The Hero of Legend

by Demethius Jackson

  Kelm offered Maebus the first pickings, but he refused.

  “Please, eat something,” Kelm begged.

  Maebus shook his head. “I’m still not hungry.”

  “You’ve hardly eaten anything this entire day. You must keep up your strength.”

  “I can’t, Kelm.” Maebus sat up and walked to the cave entrance. Kelm watched him slouch heavily against the cave opening and peer into the darkening wilderness. Kelm knew Maebus felt isolated and alone, because that was also how he felt.

  Kelm rose to his feet and stepped quietly towards Maebus. Standing beside him, he could feel the heaviness of Maebus’ soul. Or perhaps it was his own weariness projecting upon Maebus. Either way, it was a burden he wished he could alleviate for them both. But the true terror of their predicament was barely within his comprehension. Therefore, he remained silent, simply standing in solace with his brother.

  “I thought I had it all figured out,” Maebus murmured. “I knew—everyone knew— that we would not defeat Damian, at least not in our first battle.”

  Kelm took a step closer.

  “Yet I thought, if only I could buy us time—protect us somehow from the brunt of Damian’s attack—we could see the Warlord’s strategy firsthand, analyze it, and learn from it.” He squeezed his eyes tightly as if fighting back tears. “I thought that with time, we could prepare a greater military attack and overwhelm his Legion. But I was wrong, Kelm. I gravely underestimated Damian’s ability. I’ve lost the kingdom, and we’re not going to get it back.” Maebus rubbed his red, burning eyes.

  Whether they burned from the smoke of the fire or from something deep inside him, Kelm wasn’t sure. He placed a comforting hand on Maebus’ shoulder. “Brother,” he said. “You saved our lives and, in doing so, gave us hope. Although we are currently at a disadvantage, Damian is not invincible. Without the Realmsic Crystal, it will only be a matter of time before his own corruption weakens him. Then we will be able to strike!”

  Maebus pulled away. “And in the meantime, the people of our kingdom will suffer; even more so, thinking that we abandoned them. I can’t accept that!”

  “But we have to. There isn’t any other way…” Kelm paused. “Maebus, you know I’ve always been a believer in faith and destiny. You, on the other hand, have always been pragmatic and rational. I know right now that you are looking at our current situation and are unable to see a reasonable outcome. But be mindful that you are currently fighting two battles—one with Damian, the other with yourself. I need for you to step out on faith with me. I believe in your ability as a leader, and I have no doubt in my mind that we will reclaim this kingdom.”

  “How, Kelm? The man defeated us with his numbers alone! He knew our history, our strategies…”

  He knew our history. Kelm replayed those words in his head.

  His mood suddenly lightened and his body straightened, as though hit by an epiphany. “Yes he did, didn’t he?” He nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes! Now I see.”

  “See what, Kelm?” Maebus released a long frustrated sigh.

  “Okay, think about this…. Aside from his numbers, what makes Damian so powerful is not so much his military might, but how he applies history into his war strategies, right?”

  “Ok…” Maebus answered skeptically, perhaps unsure of where Kelm’s line of thinking was going.

  “Well, perhaps we too should embrace history,” Kelm smiled. He saw Maebus’ head tilt upwards and chin lift as if contemplating Kelm’s words.

  “Use history how?” Maebus asked. “What are you suggesting?”

  “When I was a younger Wizard, I encountered a woman named Fable, who later guided me through my pursuit of Grand Wizardry. Fable is a member of the Archival Order who, as you know, possesses all Realmsic history and knowledge. Perhaps we can use her insight to gain a new perspective on this situation.”

  “So you’re saying you want to talk to a historian? Are you serious?” Maebus asked. Kelm detected Maebus was trying to conceal his growing frustration.

  “Absolutely! But not just a historian, an Archivist! And Fable is the last living member of the Order. If there’s a flaw she can see in Damian’s conquest, or if there’s a tool she knows of that can help us, it’d be worth speaking to her,” Kelm declared. His eyes were as wide as his grin.

