The Hero of Legend

by Demethius Jackson

  “Look at me,” Normandy continued. “Look at my hands and how strong they are; my tremendous height and physical stature.” He thrust out his hands, flexing his fingers and clutching them into fists. “None of it was enough. I watched the walls crumbling around me and my family. I tried to protect them … my wife … my child. But I … I couldn’t save them. This scar on my face is a reminder of my failure.”

  He pointed to the deep gash that ran from his temple to his chin. There was anguish and fury in his words. “I-It’s still hard for me to talk about it. But ever since that day, the day I lost them, I’ve sworn vengeance against the Warlord. I’ve sworn that all he has, everything he commands, I shall destroy.” His frown tightened and his right-eye twitched slightly from what Kelm could only assume was anger.

  Kelm stood silently as Maebus placed a comforting hand on Normandy’s shoulder. He knew that the pain that Normandy felt, even the guilt he carried for surviving, was similar to that which Maebus bore for losing the kingdom.

  “I thank you, Normandy, for all that you did for us last night, for guiding us to safety, and not least for breakfast this morning,” Maebus smiled. “Where will you be heading after this?”

  “Nowhere in particular. I spend much of my time here in these woods.”

  “Then come with us,” Maebus suggested, rising to his feet.

  Normandy scratched his head. “Where are you going? I’ve heard rumors that Centre Pointe was conquered by Damian.”

  “And we intend to get it back!” Kelm said, stepping towards them. “We’re heading to the Ancient Lands to speak with someone who can help us. We could really use the skills of a woodsman on a journey such as this.”

  The worry in Normandy’s expression suddenly vanished. “Absolutely. I’ll come with you. I’d do anything to stop the Warlord.”

  “Excellent,” Maebus exclaimed, walking over, and patting him on the shoulder.

  Kelm, too, beamed as he bent over to shake Normandy’s hand.

  “I know this area extremely well and can lead you through the Northern Lands,” Normandy said. “Also, knowing the tenacity of the Legion, they’ll likely continue their pursuit of you. I can help to cover our tracks.”

  “How soon can we leave?” Maebus asked.

  “Immediately,” Normandy replied. “But the journey to the Ancient Lands will be long and tedious. We’re going to need supplies.”

  “Especially since we left everything behind last night,” Kelm added. “Well, everything except this.” The Wizard reached down and grabbed Maebus’ battle sword.

  “I thought I’d lost this!” Maebus exclaimed, his eyes wide.

  “No, I know how important it is,” Kelm stated. “It’s really the only thing you have left to remember your father.”

  He handed Maebus the sword.

  “I’m ready,” Maebus said, sheathing it underneath his robe.

  “Good,” Normandy replied. “Further east of here, lying between the mountain range and the ancient boundary is a village. It’s known as Cyperus Village and is home to a clan of nomadic warriors.”

  “Can we get supplies from them?” Maebus asked.

  “Indeed. Granted, I must warn you. The inhabitants of Cyperus aren’t used to visitors. But I know them to be a very civil and courteous people.” He paused, smiling. “Most of the time,” he added. “Before we leave this camp, there are a few items I’ll need to prepare.”

  “That’s fine.” Maebus said. As he tried to step forward, his wobbly leg suddenly gave out. He fell to the ground.

  “Ouch,” Kelm laughed, sprinting over to help him.

  “Your leg appears to be hurt pretty badly,” Normandy noticed.

  “It was broken earlier, but Kelm was able to heal it somewhat before we got ambushed in town.”

  Kelm carefully stretched out Maebus’ leg upon the ground and examined. “You take care of what you need to do, Normandy. I’ll work on this. The leg is mostly healed, so this shouldn’t take long.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Seku knew how to go undetected. He had cultivated a manner of being that allowed him to be as unnoticed as a fly on the wall. Now, from a secluded section of the castle’s dungeon level, he quietly observed the military patrols until he spotted the person he’d been waiting for.

  “Pssst. Ithgu, over here!” Seku hissed at a young soldier who strutted past.

