Legends of the Lurker Box Set

by Richard H. Stephens

  Jaxon’s eyes narrowed, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “My father? So, you’ve disowned your family now, have you? Thrown your lot in with…with the dragons!”

  Junior raised his sword, daring Jaxon to draw his.

  Jaxon let his hand fall away from his waist and stepped forward, an accusatory finger in the air. “What’re you going to do? Slay me? Go ahead and try. I might teach you a few things. You don’t deserve to be a Waverunner. Father was right about you.”

  Fully aware of their father’s feelings, it still hurt to be slapped in the face with it.

  “You’re an embarrassment to everything our family stands for.”

  “And what’s that? Tyrannical lechers who slaughter babies because they’re too afraid to take a stand against the real monsters threatening the realm.”

  Jaxon’s sword jumped into his hand. “Treasonous words. They sound like the words of the hill witch. I’d love to—”

  Junior swung his sword, meeting Jaxon’s. Locking blades, they glared at each other. As much as Junior despised his brother, the fact that he was family took the edge off his fury. He didn’t think he had it in him to physically harm Jaxon.

  Considering the evil look he received, he wasn’t sure his brother shared his empathy.

  “I’ll not warn you again. Leave Reecah alone.”

  “Or what?” Jaxon disengaged and struck low and then high—both times defended by Junior’s counter swings.

  Jaxon barraged him with a series of feints and strikes. The power behind his attacks surprised Junior. His brother had learned a lot since the last time they had locked swords on the training grounds. His newfound skills no doubt attributed to time spent amongst the prince’s men.

  He lamented his inability to come up with smart retorts on the spot; not knowing how to respond to his brother’s taunts with words that had bite. He hated getting involved in a battle of wits, whereas Jaxon excelled at it.

  The creaking of the portcullis sounded from the hilltop.

  Jaxon stepped back, avoiding a ferocious swing from Junior’s longer blade. “Ha! Your strength is no longer sufficient to best me. Come on. Let’s see what you got. When I finish with you, I plan on laying my hands on Reeky. When I do…” He lifted his eyebrows twice with a suggestive smirk and ran his tongue over his upper lip.

  Junior’s inhibitions fell away. He hammered Jaxon’s blade repeatedly with everything he had. Although he forced his brother backward, his frenzied attack never came near to scoring a hit. Feeling his arms tiring, he disengaged, gasping for breath. “You ever…lay a hand on her…I’ll kill you.”

  Several members of the Watch gathered where the dock met the shore but made no move to intervene.

  Matching Junior’s heavy breathing, Jaxon flashed his irritating smirk. “Not unless you learn to fight like the prince’s elite.” He nodded at the Watch. “Once these fine gentlemen learn who sent me, they’ll hand little miss dragon lover to me to do as I please.”

  Junior moved on instinct, so fast he had no idea what he did. His sword took Jaxon’s out wide as he stepped into the space between them and smashed his forehead between Jaxon’s eyes.

  White light exploded in his skull, sending him staggering to his knees. Hitting the dock hard, he put his hands over his head expecting to feel the bite of Jaxon’s sword.

  A dull thud shook the dock in front of him.

  Jaxon was sprawled motionless on his back, an expanding pool of blood radiating from beneath his head and dripping between the dock planks.

  Footsteps approached from behind, accompanied by a deep voice. “Bind him! He’s killed one of Prince J’kwaad’s men.”

  The Maiden of the Wood

  Tamra shook out her wavy locks, thankful she had adopted shaving the left side of her head. Flying dragons was torture on hair that had a penchant for tangling itself in the slightest breeze.

  Lurker and Swoop had flown ahead in an effort to keep hidden from the group of humans travelling up the coastal road while Silence settled behind a steep hill to let her dismount.

  Not one for words, the purple dragon asked, “You sure you’ll be okay?”

  A rare smile crossed Tamra’s scarred complexion. “One can never be sure how life will deal with us from one moment to the next. Am I scared? Hardly. Concerned? Yes, but that’s only common sense. I’ll be as okay as the moment allows.”