  “Kelm! Why didn’t you suggest this before?” Maebus’ chest heaved in anger.

  “Admittedly, I thought about talking to her when we first learned of Damian. But it didn’t seem like a practical idea at the time.”

  “And what makes it practical now?” Maebus asked.

  “Well firstly, we have no army at the moment. Secondly, unless you have a better plan, our options are very limited.”

  Maebus groaned loudly, squeezing his face between his hands. “Fine,” he exclaimed. “How do we reach her?”

  “Fable resides in the Ancient Lands, located east of here. It’ll take us a number of days—probably longer—to reach her. But I believe it will benefit our cause.”

  Maebus exhaled, slowly nodding his head. “Ok, I’m in. I’ll take this journey with you. I’ll ‘step out on faith’ with you, Kelm”

  “Excellent!” Kelm smiled. “A little faith never hurts. Besides, what else do we really have to lose?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Get down!” Councilwoman Elva screamed. The other council members barely had time to leap into the underbrush before several Legionaries sped past them on horseback. Their pounding hooves produced a cloud of dirt that almost made Elva sneeze. No doubt Damian was searching for them. If his Legion hunted with the same tenacity as they fought, they would scour the land for any traces of the King and Council.

  We’re in trouble, Elva thought. Smelling the damp earth under her, she lied still on the ground, concealed by a barberry bush.

  At her age, Elva had become accustomed to a life of continual war. She’d come to accept its hardships. But experiencing life within the midst of battle was far different from life inside the castle, at the seat of power and safety. Now the personal realities of war assaulted her sensibilities. She was cold. Her clothing and hair were soiled. It terrified her to be actively tracked and targeted. Throughout their journey, she’d fought back the voices in her head—the ones that insisted she was too old to be useful to anyone, that hiding in the woods, evading capture, desperately seeking safety would ultimately get her killed.

  She tried to bury her fears in the practicalities of just surviving. What were they to do out here in the wilderness? Her instructions from Maebus were vague at best. They simply said to Lead the council on their journey, and accept the help of others along the way.

  Other than heading southward, which she accepted from Khroy, she knew no other course of action. However, she knew that the rest of the council was equally scared. Somehow, she would muster her courage to guide the group forward, holding on to her trust in King Maebus. She’d watched him grow from a young boy into the leader of the Realm. She’d also been one of the first council members to investigate the threat of Damian when he presented it to them. Therefore, she truly believed that if their kingdom had any chance of surviving, it would be through Maebus.

  Elva inhaled, realizing that her heart was racing. Be brave, she intoned under her breath. She repeated it like a mantra. Her arms trembled as she slightly lifted herself to peek over the leaves of the underbrush, checking for Legionaries. The sounds of galloping horses had faded before she signaled to the others. Her sharp eyes watched as the Legionaries disappeared in the distance.

  “On your feet!” she commanded to the group.

  Council members shuffled and stumbled to their feet with grunts and groans. The group had quickly become accustomed to following Elva’s lead, as she figured no others wanted to assume the responsibility. Throughout the night, they’d so far made good progress despite waiting for a few stragglers who occasionally fell behind due to fatigue. Now, hunger set in as the morning began. But she wanted to get just a little farther away f
rom Centre Pointe before stopping the group to eat.

  The council itself was an interesting bunch. Its members were vastly experienced in military stratagem and magic, though none of them were fighters. Some, Elva reasoned, would be able to hold their own in a skirmish. But against a skilled enemy, the group’s chances of survival were slim. She pushed the thought from her mind with a shrug of her slender shoulders.

  “Hurry all, we must keep pushing southward.” Her instruction was met with more groans as they resumed walking.

  An hour of walking quickly passed with no other encounters with Legionaries. Aside from the box given to them by Commander Khroy, the group traveled with very few items. This allowed them to move swiftly. Hardly anyone spoke while en route. Mostly, Elva listened to the silence, cherishing the breeze as it whistled through the leaves of the high canopy of trees. The morning sun’s rays sparkled beams of light through the branches.