  “Seku! There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you!” Igthu exclaimed.

  Seku greeted him with a secret handshake, the same one he’d used since the youth was a small child. “How’s your patrol going?” he asked.

  “Fine,” Igthu replied.

  “Well, have you been taking care of yourself?” Seku’s tone was fatherly.

  “I always do,” Igthu replied. His hair was a stringy, straggly auburn, and his eyes were dark, yet sharp. Seku tilted his head from side to side observing Igthu’s features. “You’re a lot paler than you usually are,” he stated.

  Igthu rolled his eyes. “It’s from spending weeks at a time confined here in the castle.”

  Seku could detect a hint of hostility in his voice. “Look, I know I haven't been around much to check on you.”

  Igthu shrugged. “I do fine around here on my own.”

  “I’ve no doubt.” Seku replied. Igthu possessed an independent spirit and largely took care of himself. Seku first met Igthu years ago living as a runaway in Zuleese, a Western Nation city. Since then, Seku had kept a close eye on him, never challenging his independence, but giving him guidance when necessary.

  “How have things been for you and the other soldiers?”

  Igthu sighed. “It’s slow most days. Pretty much the same boring routine: dungeon patrols, sharpening swords, and polishing helmets.”

  He suddenly leaned in closer to Seku. “But I hear that’s all about to change,” he whispered. “I hear the Warlord isn’t done conquering yet. I hope not. I’m really looking to see some action!”

  Now Seku rolled his eyes. Although Igthu was seventeen, he was as strong as an adult and was ready to experience combat. “You sound like so many kids your age. Restless.”

  “Well, there must be some merit to the rumor,” Igthu said. “I mean, you’re certainly being kept busy these days.”

  Seku couldn't argue against the logic. Igthu knew he reported directly to Damian, and the fact he hadn’t been around seemed to confirm the young man’s suspicions.

  “What have you been up to?” Igthu inquired.

  “You know I can’t tell you specifically,” Seku replied.

  “Right!” Igthu clapped a hand to his forehead. “I forgot. There’s a lot of secrecy involved in being the Warlord’s snitch.”

  “Don’t call me that!” Seku snapped. “My duty is to maintain order within our ranks, and that entails providing pertinent information.”

  “Sure,” Igthu said.

  Seku’s face reddened. “The Warlord holds me in high regard!” he stated in a slightly raised voice. “As a favor to me, he’s kept you out of the infantry ranks and placed you in a position where you’d be safe.”

  Now Igthu became angry.

  “As a favor to you, he’s denied me of my glory!”

  “There’s no glory being cleaved in a field, Igthu. And a Crucifer’s blast would cook you alive. Your skin would blacken where you stood. I’ve seen it!” The sudden reverberation of his voice in the dungeon hall jarred him. He quieted his tone, reminding himself that Igthu was still young.

  “Look, I didn’t come down here to argue with you,” he said. “I worry about you, is all. You’re like a son to me, or at least as frustrating as one your age would be.”

  Igthu stifled a chuckle.

  Seku palmed the back of Igthu’s head as he brought him closer. “I came down here to check on you because, right now, I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “But you always know what’s going on,” Igthu said.

  “Not this time,” Seku whispered. “The picture doesn’t seem
to be matching the message.”

  “Huh?” Igthu’s brow wrinkled.

  “It’s hard for me to explain right now,” Seku stated. “The Warlord ingrains in us that we’re fighting for good and for freedom from magic. I thought that once we conquered the kingdom, it would be the end of tyranny. But all I’ve seen since we’ve arrived here is more pain and suffering. It ... it just doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “You need to stop talking like that and keep your thoughts to yourself,” Igthu warned. “You remember what happened to the men who spoke out of turn. What were their names?”

  “Cail, Tam, and Reeze.” Seku’s jaw tightened with the anguish of the memory. “No one has seen them since. I can only imagine what horrible fate found them. I still regret turning them in,” Seku said.

  Igthu lowered his gaze as Seku continued. “Perhaps I’m just jumping to false conclusions about this whole bad feeling thing.”

