beasts drip fresh dew upon their prey as they attack. Gusts of wind from their immense wings flip over wagons and smash tents against the trees as the two dragons circle the caravan. The monsters wait for panic to set in before landing and lazily slaughtering the gypsies with their mouths and claws. Within minutes, the gypsy wagons are nothing more than shattered wreckage. Bodies of small children and the elderly, who were hiding inside the wagons, are scattered across the devastation. The warriors of the caravan are beginning to organize when a quake passes through the battlefield. Women scream as zombies rise from the moist earth. The undead horde shambles toward those who were lucky enough to escape the dragons. Over half of the gypsies are dead before the sun finishes pulling free of the horizon.

  “Sari!” shouts a young gypsy, running amid the chaos. A blood-soaked cutlass is in his hand, which he uses to cut his way through the zombies.

  “Kayn! What are you doing?” an older man asks. The man is using a crude spear to fend off a pack of zombies. Kayn rushes to his aid and beheads the zombies with quick slashes of his cutlass.

  “I am sorry, elder, but I am looking for my partner,” Kayn admits. His green eyes constantly scan the area from beneath his mop of brown hair. “She was with me when the attacks began, but I lost her in the crowd.”

  “I have not seen her, but you should not worry. Sari can take care of herself and you have a greater responsibility,” says the elder with a dry cough. “You are our greatest warrior, Kayn. Please remember that there are those in our clan who cannot defend themselves. Sari would understand if you chose to protect the entire clan instead of her alone.”

  A deafening roar erupts from a woody outcropping before the razor-edged wings of an Axe Dragon cuts the trees down. The bulky beast of metal and wood rampages, spewing a cluster of spinning blades from its mouth. The blades roll along the ground and chop up everyone in their path before they disappear into the woods.

  “I understand, elder. Please give me your spear,” Kayn requests. The young man swiftly hurls the simple weapon toward the lumbering dragon. The spear strikes and pierces a piece of amber in the dragon’s head, causing the monster to stop in mid-thrash and crash to the ground.

  “These false dragons are nothing if you know how to defeat them,” the smiling elder laughs.

  “Again, I give you my deepest apologies, elder. I forgot my place and clan during this chaos,” Kayn whispers, placing a hand on the old man’s shoulder.

  “You are forgiven,” the elder says with warmth in his eyes. “I forget that you are still a youth because of all the hard times you have seen us through. I trust that you can see us through this one.”

  “I will find those who lead these monsters,” Kayn swears. “May you live to dance another night.”

  Kayn turns away from the elder and sprints toward the sound of the second dragon. A few zombies feebly attempt to stop him, but they are quickly cut down as the gypsy rushes past them. Kayn keeps an eye out for his missing partner among the dead. Every second that passes without seeing any sign of her drives him mad with anger and desperation. He is barely able to control his rage by the time he reaches the clearing where a short figure in mottled chainmail yells at the narrow-bodied Sword Dragon. Kayn hisses a sigh of relief through his gritted teeth when the gold-winged beast rises into the air and leaves the field of battle.

  “You can fight me now,” the grinning soldier announces. He turns in Kayn’s direction with a wicked gleam in his brown eyes.

  “Halfling fiend! Call off your monsters!” demands the gypsy.

  The halfling eyes the gypsy as one would look at a yelping puppy. “Who might you be, boy?”

  Kayn grits his teeth and stares proudly at his enemy. “I am the champion of this clan. We have done nothing to you. I demand that you leave us alone.”

  “Well now, the champion stands before me,” the halfling says, amused by the youth. “Honor forces me to introduce myself to my opponent. I am General Vile and I am afraid I cannot leave.”

  “Then, I will have to kill you,” Kayn growls.

  Vile lets his grin fade into a stern expression. “Correction. You will have to try to kill me. I am an old and seasoned halfling, boy. A whelp of a gypsy like you could not handle my abilities.”

  “You will have to kill me to get to the rest of the clan,” the young gypsy announces. He dashes at the halfling with amazing speed, but a metallic blur blocks the slash of his cutlass. Kayn steps back to see that the halfling’s shortsword is still sheathed at his side, the only sign of the enemy’s movement is a footprint of matted grass.

  “Care to try again? I will go slower this time,” promises the halfling.

  Kayn juggles his sword from one hand to the other. “You mock me.”

  “I merely want to extend my entertainment. I get very few challenges at my age,” Vile admits with a sigh. “Now, please attack me again. Try to make your moves faster and less predictable.”

  Kayn quickly slashes at Vile’s stomach, but an armored gauntlet effortlessly deflects the cutlass with an echoing ping. The gypsy uses every maneuver he can imagine against the halfling, but all of his attacks are blocked. The wind changes and he can hear the dying screams from the camp while the halfling continues to toy with him. The wails from his people help to fuel Kayn’s rage as he attempts a final attack on Vile. Kayn presses the dull edge of his cutlass against his forearm. The gypsy roars before he makes a running slash at his opponent with as much strength as he can muster. Flicking his wrist at the last second, Kayn flips the curved edge of the cutlass toward Vile’s throat.