  As she led the way through the South Woods, the husky voice of Councilman Ferst startled her. He stood at her elbow as they beat a path through the brush.

  “Elva,” he said.

  “What is it, Ferst?”

  “Well, I can tell that the uncertainty of our situation is wearing on the group. Answers would be welcomed at this point. Do you know exactly where we’re going?” he asked.

  Elva drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “As of right now, we’re going as far away from the castle as possible.”

  Ferst thought for a moment. His strained face softened and she could see the wheels in his mind spinning in contemplation of something. He cleared his throat before speaking again.

  “I truly don’t mean to add doubt to an already precarious situation, but something doesn’t make sense to me.”

  Elva smiled wanly. “You are one of the most rational members of the council, Ferst. Any insight you have is always welcomed by me.”

  “Well then,” he started, smiling briefly as though to acknowledge the compliment. “Maebus’ plan seems intricate and well thought out. I have my instructions, as I’m sure you do also. But what I don’t understand is why he would direct us to go southward, particularly without any other instruction.”

  For the first time in the conversation, Elva made eye contact with Ferst. His hazel eyes seemed as old and tired as she felt.

  “Perhaps his intention was simply to remove us from harm’s way, in hopes that we would rely on our own devices to find safety.”

  “Hmmm,” Ferst cocked his head. “No. That doesn’t sound likely. What I know of Maebus, he doesn’t like to leave anything to chance.”

  “Wait,” Elva’s posture suddenly straightened with excitement. “Didn’t Khroy mention something about being led by brothers?”

  Ferst thought a moment and then nodded his head. “Indeed he did. But I have no clue what that means.”

  “Neither do I,” Elva’s gaze resigned towards the ground.

  “Excuse me,” said Councilman Windym. While walking behind them, he’d been listening to their conversation. Their eyes curiously followed him as he stepped forward to join them. Elva had always thought his appearance to be rather… interesting. Windym’s long, lanky body was topped by a somewhat overgrown head. Everything about his appearance, from his nasally voice to his long pointed feet seemed awkward. Being the newest member of the council—an administer of military—he’d not quite adjusted to the awe of working with its members, all who were well-known throughout the Realm.

  “I, uh,” he nervously began, “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation, and I think I may… . Ooofff!”

  At that moment, he was shoved out of the way by Councilman Jawn. “Can you believe this?” Jawn huffed.

  Oh, great! Elva pursed her lips. She sincerely did not like Jawn.

  Ferst rubbed his temples.

  “What now, Jawn?” she asked.

  The Councilman scowled at her tone. “The now is that I want to know if I am the only one who feels that this …” He paused briefly to find the right word.

  “…this peregrination through the woods is completely irresponsible?” Jawn loved sounding intelligent. His pointy nose lifted slightly, and his thin mouth grinned smugly at them.

  “Irresponsible, how?” Elva asked, trying hard to maintain a cool tongue. “Do you not realize that we were all in danger? That we absolutely needed to flee the castle?”

  “Yes, I did realize that,” Jawn quickly replied. “But southward? Towards the Hellish South Plains, of all places? Who in their right mind would actually want to go there, let alone seek refuge?”

  Elva said nothing. She wanted to defend Maebus, but sincerely didn’t have an answer to the Councilman’s question.

  “As far as I’m concerned, we’re still in danger!” Jawn whined.

  “Actually, it makes perfect sense.” Ferst said, perhaps realizing the answer to his own previous question. “Think of it as the equivalent of hiding in the open. You’re right, Jawn. Who would actually want to travel to the Hellish South Plains? Not many people, I would imagine. So who would ever think to look for us there?”

  “This is stupid,” Jawn said.

  “You’re stupid,” Elva accidentally let slip. Her hawk gaze exuded annoyance.

  Jawn looked directly into her brown eyes. “And speaking of being in the open,” he continued, ignoring her jab, “why are we traveling as a group? We’re only attracting attention to ourselves.”

