Soldiers of Legend

by Stephen L. Nowland

  When backlit by the sun, the light shed patterns across the floor and walls, in a tapestry of light on the otherwise plain interior. The artistry of these people must have been truly incredible to create such tiny scenes embedded in the glass, knowing what they would look like projected to many times their normal size.

  The scene depicted in the multi-coloured tapestry of light was of the construction of Acadia, if Aiden had guessed correctly. Familiar shapes and structures could be seen amidst the surrounding elves, who appeared to be assembling the city with magic instead of traditional labour. What really caught his eye however, was the scene that appeared to have occurred before the founding of Acadia itself. It was hard to understand what he was looking at, but there was fire, death and a light from above borne from some dark star in the heavens.

  Aiden wasn’t the only one captivated by the display, with the others showing varying degrees of respect for the elvish art. It was an impatient grunt from Spartan that brought them back to reality and focused their attention on the centre of the room, where an ornate throne embedded with crystals sat upon a raised dais. Perched upon the gilded chair was a withered old elf draped in the faded raiment of his office. Saying nothing, his face was pale and drawn, and his eyes were coal dark as he surveyed the visitors to his hall.

  Behind and to one side of the throne stood an elven woman, just shy of five feet in height and robed in flowing, faded garments similar to that of the chancellor. She seemed far more youthful than her counterpart, yet there was a hard edge in her bearing that made her seem cold and uncompromising. Her angular eyes and pointed ears reminded Aiden of Mona, Colt’s paramour from the Calespur ranges, although Mona was easily a foot taller than any elf Aiden had seen within Acadia since their arrival.

  “Criosa, Princess of Aielund,” the aged elf in the throne spoke in a dry and husky voice, his accent thick. “I am Lomir, Chancellor of Acadia. Our enlightened friend Spartan has spoken eloquently of you, and I bid you welcome on behalf of all who dwell in our city. I did not know if you would respond to our invitation.”

  “Thank you for your kind words, Chancellor Lomir,” Criosa replied formally, “and also for your invitation. I offer greetings on behalf of myself and my father, Seamus Roebec, King of Aielund. I found the prospect of a civilization hidden with the centre of our lands intriguing, chancellor, and could not in good conscience refuse such a magnanimous offer.”

  “Yes… quite,” Lomir replied coldly. Although Criosa didn’t miss a beat, Aiden suspected her reference to these lands as belonging to Aielund had prompted the diffident response.

  “I am filled with a sense of sorrow for the state of your once-great city, Chancellor,” Criosa went on smoothly. “I had hoped to find a vibrant community here, only to discover the faded remnants of an ancient people. I have a hundred questions and more concerning this place, but I will start with something pertinent. We seek allies to aid us in a battle against an implacable foe. Thousands are gathering on the southern border of our country in preparation for this conflict. I have seen power here I scarcely knew was possible, and so I would ask if you are able to provide aid to our cause, please, do so.”

  “Our purpose here prevents us from interfering with the concerns of those outside our borders,” Lomir explained indifferently.

  “I must confess to being rather confused,” Criosa replied. “Spartan rather cryptically mentioned you wished to speak of an exchange of services. What prompted you to break centuries of isolation by bringing us here?”

  “Isolated we may be, yet we see much of the surrounding world,” Lomir said with heavy words. “We have some few allies who keep us apprised of smaller details unseen through our arcane art. Spartan is our most recent aide and he has served us well. Although dragons are not known for their peaceful dealings with mortals, he has proven to be a powerful asset over the decades.”

  The woman behind Lomir had said nothing, yet Aiden could see her large green eyes had not left Sayana since the start of the meeting. The sorceress practically squirmed under her scrutiny, and Aiden wondered if her elven blood was a benefit or a problem in their current situation. Despite the undercurrent of tension, Lomir continued speaking to Criosa as if nothing were amiss.