  “I don’t know,” Igthu said. He suddenly looked over his shoulder upon hearing approaching voices. “Sorry, Seku. I have to get back to my patrol. But, trust your instincts. If you’re sensing something is there, then perhaps something is. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be this worked up.”

  “That’s strong advice,” Seku said checking that the coast was clear. “Go ahead, finish your patrol. I’ll check in on you in a week or so. In the meantime, just keep your head down and take care of yourself.”

  Igthu smiled. “Like I said before, I always do,” he replied.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  It was midday when Maebus, Kelm, and Normandy arrived in Cyperus Village. Maebus’ leather laced shoes had fallen apart at the seams and, in places, exposed his bare, throbbing feet. But at least his broken leg was no longer a hindrance. Due to the likelihood of Legionarie patrols, their group chose to avoid the Pumice Path completely and travel stealthily through the mountain forest.

  The journey took several days, but Normandy’s ability to hunt and build shelter eased the trek. The mountains spread out miles behind them, providing a panoramic view that Maebus thought was absolutely breathtaking.

  The woodsman led them into Cyperus Village and silently greeted people as they walked by. They didn’t return his smile. Many of the inhabitants stared ferociously and their children scurried away. Their tribal attire was gorgeous, consisting of well-crafted fabrics with vibrant colors of red and green. The jewelry worn by their women was made of precious metals. Even the weapons carried by the men of the village appeared opulent and well crafted.

  Walking through the village’s collection of tepees and huts, it was easy for Maebus to see just how secluded the community really was. Yet, the chilled mountain breeze could still reach them. It was gentle and invigorating. It drifted down from the distant peaks like the melody of songbirds greeting morning’s first light. Maebus inhaled the subtle aroma of tranquility and firewood, feeling himself relax. The environment seemed a timeless paradise. Absorbing his surroundings, Maebus comprehended why Cyperus’ inhabitants were so protective of their secret oasis. It was even more beautiful than the mountain lake he and Kelm had previously visited.

  “I had no idea such splendor existed within the Realm,” he said to Normandy.

  “The Cyperans are an interesting people,” the woodsman replied. “By nature, they are hunters and warriors, perhaps the most skilled I’ve ever encountered. Yet, they practice a unique philosophy centered on balance and peace. Their entire community is nomadic. For centuries, they’ve settled bountiful locations such as this, becoming one with the environment and never taking more than what they need to survive. Through this practice, they have remained prosperous.”

  Normandy paused briefly to adjust the large, heavy duffle bag that was beginning to dig into his shoulder. “Here’s another interesting fact,” he continued. “In Cyperan culture, the oldest warrior—male or female—is chosen to be the Elder leader. That person, having decades of knowledge and perspective, is tasked with teaching their culture and skills to the younger generations. The Elder also dictates the direction of the entire community, establishing trade alliances when necessary, and establishing the rules to preserve their balance.”

  “It sounds very efficient. But why are they nomadic?” Maebus asked.

  Normandy laughed. “Think about it. In a land of endless war, they live harmoniously, dare I say … peacefully. Such a thing must be protected at all costs, even if it means continually relocating so that outsiders won’t be able to find them.”

  “Makes perfect sense,” Kelm said, increasing his foot speed to walk closer with Normandy and Maebus. “It also accounts for their hostile demeanors. They’re probably hoping they don’t have to relocate again.”

  A loud chirping noise in the trees above them caught Maebus’ attention. He peered into the treetops. He’d never heard such a sound before. In fact, it almost sounded more human than bird.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “Sounds like we’ve been identified as strangers,” Normandy replied. “There are lookouts hidden throughout the village, constantly searching for intruders.”

  “You’ve been here before, so by intruders, you mean me and Kelm?” Maebus asked.

  “Basically,” Normandy replied.

  Kelm rolled up his sleeves. “A couple of spells should be sufficient to protect us in a pinch,” he said.

  “Lower your hands,” Normandy’s voice was low yet forceful. Kelm immediately complied.