  “Oh! Are you volunteering to split from us?” Elva asked.

  Ferst suddenly extended his arms, stopping the council members dead in their tracks.

  Elva followed the direction of Ferst’s frightened gaze. Several feet ahead of them stood a hooded man, who obstructed their path. He glared at them, sword in hand. The man looked rugged and dirty. Elva noticed dried blood splattered about the man’s tattered clothing.

  No one dared to speak or to move. Elva’s heart pounded. Her mind raced with flashes of possible deaths. Were they to be robbed? But they carried no possessions of value. Were they to be killed?

  The man took a slow step toward them.

  “Do something!” Jawn whispered to Elva and Ferst. “There are nine of us. Surely we can take down a lone swordsman.”

  “Indeed, but who among us will suffer the first blow of that sword?” Ferst hissed. Councilman Windym suddenly pushed through them.

  “I will,” he proclaimed, tapping into a courage Elva didn’t realize he possessed.

  “No.” She grabbed at his sleeve, but he brushed her off.

  “I’m tired of being scared.” Windym replied. His voice shook slightly. “I will rush him. When he lifts his sword to strike me, attack him, and then flee.”

  Without another word, he took a step toward the swordsman—toward the certainty of death.

  One foot after another, his pace quickened into a sprint towards the swordsman, who stood several yards away. His council cape flailed behind him, revealing the Realmsic symbol on his burgundy uniform.

  The man assumed a combat stance and began his charge. But no sooner had he lurched forward than he unexpectedly stopped.

  “Halt,” the swordsman shouted, one arm outstretched.

  Windym jolted to a stop. The council collectively gasped when Windym and the swordsman came face to face, only inches from one another. Elva chewed on a fingernail.

  The swordsman seemed to scrutinize the Councilman’s clothing before lowering his weapon.

  His voice drifted to Elva. “Are you a Realmsic Councilman?” he asked.

  Windym stuttered a reply. “Y-yes, I am.”

  The swordsman instantly lowered to one knee.

  “My name is Roan,” he replied. I’m a foot soldier in the Realmsic Army.”

  Windym assisted the man to his feet. Cautiously, the council members joined them. Elva was the first to reach them. Could it truly be? A Realmsic ally? Roan’s clothing were bloodier than Elva had first realized. His bruised, cut fingers fumbled with his sheath as he replaced his sword. Dirt packed his thick, full bear
d and eyebrows. She wondered how long he’d been in the wilderness.

  “Soldier,” she formally addressed the man. “Why are you so far south? Why are you not in battle?”

  “I was in battle,” Roan explained. “But now the battle is over. The castle has fallen, and the King has disbanded our forces.”

  “The King what?” Elva exclaimed.

  Roan said nothing.

  The entire council was stunned into silence. Elva knew that the citizenry and most of the council had put their faith in King Maebus. They trusted his judgment. A strategic retreat was certainly understandable in response to an enemy such as Damian. But to completely relinquish power; dissolve the army; surrender the kingdom to a mad man … such action was reprehensible!

  “No! I cannot believe it,” Ferst stomped his foot hard into the ground.

  “What happened?” Elva asked the soldier.

  “Councilwoman, all I know are my own orders, which were to fight, to temporarily hold off the Legion, and then flee.”

  “Flee to where?” Jawn asked.

  “Nowhere particularly,” Roan replied. “We were just told to scatter, to find refuge until signaled to reunite. But I have no idea when or if that will ever occur.”

  “Where are you off to now?” Ferst asked the man.

  “I’m heading to Trendolyn, a town towards the edge of the Western Nations. My family is there, and I need to be with them during these dark times.”

  The word ‘dark’ resonated with Elva. Realmsic wars, though tragic, had always been typical. Over time, the Realmsic inhabitants had grown accustomed to the chaos. But Damian didn’t play by the typical rules. This plunged the Realm into unknown territory. A ‘dark time,’ Elva agreed, was a good assessment of their situation.

  “Thank you, soldier,” she said. “We will delay you no further from your destination and your family.”