  “For years, we have sought a very specific kind of aid from the outside world, focusing our will and our vision to the task. Our agents have been unable to locate any sign of hope… until now.” He spoke to the dragon in the elven tongue briefly, seemingly asking a question, and received a slight nod of confirmation from Spartan. Lomir’s gaze drifted across the small group until it finally settled upon Aiden. His eyes narrowed and he felt self-conscious, until he realized Lomir was using the same sort of magic he used to sense the presence of magical auras.

  “Come forth, young warrior,” Lomir said, beckoning with one finger. Cautiously, Aiden stepped forward until he stood beside Criosa, a few feet from the withered elf. To Aiden’s surprise, Lomir arose from his throne and stepped forward, graceful despite his apparent age. When he stood before Aiden, he suddenly reached forward and grabbed him by his gauntleted hand and stared at the ancient device.

  “How did you come by this relic?” Lomir asked, his grip strong despite his physical atrophy. There was a terrible intensity in his voice which was previously absent.

  “I discovered it in an abandoned underground sanctum,” Aiden replied quietly, unsure of the relevance.

  “Can you make it work?”

  “Yes,” Aiden confirmed hesitantly, glancing at Criosa who didn’t have any advice for him. Aiden went through the motions that activated the ancient gauntlet, and within moments a dull hum could be heard, accompanied by a surge of strength through Aiden’s body. The reaction from Lomir was astonishing — he breathed a few words in elvish and turned to the woman, who rushed over to see for herself.

  “You are able to read these glyphs, yes?” she asked of Aiden, equally astonished by the display.

  “Mostly,” Aiden said, “although my knowledge of the language—”. Before he could finish his sentence, the woman pulled Lomir aside, and the two of them spoke quickly in their native tongue. Their body language seemed to hint at desperation — about what, Aiden could not know.

  “What did you do?” Criosa whispered in his ear, to which he answered with a bewildered shrug. The two elves spoke with each other for a little while longer, then finished their private discussion and returned to the meeting.

  “Forgive our rudeness,” Lomir said, his tone somewhat more respectful than before. “This is my confidant and arch mage of the city, Gwynne Sudina.”

  “We are pleased to make your acquaintance,” Criosa offered, attempting to regain control of the conversation.

  “The relic you bear, Sir Aiden, belonged to an enemy of all civilisations, whose name we will not speak aloud,” Gwynne said, all but ignoring Criosa. Her voice was aged like a fine wine, despite her youthful appearance. “We had our doubts as to your usefulness, despite Spartan’s assurances, but we see now his purpose in bringing you here.”

  “I don’t understand,” Aiden responded.

  “Suffice it to say, your worth to us has been confirmed,” Gwynne explained, her eyes alight with excitement that had been previously absent. “Your arrival here at this time is fortuitous in ways we will explain momentarily. To answer your original question, princess — I believe we may be able to aid you after all, and if our information is correct, you will need all the help you can get.”

  “I am very pleased to hear that, though I find the implications of your words troubling,” Criosa replied politely.

  “What information are you referring to, exactly?” Robert interjected suspiciously.

  “I could describe it to you, though it is better to see for yourself,” Lomir replied ominously, stepping to one side and casting his gaze to Gwynne. The arch mage extended an open palm before her and whispered an incantation. Aiden touched Criosa on the elbow and gently guided her a few steps backward, in case something untoward took pla
ce.

  A soft orange glow descended from the ceiling, and lit a large circle upon the floor, which was made of highly polished black glass. Aiden and his companions gathered around the edge as a scene sprang to life before them. It was almost like looking through a window, so real it seemed, and Aiden surmised that it was in fact some sort of vision.

  “What I am showing you here is happening at this very moment, for this building was constructed to permit remote viewing of distant places in real-time,” Gwynne explained, her face softly illuminated by the orange glow. The scene was that of a desert, with hot winds blowing sand across the dry surface in patterns that were only visible to those looking from above.

  The view moved closer towards the ground, to where a figure could be seen trudging through the sands. Aiden thought it was a man travelling through the desert, but as their point of view moved in closer, a feeling of dread came over him as he looked upon the familiar iron warrior relentlessly marching across the wastes.

  “There it is,” Aiden murmured, looking down upon their enemy. “The Ironlord.”