  “If they can treat Reecah’s friend that way in front of her, I can’t imagine what they might do to someone who demands they explain themselves. I should come with you.”

  “And throw away any chance of me speaking rationally to them? No. Your presence will make matters worse. For Raver and Reecah and Junior.”

  “I don’t like it. How can you be certain he’s still alive?”

  “I’m not, but there’s only one way to find out. From what you told me, his death will crush Reecah, and yet, she doesn’t appear too upset by his capture. That concerns me.”

  Checking her weapons, Tamra hiked up the hill. Nearing the summit, she crawled the rest of the way and waited.

  Swoop reported seeing Raver suddenly drop to the ground—the victim of an expertly tossed slingshot. The man responsible had retrieved his body and stuffed him into a burlap sack.

  Tamra bided her time, running a whetstone along the edges of her axes. She smiled at the sentiment many elves expressed as she lovingly tended her weapons. More than once someone had said to her, “You spend so much time cleaning and sharpening them, perhaps you should marry them.”

  Each time she had forgiven their impertinent remark and replied, “Take care of your equipment and it will take care of you.”

  Movement from down the road forced her to her stomach. Reecah’s group came into view—the bald man with a massive battle-axe strapped to his back in the lead. From the way Reecah had spoken of the weapon master, Tamra relished the chance to have a go at him. It had been a long time since anyone had given her any real trouble.

  Staring through the grass, she spotted Reecah and Junior walking together in the middle of the group. A man carrying a burlap sack, presumably bearing Raver, walked behind them.

  Tamra clenched her axe handles tighter. Something wasn’t right. The way Reecah carried herself made it appear that she wasn’t the slightest bit concerned about her friend stuffed in the sack.

  Though still a long way off, the absence of Reecah’s dragon magic jarred Tamra’s sensibilities. It was like Reecah Windwalker’s heritage had abandoned her.

  “What is it?” Silence’s voice sounded far away and broken. The distance between them made it difficult to communicate.

  “Something’s not right with Reecah.”

  “I’m coming!”

  Tamra held up an axe to stay Silence as the dragon prepared to take flight at the bottom of the hill. “No. I sense a trap.”

  Not caring about remaining hidden any longer, Tamra stood. Straightening her furs and leather armour, she strutted down the front of the grassy knoll to confront the group. It was time to find out what was going on.

  Swords were drawn and arrows were held at the ready as the group from South Fort laid eyes on her.

  Tamra stopped in the middle of the road, axes in hand. The bald-headed man held up his hands for the group to stop and walked forward to meet her—a tough-looking fighter on each side of him. She had heard of the weapon master’s reputation, but had never met him before. Rumour had it he was the child of a dwarf-giant coupling. A strange arrangement for sure, Tamra thought as she scanned the three men’s hands and eyes, taking note of their subtle mannerisms as they considered her calm demeanour.

  The leader pulled his battle-axe over his shoulder and held it across his waist; eyes locked on her axes held beside her thighs. “M’lady. Who do we have the pleasure of meeting out here in the middle of nowhere?”

  Tamra walked toward the man, conscious of his tensing muscles. “I’m here to speak to GG.” She made to go around the trio but the leader stepped sideways, hoisting his
axe.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t think you understand—” He raised his axe in defense, his face agog at the speed at which Tamra attacked.

  The man deflected her right axe with the head of his own—sending Tamra’s axe head bouncing out and down, but he couldn’t prevent her left axe from splitting the haft of his weapon between his hands. He barely pulled his stomach back in time.

  Before he had a chance to comprehend his difficulty, Tamra’s first axe carried its momentum down and around in a blurred windmill, its blade cleaving his head in two.

  Gore splattered his shocked companions as they stepped away from the confrontation in disbelief.

  Tamra’s fluidity of motion never faltered. She swung her axes out sideways in unison, burying their spiked counterbalance into the helpless men’s chests.

  An arrow zipped past her head.

  She pulled her axes free and turned her attention on the group of men and women running at her.

  She leaned sideways as a second arrow flew past her chest. Lowering her chin and narrowing her eyes, she prepared to meet the man leading the charge. Raising his sword high, he hollered an incoherent battle cry and chopped down, throwing his body weight behind the attack.

