The Hero of Legend

by Demethius Jackson

  “Thank you,” Kelm replied. He clasped hands with both Elva and Ferst. “I ask you all to be strong. You will get through this.”

  Kelm left them, hurrying away down the left corridor of the T-intersection. The hurried footfalls of the council members were all he heard as they fled to the right.

  They’ll be fine, he tried to convince himself.

  From the end of the left-side corridor, Kelm ascended the staircase several stories to an upper portion of the castle. The wide area was once used to store inventory during the castle’s incipient years. However, a mysterious fire had left it vacant and unvisited ever since. Kelm entered cautiously.

  Approaching a giant door at the far end of the open room, he pressed his weight against the door’s massive metal handle and entered a dimly lit alcove. Aside from several dusty suits of armor arranged like battle-ready phantoms around the room, the space was vacant. Kelm snapped his fingers and produced a small flame in the palm of his hand. Suddenly, he realized that he’d not been in this room since he was a small child with his mother. Remembering his last visit, he instinctively walked over to one of the stone walls and placed his free hand against its surface. His fingers vibrated as he searched for a trace of energy only he would know.

  “There!” he breathed, finding the invisible spot on the wall, like a single ray of light shooting through darkness.

  Pressing the weight of his body into the wall, the Wizard mumbled the magical phrase, stillness departs. It was a common spell used for walking through solid objects. Like being absorbed into a waterfall, Kelm passed through the wall.

  A bright light momentarily blinded him as Kelm entered the hidden enclosure. Briskly extinguishing the flame in his palm, he squinted as he approached the emanating Realmsic Crystal. As the illumination grew brighter, his knees buckled. Unexpectedly, Kelm collapsed onto the drab, dusty ground.

  Chapter Nine

  It was the first time Damian had actually seen the Realmsic Castle with his own eyes. Wanting to gain a better view, he balanced effortlessly in the saddle of his silver panther. At his urging, the panther bounded up a steep hill near the castle’s west side, overlooking the battlefield. Dismounting, Damian slid down the animal’s smooth body. His feet thudded onto the ground. Walking to the very edge of the cliff, he stood in awe of the scene unfolding before him.

  The glare of the sun had transformed the day’s blue sky into a crimson color, fitting for war. By the thousands, his legion swarmed the kingdom’s forces, like tidewater eroding sand. Fireballs sailed through the sky, before pummeling the ground with deadly force. Plumes of fire erupted along the castle’s towers, and smoke trailed into the sky like souls escaping the earth. Its walls swayed from the pounding. But Damian knew that the castle’s structure was fused with magic that kept it intact. As battered as it would become, it would never fall.

  The Warlord’s long silver hair felt weighted with the smoky air. He relished the aroma of burnt ashes. This, Damian decided, was his greatest moment. Feeling the raw energy of the Realm’s magic pulsing through his body—through his core—he wished he could hold this moment for life. Here, among wide-scale destruction and death, he’d never felt so alive.

  Damian didn’t flinch when he heard the sound of approaching hoof beats. He’d felt the presence of General Thane and his men long before they were in range for him to hear. The other men kept their distance from Damian, but Thane dismounted and walked towards him. That’s what he liked most about the General: He often threw caution to the wind.

  “Look at it,” Damian called. “A kingdom that has withstood the test of endless conquests could not withstand the test of me.”

  Thane stood next to Damian and observed the battle’s progress. “My Lord, there,” he pointed to a cluster of Realmsic soldiers engaged in hand-to-hand combat with Legionaries. ”The weakest point of their formation appears to be the left side. Our ranks could target that location and shatter their position.”

  Damian laughed. “That’s of no consequence. Our numbers alone will defeat them. The battlefield strategies of the Realmsic Commanders are predictably standard to those of their predecessors. I’ve studied the Realm’s history and their war strategies, and I already know what their army is going to do.”

  “Yet, they fight harder than any force we’ve seen thus far,” Thane rebutted.

  “They only delay the inevitable,” Damian replied. A particular soldier on the field caught his attention. Perhaps it was the soldier’s skilled swordsmanship or the dingy glimmer of his metal armor that seemed remarkably out of place amidst the gore of battle.