  “We have been monitoring it ever since it emerged from the Aether,” Gwynne said, her eyes transfixed on the vision. “Hundreds have already perished in a futile attempt to destroy it, and many more will surely die unless it is stopped.”

  “Doesn’t look all that tough to me,” Robert grunted. “With a proper defensive plan, the army we’ve already gathered should be enough to drop it. Thanks for the visual, though, chancellor. This little meeting hasn’t been a total waste of our time.”

  “How can you speak so casually about something that has plagued the land for centuries, destroying cities and entire civilizations?” Nellise challenged.

  “They clearly didn’t have a proper strategy for dealing with it,” Robert replied casually. “I’m willing to bet a gold sovereign all those primitive cities just sent a long line of brave soldiers to their deaths, hoping to overpower the thing. I’d like to see how well it fares against modern siege weaponry.”

  “There is more,” Gwynne interrupted, adjusting the vision’s point of view once more. Now they could see the Ironlord from the front and all of the lands behind it. To their collective astonishment, they could see at least a dozen similar constructs stomping along through the sands in its wake, marching in lockstep with their master. The sands under their feet seemed to be dotted with the bleached bones of thousands of long-dead people, which broke under the relentless strides of the metal soldiers.

  “Okay… that changes things a bit,” Robert breathed as he took in this new information. Even as they watched, another golem clawed its way out of the sands and joined the others.

  “It is awakening the Iron Legionnaires,” Gwynne explained with a tremor in her voice, “arcane constructs of legend, designed to protect the ancient city of Sohcareb, now lain to waste and buried beneath the poisoned sands of the Hocarum desert. It is unknown how many of these golems survived the destruction of the city, but any that remain mobile will come to the Ironlord’s call. This, in fact, is how it came to be named.”

  Aiden recognized the metal creatures from his dream of the Battle of Fort Highmarch, and knew the destructive power they could bring to the fight. They were in more trouble than he had previously thought.

  “It is walking with purpose through that wasteland,” Sayana observed shrewdly. “Adjust our vision so we can see where it is going.” Gwynne complied, and their point of view moved until they were practically looking over the Ironlord’s shoulder. Jutting out of the sand ahead of the monster was a number of artificial structures, perhaps the rooves and pinnacles of buildings that had mostly been buried in the sands over the years.

  “I suspect it is simply calling up more legionnaires on its way across the old city,” Lomir surmised. “Once it has gathered enough allies, it will likely turn north towards Highmarch.”

  “How can you possibly know that?” Pacian asked, entranced with the scene before him.

  “Because a century ago, it attempted to break through into Aielund with the intention of destroying the nation,” Lomir replied grimly. “Once it starts a task, it does not stop until it is complete. Being banished to the Aether only delayed its mission.”

  “Something is happening,” Gwynne interrupted, pointing down at the rubble surrounding the Ironlord. It had stopped before the ruins and around its feet the sands began to vibrate. Suddenly, a large chunk of stone emerged from the sands, as if an ancient building were being lifted up by some unknown force. More shapes began to emerge, until the structures of the building itself began to rise up high over the landscape.

  It became obvious what they were seeing was not the resurgence of an ancient city, but rather a massive construct, ten times the height of the Ironlord itself, which slowly arranged itself to stand before its new master. It was basically humanoid in shape, like most golems, but its exterior was marred by massive dents and scars. Its bulk was immense and otherworldly in design.

  “It is the Lassitus,” Gwynne remarked, trying to keep her voice under control, “the last guardian of Sohcareb. When all other defenders had fallen, it stood alone against the Ironlord. They clashed for a day and a night before it finally fell, but the ancient engine is tougher than I would have thought.”

  “Is that thing going to work with the Ironlord now?” Sayana asked, clearly alarmed at this development.

  “With its masters dead, there is nobody else left to command it,” Gwynne confirmed. “I don’t know how it is possible, but our situation has become more tenuous than I first thought.”

  “Okay, now we’re in trouble,” Robert growled despondently. Criosa had a somewhat different reaction.