  Tamra’s left axe deflected his sword, sending it out wide. She spun with his forward momentum and severed his spine with her right axe—the blade cleanly exiting his crumpling body before it became entangled.

  She kept spinning, delivering a backhanded axe chop to the next attacker’s cheek, taking the bottom half of the female’s face off.

  The group surrounded her, obviously nervous about getting too close to her deadly axes. Several bows and a couple of spears penned her in—the spears suspiciously like the heavy shafted ones used to penetrate dragon scales.

  Tamra kept her axe heads in front of her, observing the men and women from between their raised edges. She located the woman with the tight braid, brown tunic and green pants. Though pretty in her own right, she wasn’t Reecah. Nor was the blonde-haired man beside her, Junior. They had been duped into following the wrong group; Reecah and Junior had presumably gone somewhere else.

  Stepping toward Reecah’s imitator, Tamra wasn’t the least bit distracted by the sight of tightening bowstrings. “Where’s the one you call GG?”

  Comprehension registered on the man pretending to be Junior. His chainmail lacked the luster of Junior’s and his surcoat wasn’t exact, but she had to admit, he looked convincing enough from a distance.

  “You’re the Maiden of the Wood,” Junior’s lookalike gasped.

  “And unless someone answers me, you’re all about to die,” Tamra snarled, searching the group for the man carrying the burlap sack.

  An arrow loosed from behind her, the close-range shot burying itself in her furs and piercing her boiled leather jerkin. She staggered under the hit, her glare latching onto the red-bearded man responsible.

  Without a word, she strode toward him as he frantically strung a second arrow.

  A man with a sword and a woman with a single axe similar to Tamra’s, but smaller, stepped out from either side of the bowman.

  The woman swung first.

  The swordsman followed suit, expecting Tamra to sidestep the axe chop. Tamra’s forearms recoiled and unleashed their burden so fast neither man nor woman made a move to stop the whirling axes from biting into their faces. Before they hit the ground, Tamra grasped the handles—wrenching them free in time to smack away the point of the bowman’s arrow as he raised it to shoot her.

  The archer watched in horror as his arrow flipped away. By the time he looked back, his head left his neck.

  An arrow thwapped Tamra in the back, below her left shoulder blade, followed closely by a heavy spear tearing into her furs—its tip deflected by her armour but the weight of the dragon-slaying projectile made her stagger.

  Another arrow took her in the back of the thigh, dropping her to one knee.

  Two men charged in to attack her exposed backside. The first man’s chest met the spiked end of her left axe as she released it into the air behind her.

  The second man sidestepped to avoid his companion’s collapse.

  Tamra spun on her knee and severed his planted leg, mid-shin, dropping him screaming to the ground.

  A curved dagger appeared in Tamra’s left hand so fast the injured man didn’t see it coming as she plunged it into his chest.

  Another spear churned up the ground at Tamra’s side but no else made a move to close in on her.

  She estimated there were still over a dozen adversaries to be dispatched if she hoped to survive. Judging by the increasing immobility of her left leg and the searing pain in her shoulder, she doubted she had the fortitude to survive them all. The archers and spear throwers concerned her the most, but for the moment, they appeared content to contain her, allowing their melee weapon brethren to finish her off.

  A large smile crossed her pain-laced face, her apparent madness giving her attackers pause.

  Three shadows fell over the circle. Before anyone but Tamra knew what was happening, Lurker, Swoop, and Silence dropped out of the sky like an avalanche—each dragon pummeling an archer beneath them as they hit the ground hard.

  Silence charged forward and stood over her. Those who were brave enough to close in on Tamra, backed away in alarm.

  A hastily thrown spear deflected off Silence’s scales behind her wings.

  Lurker roared so loudly that Tamra feared the din would rupture her eardrums—his angered gaze on Reecah’s imposter. The sound instilled terror in everyone, slowing their response.

  Through pain-laced eyes, Tamra searched the remaining assailants for the one holding the burlap sack. It wouldn’t be long before they realized the dragons weren’t old enough to breathe fire.