  Thane followed Damian’s gaze. “Wait, is he …” He stared in disbelief.

  Damian smiled. “Indeed he is… The Realmsic King.”

  Thane huffed his disapproval. “In all my years, I’ve never heard of a royal fighting on the ground with his men. This King is either extremely brave or stupid.”

  Damian’s eyes narrowed, glowering upon the battlefield. “Tell your men to be vigilant. Perhaps this army isn’t so standard after all.”

  • • • • •

  After being shoved away from battle by King Maebus, Khroy urged himself forward outside the castle’s east guard wall. Alone, he tried to focus upon his current task, but his mouth was desert dry, and his mind ached with worry over his friend.

  I abandoned my King.

  But I was following his orders.

  I abandoned my friend.

  But I was honoring his wishes.

  Lost in the turbulence of his emotions, Khroy could no longer tell where along the east exterior guard wall he currently was. Blood plastered his beard. His clothing was soaked with sweat. His own warm blood was a contrast to the chill he felt on his skin. Khroy rooted in his pockets for the message Maebus gave him after their council meeting. Half-aware of his surroundings, he bumped into Kelm, knocking him to the ground.

  “Grand Wizard Kelm,” he said in alarm. “I’m so sorry.”

  He noticed that the Wizard’s robe was covered in soot.

  “Are you all right?” Khroy asked.

  “I’m fine. Fine. I fell earlier,” Kelm said absently.

  Khroy could tell the Wizard was distracted. Kelm’s eyes darted repeatedly from left to right, and he didn’t possess his usual precision focus. Yet, he didn’t seem to be hurt or in danger.

  “Let me help you.” Khroy said, reaching to help him up from the grass.

  “No, no,” he shooed the Commander’s hands away. After clambering to his feet, he brushed off his robe. “Is Maebus all right? I warned him that it was unnecessary for him to fight.”

  “I told him the same thing. But the King handles himself well in battle.” Khroy began to ask whether he had seen King Maebus from the tower, but realized that the Grand Wizard was back-stepping away from him.

  “My apologies for the abruptness, Commander. But like you, I too have my objectives and must be off.” Kelm yelled, while sprinting backwards. “Complete your tasks! I’ll meet you in the woods afterward, as planned.”

  Kelm disappeared around the curve of the guard wall. Standing alone once again, Khroy resumed examining the crumpled paper from his pocket. After confirming his objective, he began jogging the length of the castle’s massive guard wall. The muffled sounds of battle echoed from the west. Ignoring the urge to join the battle, he rushed to the location specified within the message. As he moved, he focused downward, trying to locate something on the grassy ground, although he was unsure of what exactly to look for.

  After a few minutes, he stopped by the fourth guard tower along the wall, just as the message had indicated. He glanced towards the tower to verify he could not be seen. He imagined the sentries would be vigilantly scanning the nearby eastern hilltops to prevent an ambush. Crouching onto his hands and knees, he roved through the grass—his fingers moving through the individual blades, picking and searching for something unfamiliar or out of place. It didn’t take long for the tips of his fingers to brush against a metal object
protruding slightly from the ground. He ripped at the grass.

  “A handle?” he said aloud. “This must be it.”

  He dug his fingers into the earth, removing large clumps of dirt until a handle was exposed. To his surprise, it was attached to a lid. There was no lock, but Khroy was unable to open it.

  Maybe it’s stuck?

  He drew his side weapon. With the tip of his field knife, he wedged the blade into the ground underneath the lid, but found no crease, or crack, or anything resembling a hinge. The lid was apparently deeper in the ground than he realized. However, the metal didn’t seem thick.

  Maybe it can be pierced?

  Using the metal edge of his knife handle, he bashed the lid with all of his strength. His arm vibrated violently from the impact, but there wasn’t as much as a dent on the lid. Rising onto his knees, he took a deep breath and bashed again, and again, and again.

  Nothing!