  “Whatever you desire of us,” she said quietly as her shaking hand reached out for Aiden’s. “Whatever it is you want us to do, we will do it, if you will but aid us.”

  “Agreed,” Lomir replied in a way that made Aiden wish Criosa hadn’t made that offer.

  Chapter Nine

  Later that same night, they all dined in the hall of the Chancellor of Acadia under the soft luminescence of strange, yellow lanterns arrayed around the chamber. Spartan was the only one absent, choosing instead to hunt in the nearby forest for his dinner.

  Two servants brought out platters of fruits, salads and roast venison, along with some kind of herb bread that filled the room with a tantalizing aroma. They ate in silence for a time, for the magnitude of what they had witnessed in Gwynne’s vision weighed heavily on them all.

  Aiden had thought the monsters in the dream he had shared with Salinder would not be involved in the coming fight, but clearly his speculation had been incorrect. Dozens of the ancient contraptions had been buried beneath the sands, simply waiting for a command to call them back to service. It was the height of irony that those constructs had been built to defend the old world against the Ironlord, yet were now enslaved to it.

  Lomir ate sparingly from his modest plate and spoke of idle things with Criosa, the sort of topics one would consider polite to discuss at the dinner table. Gwynne ate in silence, though her eyes constantly drifted to Sayana throughout the meal. The sorceress grew increasingly flustered by this behaviour until she could stand no more.

  “Why do you keep staring at me?” she blurted, glaring at the elven wizard. The idle chatter around the table immediately vanished as all eyes turned to her. For once, Sayana didn’t seem to care that she was the centre of attention.

  “Forgive me,” Gwynne replied quietly. “I found your countenance familiar. Clearly you have inherited the blood of our people and I am wondering who your parents were?”

  “I don’t think this is an appropriate conversation to be having—” Nellise started to say, most likely to give Sayana a polite exit from the impeding topic. To Aiden’s surprise, the red-haired woman interrupted her.

  “No, I want to resolve this right now. My father was Kerik White-wolf, of the Akoran mountain people and I never knew who my mother was, save that she was of elvish blood. Does my ha
lf-human nature offend you?”

  “No, though I do find it intriguing that your mother is not known to you,” Gwynne remarked calmly. “Can you recall the image of her face?”

  “Vaguely,” Sayana replied dubiously.

  “Hold it within your mind, if you please,” Gwynne continued. Sayana’s attention seemed to turn inwards and a moment later, the arch mage held out her hands and whispered a soft incantation. A shimmering visage of a kindly woman’s face, with long red hair appeared over the oak table. It was clearly an elven woman, judging by her angular eyes and pointed ears, but the most astonishing thing about it was the uncanny resemblance to Sayana.

  “How did you do that?” she whispered, staring at the visage of her mother.

  “Your mind is an open book to me,” Gwynne replied. “If you have time, I will teach you how to shield your inner thoughts from people such as myself.”

  “She looks sad,” Pacian said, pointing at the image. There was a catch in his voice that Aiden picked up on, most likely to do with the tragic death of his own mother, years ago.

  “I don’t know why, but this is the last memory I have of her,” Sayana replied simply. “She was killed by the ignorant men of Akora — that much I know. Perhaps she saw it coming and was saying goodbye to me.”

  Gwynne was looking at Lomir. The chancellor stood up from the table and stared at the face for a long moment, then turned to Sayana.

  “You are the daughter of Sarissa Arai,” he stated with icy coldness. “She was exiled from Acadia for breaking our most sacred law.” His leaden words hung in the air, stifling all levity from the room as Gwynne dispelled the offending visage.

  “You threw her out for taking a human lover?” Sayana asked incredulously. “Are you so ignorant, so racist...” Her words trailed off as Lomir left the table and stalked around to where she was sitting. Sayana reflexively raised an arm, as if to ward off any attempt to harm her. With surprising strength, he grabbed her by the arm, unstrapped the bracer she wore as part of her armour and threw it to the floor. He then pulled back the sleeve on her arm, revealing the intricate tattoos that flowed over most of her body.