  As the group rounded a corner, more villagers appeared as if suddenly converging on their position. Their stares were as intense as their angry voices. A native shook his finger violently at them, shouting in a language Maebus couldn’t understand. His actions seemed to embolden the crowd, as some even appeared to be reaching for weapons.

  “Normandy…” Kelm spoke softly. “We’re about to have a problem.”

  “They’re anxious because they know where we’re going.”

  “Which is where?” Maebus asked, refusing to take his eyes off the crowd.

  “We’re going to the Elder’s home,” Normandy exclaimed.

  As if oblivious to the commotion, he trained his eyes upon a wooden hut residing several yards in front of them.

  “This way,” he said to Maebus and Kelm.

  Following closely behind them, the villagers words shot at them rapidly. Their anxiety seemed only to increase the closer they moved towards the hut. The back of Maebus’ neck burned from the anticipated whack it was surely to receive at any moment. His eyes darted left, then right. It would only take one act of aggression to ignite this powder keg.

  At that moment, not far ahead of them, a thin, brown skinned man with long, white hair appeared in the doorway of the wooden hut. His aged face was chiseled with wrinkles. With fierce eyes, he glared at the three visitors, withdrawing a sharp blade from his side holster. He waved it at Normandy, which made the woodsman stop in his tracks.

  “Don’t move!” He said to Maebus and Kelm, who also halted. “Stay here. Do not approach the Elder.”

  Maebus followed Normandy’s gaze, which was locked unblinkingly upon the armed, old man. The villagers seemed to be quieting down, perhaps curious themselves of the outcome of this stand-off.

  Normandy reached into his long coat and pulled out several custom blade handles he’d made the other day in the woods. The Elder’s eyes perked with interest, and his stone-like face softened into a grin.

  “You always know how to make an old man smile,” he said, sheathing his blade.

  Normandy laughed as he stepped forward. The Elder greeted him with a hug. Despite his friendliness towards the woodsman, Maebus noticed that the Elder kept his eyes sharply upon him and Kelm the entire time.

  “And who have you brought to my village?” he asked.

  “Elder, these are my friends,” Normandy responded.

  The old man’s expression turned stony yet again. He then began speaking in their native language. Maebus could not understand. Normandy responded in the same tongue, his t
one anxious. The exchange went back and forth for a long time. Maebus determined that he was either explaining their situation … or bargaining for their lives.

  From the large duffle that Normandy carried on his back, he pulled out several animal skins. The Elder inspected each of them, rubbing their smoothness, and testing their thickness and quality within his fingers. After a moment, he smiled his approval.

  “Okay,” he said, shaking hands with Normandy. He then gave instructions to several people nearby, who immediately sprang into action, grabbing the entire duffle.

  Maebus watched as Normandy stomped back towards them, his mouth bearing a scowl.

  “Is everything okay?” Kelm asked him.

  “Your friendship is expensive,” Normandy replied. “In exchange for my handcrafted items, the provisions for our journey east will be taken care of.”

  Normandy patted Kelm on the shoulder. “I need to speak with the Elder. In the meantime, you two should change out of those muddy robes and rest. The villagers will feed us and then gather our supplies. Tomorrow, we can continue to the Ancient Lands.”

  Chapter Thirty

  As the sun set on Cyperus Village, Maebus noticed a small campfire burning just a few huts away from where he was standing. Since the evening air had become significantly colder, a fire seemed like a perfect idea. Leaving Kelm by the Elder’s hut, he walked over to the fire. To his surprise, he noticed a young man sitting before it.

  Maebus watched as the boy concentrated on the flickering flames, lost either in deep thought or meditation. He had to be no older than fifteen or sixteen years old, yet Maebus sensed that he possessed an old spirit. Maebus was moved by seeing one so young with so much poise. Yet, he also sensed a gloom emanating from him. Although the boy appeared drawn and weary, he tapped the ground with nervous energy.

  Maebus cleared his throat before speaking. “Are you okay?” he asked.