  Half-squatting on the ground and completely exhausted, he rested both hands on the lid’s surface. Suddenly, the handle began to glow yellow. Startled, he snatched his hands away, but it was too late. The entire lid turned smoldering red as if heated by fire before disappearing.

  “Oh, fingerprint recognition!” he realized after the lid had vanished. “Kelm must have spellbound the handle to open only with my touch.” The Wizard was a master at building technology fueled by magic.

  Sitting back on his haunches, Khroy muttered to himself, “Would have been nice if someone had told me.”

  With a deep breath, he bent and reached into the hole left by the lid. Inside was a sealed medium-sized steel container. He removed it and examined it, but discovered nothing unusual about the box. Upon shaking it, he heard the clanking of several objects bouncing against the metal interior. After checking the hole for anything else, Khroy sprang to his feet and carried the box to his next listed location.

  • • • • •

  Within the shadowy reaches outside the castle’s guard wall, a cellar door swung open from the ground. One by one, the council members climbed out. As a group, the nine of them huddled together as the battle waged beyond the castle’s opposite side. They felt vulnerable, and terrified for their lives.

  “We’re out!” said Councilwoman Elva. Since leaving Grand Wizard Kelm, she’d been leading the council through the secret tunnels that led to their current location, which appeared to be just beyond the east exterior wall. Elva was the shortest member of the group. But her years of political experience towered above her colleagues. Despite her age, Elva’s blue eyes were still sharp and had seen many conflicts during her tenure. Her long gray hair had been tied into a bun, and her stout frame wore nothing but the burgundy uniform and olive cape traditionally worn by all council members.

  “Great! Does anyone know what we’re supposed to do now?” asked Councilman Ferst. Elva could detect the uncertainty in his voice.

  “I don’t know,” Elva replied. “Kelm only stated for us to exit from the sub-east exit and wait.”

  “Wait for what?” snapped Councilman Jawn.

  Elva sighed. “Pleeeeaaase, Councilman. Be patient. I’m sure all will eventually become clear.”

  Jawn, whose face had grown redder with each labored breath from his pinched nose, suddenly shouted. “No! The only thing clear to me is that we’re in the middle of a war! Alone!”

  Although thin and lanky, Jawn possessed a sharp tongue and abrasive demeanor. Having served on the council for three years, he’d found himself at constant odds with most of the group. Many thought him to be disagreeable, yet Elva could not deny his brilliance.

  She knew that he had never approved of Maebus’ appointment. Having formed a strong alliance with King Theodo, it was no secret that he envisioned himself as his successor. However, the conflict with Damian severely altered his political aspirations. After Theodo’s abandonment, Jawn easily could have assumed the throne. But like the others, he was frightened of the implications of leadership. He watched as Maebus, a fledgling Councilman, took what should have been his. Elva could only imagine the resentment that Jawn harbored towards Maebus, who in reality had nothing to do with the Councilmen not becoming King.

  “Jawn,” Elva began. “I need you to temper yourself. This is already a stressful situation without your constant attitude.”

  The Councilman’s eyes flared wide. “Don’t tell me about my attitude when…”

  Jawn stopped mid sentence as a twig snapped nearby, startling all of them.

  A figure suddenly appeared from behind the curve of the guard wall. “Peace, council, it is Commander Khroy.”

  Indeed, looking like a bear emerging from the shadows, Khroy lumbered toward them. Tension remained high, however.

  With cautious movements, seeming not to want to alarm them further, Khroy held out the metal box he carried.

  “Here,” he handed it to Elva. “Take this.”

  She examined the container but could see nothing special about it. Elva wasn’t even sure how to open it. “What are we to do with it?” she asked.

  “Head southward toward the Hellish South Plains. Follow the hidden symbols. The brothers will lead you to safety.”

  “What brothers?” asked Councilman Ferst.

  Khroy’s lips tightened in response.

  Elva replied instead. “It’s probably best if the Commander does not disclose their identities. If any of us were to be captured during our journey, we’d put whoever they are at great risk.”