  Swoop jumped and landed in front of an archer fumbling to nock an arrow to his bowstring. A wobbling burlap sack sat at his feet. Raver’s muted squawking rose above the commotion.

  Seeing Swoop’s interest in the sack, the archer raised his heavy boot and stomped down hard—silencing its contents.

  Swoop roared. Mouth open wide, she clamped her jaws around the archer’s midsection and shook hard before releasing his lifeless body in a bloody heap at her feet.

  Silence extended her wings and flapped twice, lifting off the ground.

  Sharp talons wrapped around Tamra’s arms and hoisted her into the air—Silence’s grip excruciating but she cared not. Seeing the death of Reecah’s pet bird had affected her profoundly. It struck her as silly. It was only a bird. Silly wasn’t a condition she liked to associate with herself.

  Fighting hard to retain her hold on her axe, she spied her second axe embedded in the chest of a man who struggled to remove it while lying on his back—his leather armour dark with blood.

  She reached out and missed. “My axe!”

  “Take her!” Lurker commanded.

  The battle scene rapidly diminished. Dangling from Silence’s claws, the wind threw her hair into her face. Fraught with concern over Lurker and Swoop, she was helpless to render them aid.

  Her body spasmed in excruciating pain and her vision blurred. Sensing she was losing consciousness, she screamed to vent her frustration. Her friends needed her.

  At least she thought she screamed. As the ground dropped away, so did her grasp on reality.

  Her last vision was of Lurker and Swoop roaring together at those who remained alive. The men and women who had been dispatched to draw them away from South Fort.

  The group appeared to have recovered from their initial shock of having three dragons fall into their midst.

  Her last image was of the group closing in on Swoop and Lurker.

  Ancient Magic

  Devius stood in the middle of his wizard’s chamber, pouring over the contents of an ancient tome; the leather cover cracked and faded. The book lay at the base of an eight-sided brass bowl inscribed with runes similar to the ones Reecah had seen in Grimelda’s Clutch.

  She studied t
he bowl, at first believing it to be the same one, but its edges were unblemished. Grimelda’s had suffered damage to the pointed vertex between the south and southwest edge. “Where’d you get that?”

  Devius touched a fingernail to the viscous liquid within. A series of ripples radiated to the centre, narrowing to a point and disappearing as they reached the midsection. “This is a powerful artifact. Handed down from one high wizard to the next for as long as history recalls.”

  “I’ve seen one just like it.”

  “Aye. I wouldn’t be surprised.” Devius nodded, her statement interrupting whatever he was doing. “Your great-grandmother showed it to you?”

  “No. My great-aunt.”

  Devius’ shaggy brows knit together. He cast her an odd look. “Your…?” Comprehension softened his wrinkled features.

  “Ahh, Kat’s other daughter. Yes, that makes sense. Where is this bowl now, hmm?”

  The name, ‘Kat,’ threw Reecah, reminding her of Catenya. She swallowed her dislike for the noblewoman. “It was destroyed in a great fire.”

  Devius stiffened.

  “The people of Fishmonger Bay murdered my great-aunt. They burned her house to the ground with her in it.” Just speaking the words made her tremble.

  Devius cupped his bearded mouth, pinching his lower lip. “Only two of these scrying bowls were ever created. Forged centuries ago, deep within the bowels of Dragon’s Tooth.”

  Reecah had heard the name, Dragon’s Tooth, before. It was the name given to a solitary mountain somewhere in the northeast of the Great Kingdom, if she wasn’t mistaken. A mountain higher than any in the land.

  “The first wizard and the first Windwalker formed an alliance. A mutual pact to oversee the alliance between dragons and people with the hope that they might coexist in peaceful harmony. The future generations of wizards were to represent mankind, while the Windwalkers—predominantly elves from South March, were entrusted by the dragons to act on their behalf.”

  Devius arched his back as if to stretch out the kinks. “Anyway, the scrying bowls are identical in every way. They were forged by lava fire. Not even dragon fire burns that hot. If the twin to this bowl was involved in a fire, I assure you, it survived.”