  “Impressive,” states the halfling, ducking under the attack and rolling between Kayn’s legs. The gypsy drops his weapon in defeat when he feels the tip of Vile’s shortsword against his back.

  “Go
ahead and kill me. I have failed to protect my clan,” Kayn announces, his tired arms hanging at his side.

  “You fought better than I had expected. Be thankful that you die with honor,” Vile says with a soft voice. A searing pain in the halfling’s shoulder stops him from executing the gypsy. Vile and Kayn turn to see a gypsy girl with flowing, dark blue hair standing at the edge of the clearing. Breathing heavy and looking scared, she stands ready to throw another knife at Vile.

  “Sari! Run!” Kayn screams as he tackles the soldier. An armored fist knocks the young man to the ground. A shuddering breath is the only sign that Kayn is still alive as a bleeding bump grows on his forehead.

  “Very stupid, boy,” grunts the halfling. “You may have saved that girl, but you should have been more concerned with your own hide.” He lifts his sword to stab Kayn in the head when a delicate, icy hand grips his wrist.

  “May I interject?” asks a naked woman. She lets go of Vile and shakes his sweat from her palm. Her bare skin is a chaotic swirl of black and white. Her light green hair is pleated and runs down to her knees.

  “Feel free, Yola Biggs. It is not my place to deny the Goddess of Chaos,” Vile replies. He shakes his hand, which has gone numb from the woman’s cold touch.

  “I must be brief,” Yola whispers, scanning the carnage around them. “The other gods might find me and take me to be sealed. The punishment for breaking the law of influence is harsh. So, I must be brief.” She stands and smiles before the halfling, who waits for her to continue speaking.

  “And?” he finally inquires.

  “And what?”

  “Why will you not let me kill the boy?”

  “I already told you.”

  “You said you would have to be brief.”

  “I was brief.”

  “My apologies, Queen of Chaos,” Vile says in mock politeness. “Your . . . beauty distracted me. Could you please explain it to me again?”

  “Well, I do have that effect on you,” Yola claims with a flirty flip of her hair. “You must not kill this boy. He is very skilled for a mortal of his age, which is why our master believes he is one of the chosen champions. We must take this boy alive and study him. To this end, I have been sent to escort the captive back to our master.”

  “I see. Then, he is all yours,” agrees Vile, sheathing his blade. “Do I have any other orders?”

  “You are to remain here in the area and continue killing the gypsies until all of them are dead. We have taken all that we need from these nomads, but we do not want them interfering with our plans,” Yola replies, easily hoisting Kayn over her shoulder. “Nyder and the others will be arriving in an hour to discuss our next set of actions against the Callindor and Nyx. Those two weigh heavily on our master’s mind.”

  “I understand,” Vile says with a firm salute.

  Yola beams a sweet and sour smile at Vile. The halfling blinks and the goddess is gone without a trace. He takes a deep breath and pulls out a glowing sling as he wanders toward the delicious screams of the dying gypsies.

  *****

  “About time you three arrived,” Vile calmly says. He keeps his back to the purple portal that has opened behind him. “I had to send the zombies a few miles to the south in order to draw away some soldiers, but more of them are on the way.”

  “Then, we will have to talk quickly. Has the Lich arrived?” asks a bald gnome dressed in a dark yellow shirt and lime green pants. He pushes his narrow glasses up his bulbous nose before crossing his hairy arms.

  “I am here, Nyder,” whispers the undead caster before he rises from the ground, the smell of rotting grass choking the air.

  “That was unnecessarily dramatic,” Trinity mutters, raising her head to the sky. The chaos elf takes a deep breath as she feels the warm sunlight caress her smooth, cobalt skin. Beams of light reflect off her forehead gem until she lets her head fall forward and her black hair covers the violet jewel.

  The Lich boldly declares, “The queen of the chaos elves has no right to call me overly dramatic.”

  “How long have you been down there?” Vile asks suspiciously.

  The Lich cackles in amusement. “I witnessed the entire thing.”

  “You lazy grunt. You could have helped,” the halfling angrily snaps.

  “Are you saying that a warrior of your caliber needs help defeating a band of gypsies?” Trinity teases. She smiles playfully at Vile until he smiles back.

  “I’ll be a dead halfling long before I need help from that rotting caster,” Vile proudly swears.

  “Enough! I have to give all of you the orders from our master before those soldiers arrive. Do you have anything essential to report, General Vile?” Nyder inquires, reaching into his shirt pocket and pulling out a dollhouse chair that he casually tosses to the ground. It grows into a full-sized, wooden chair, which the old gnome gladly uses to get comfortable.