  “But we’re already at great risk by taking possession of this mystery box!” Jawn interjected, his voice nearly a whine. “And then what are we to do when we get to the Hellish South Plains, Commander?”

  Khroy shook his head. “What I’ve told you is all I know.”

  “So on Maebus’ word alone, we are to put our lives in jeopardy in the hopes that this… fledgling King knows what he’s doing? This is preposterous!”

  “No. It’s not.” Khroy’s voice was forceful. “The Warlord is shrewd and astute. Therefore, King Maebus wanted not one person to know his entire plan. Yes, the King has asked the unusual...” he paused, as though choosing his next words. “And the impossible. He’s asked all of us to go against our traditions, maybe even against our own instincts. But it is imperative that we trust in his guidance, and in ourselves!”

  “Thank you, Commander,” Councilman Elva interjected. Being a woman of tradition, she too had worries and doubts about Maebus’ unorthodox tactics. However, as the most senior member of the council, she felt a responsibility to put aside her own emotions, to behave as a leader must.

  “This is understandably a tense and delicate situation,” she said. “But as you said, we must trust in each other. As our kingdom has done for thousands of years, we will bond together and we, all of us, will follow the instructions that we’ve been provided.” She gazed pointedly at Jawn.

  Khroy walked towards Elva and gently held her hand in both of his, consoling her.

  “Council, be leery of those you meet,” Khroy advised. “And be cautious of your surroundings. May peace precede you!”

  “May peace precede you, Commander,” Elva said, feeling a glimmer of hope as their gazes locked.

  Khroy took his leave.

  “Looks like we’ve got quite a journey ahead of us,” Elva stated. “Please tell me someone packed supplies?”

  “I did,” Landi said, stepping forward. The young Councilwoman reached for her shoulder bag and opened it. “King Maebus’ message instructed me to gather enough supplies for the nine of us. But it obviously didn’t mention anything about traveling to the Hellish South Plains. I have a good amount of food and a few herbs for medication. But it won’t last the entire foot journey southward. We’ll have to scavenge along the way.”

  “So be it.” Elva placed the mysterious box within Landi’s shoulder bag and tied it closed. “Let’s get moving, people.” she said, dropping her council cape to the ground. She didn’t want it slowing her down. “We’ll head south through the Cent
re Forest!”

  • • • • •

  Maebus barely had time to duck his head before the blade scraped across his helmet. It may have been the mitigated impact of the blow or the flicker of flames created by the blade, but he was temporarily stunned. Falling back a couple of steps, he twisted his torso and shoulder. The Legionarie was thrown off balance by Maebus’ maneuver. He stumbled toward him. Trying to break his fall, the soldier jammed his sword in the hard dirt of the field. For a moment, he was stuck. That moment was all King Maebus needed to continue rotating his entire body 360 degrees and stab the point of his sword into the meaty flesh of the man’s stomach. Maebus yanked on the blade to extract it from the Legionarie’s body. Blood gushed in its wake, bringing Maebus no satisfaction from the deed.

  Staggering forward, Maebus scanned the panorama of violence that encircled him. Men from his army, and those of Damian’s Legion, mortally struggled against one another. The soldiers swung swords, maces and axes, grunting and screaming, tearing at one another’s clothing and flesh. Crucifer fireballs crash all around. Maebus’ head throbbed with pain. He felt overwhelmed, unable to comprehend the images his eyes captured. He nearly lost himself within the madness of it all. A frenzy of writhing bodies sprawled on the ground before the Realmsic Castle, which towered behind them like a mountainous peak.

  Damian’s Legion had pushed the Realmsic Army from the boundaries of Centre Pointe to the very guard walls of the Realmsic Castle. Initially, Maebus knew that his forces would lose the battle; however, he stood in disbelief at just how much he had underestimated the Legion of Warriors.

  Out of nowhere, a streak of white lightning pulsed across the crimson sky, just above the highest tower of the castle. He estimated the source of the lightning had been generated somewhere beyond the castle’s northeastern end. It took Maebus a second to recognize what it was. Then he froze, gazing upward. In that still moment, nothing else mattered. He knew that everything he had planned must be in place.