  “I have captured the potential champion who has been taken to our master by Yola Biggs. The rest of the attack went as planned with every wagon and almost every gypsy being destroyed. Thanks to the zombies there are no identifiable bodies left for spirit scrying,” reports the General, standing at attention with his hands clasped behind his back. “Only two things occurred outside of the plan. One is that the Axe Dragon was destroyed and the guards have already teleported it away for study. I would have stopped them, but I could not reveal my position.”

  “I would not worry about that relic, Vile. Many people have taken my creations over the years, but only one person has ever been able to comprehend them,” Nyder assures the halfling. His brow furrows as he suddenly remembers an old adversary. “Thankfully, that gnome is dead. It was a glorious combination of his loyalty and our plans that put him in the grave. I must remember to celebrate his death upon returning to my factory.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy, Lord Fortune,” Trinity admits.

  “Fritz Warrenberg was the only gnome to be considered my equal. The gnome was a genius and wasted it trying to improve the world. I only wish that I could have witnessed my rival’s demise outside of a scrying spell. Still, I am not a warrior and he was barely aware that I wanted him dead,” rambles the gnome. He stops and clears his throat when he feels the impatience of his allies. “I digress. That episode of my life is in the past and celebration is in my future. You should celebrate with me, dear Trinity. I have a vast collection of wines from all over Windemere. It is better than that swill your people drink.”

  Trinity rolls her eyes in exasperation. “I have told you before that my people are not brewers. We do the best we can with swamp plants and tree roots.”

  “This conversation is pointless. What was the other problem that occurred during the battle?” questions the Lich. He glides out of the sunlight and into the shadows of a large elm. The leaves immediately begin to wilt and patches of bubbling black appear on the bark.

  “As I already stated, not every gypsy was killed. One of them escaped,” Vile admits with a mildly apologetic expression. “It was a girl who attempted to assist the champion. I was forced to let her go in order to subdue our target. I have found no evidence that she was killed by the zombies, so it should be assumed that this gypsy girl is alive in the forest.”

  “A single gypsy is inconsequential. We will come back to that minor problem if we have time. Our master demands that our attention be focused on more immediate dangers,” states Nyder in his best authoritative voice. “As you all know, our attempt to assassinate Luke Callindor failed because the poison worked slower than expected. This gave his friends a chance to save him. We are not aware of the reason why the poison was not as effective as anticipated and Nimby has disappeared without a trace. Our master has decided that Nimby will be hunted down at a later date.”

  Vile smiles proudly and laughs at the sky to get everyone’s attention. “Do not bother. My son did what he was trained to do. He went into hiding to avoid being captured by the enemy. The reason we cannot find him is because he does not
want to be found. Our best course of action is to let my son reveal himself at his own choosing.”

  “Why hide from us?” the Lich asks.

  “Nimby might fear that we will kill him since he is no longer useful. He isn’t too far off from the truth,” Trinity replies, pulling her black hair into a ponytail. “If we attempted to use him against our enemies, he would be captured or killed on sight. At least, he was able to shake the Callindor’s ability to trust other people. Even the boy’s remaining friends might come under his suspicion.”

  “Such a thing would be a boon to us, but I will not hold my breath. Luke has shown himself to be very adaptable in and out of combat. This brings us to the problem that our master wishes for us to handle,” Nyder explains, stretching his legs until his knees pop. “Two of the destined champions now travel together. We must kill at least one of them before they find any other champions. Our master believes that Luke is the easier target because Nyx is too powerful. It would be very difficult to get past her magic without using up too many of our resources, but Luke is a swordsman with no magical abilities or weapons. Our master feels our best course of action would be to slay him during a full-scale battle. In the middle of a large battle, Nyx and Aedyn would have a smaller chance of rescuing him.”

  “You’re saying that either Vile or I should handle it?” inquires the chaos elf with a raised eyebrow.

  The gnome sighs and holds out his empty hands. “Do not take my statement about Luke being weaker than Nyx as a reason to believe that he is not dangerous. Luke’s skills with a sword are great and he still has unlocked potential. Vile would be a bad choice because there is a chance that Luke could physically overpower him and we are not willing to risk our great strategist. Vile's orders are to return to Shayd and amass an army from our pits.”

  “I shall put together a great army to lead in our master’s name,” swears the proud General.

  “You are not to lead the army or be directly involved in the coming battle. Instead, I will be fitting you with a telepathy helmet and you will guide the army through the body of a new Sword Dragon,” says Nyder, his voice very calm in the face of the annoyed halfling. “We will wait until Luke arrives at a place where there are many people for him to protect. As previously observed, this will cause him to be less concerned about his well-being than if he was alone. Vile will design a strategy that makes it look like we are after the people around him, but Luke will be our true target. It should be done with caution and precision. Do you understand, General Vile?”