The Legacy of Skur: Volume One

by L. F. Falconer

  “Well, bloody good day to you, Fane,” he slurred. “Where’ve you been all this bloody good day?”

  “I was with Kael. Have you been here long?” It was a foolish question. Jink was obviously quite drunk.

  “I said to give me half an hour. I’ve been here since then.”

  He hiccupped as Selma brought me a noggin of ale. “I hope you’re going to stay longer this time,” she said to me with a wink.

  “He’ll bloody stay until you say go,” Jink told her. “Won’t you?”

  I smiled at the beer-maid, handed her a copper, and took a sip from the cup. “I’ll stay until you say go.” I thought I sounded sure of myself even if I wasn’t.

  She was probably old enough to be my mother and her face revealed her years, but she was fulsome and moved with the tantalizing promise of a summer rain. A well-practiced woman who would take anyone for a price. She leaned forward and cupped my chin into her hand, the soft pillows of her dugs teasingly close. “I may never say go,” she whispered. Her blue eyes smiled playfully. “I could have me one of the sons of Dian tonight.”

  My legs went willowy.

  As she left, Jink hiccupped and sniggered, “How’s your pego, Fane?”

  “It’s bang up.” A lie. It wasn’t fine at all. In fact, it almost hurt.

  “Bloody glad to hear it, because I think she bloody wants to dance the goat’s jig with you. Actually, I think she wants to dance with your bloody father—she’ll just have to settle for you.”

  “Oh, shut your box.” The very thought of my father with the beer-maid was ludicrous and I had to laugh. I tried to clear the vision from my head, then leaned close to my drunken friend. “What would you say, Jink, if I told you I knew the secret to eternal life?”

  “I would say you’ve been spending entirely too much time with that hoary old wizard.” The dregs of his cup were carelessly spilled onto his trousers.

  I held my forearm up in the early evening light. All that could be seen of my previous injury was a faint red line. “Look at my arm, Jink.”

  Jink squinted, then shrieked and shrank back in mock awe. “Your arm! It’s … it’s the secret to eternal life! And all this time I thought it just a bloody arm.”

  “No, you wag.” I snatched my arm away, frustrated at his drunkenness. “I’m serious. Look at my arm.” Again, I shoved it forward.

  After a few moments, he shook his head. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Now look at my face and tell me what you see.”

  Jink snorted and burped. “Long brown hair, a big nose, a bruised cheek, one brown eye and one black one.”

  “Precisely,” I said, sitting back. “Three days ago I got hit in the face and my arm was cut. Today, my face is still bruised, but my arm is completely healed.”

  Jink leaned forward. “So …”

  “Whatever I tell you, you must promise to keep secret. If I am going to tinker in wizardry and alchemy for the rest of my days trying to produce enough power to provide everyone with eternal life, I must first have eternal life myself. Don’t you agree?”

  “Slow down, Fane. I’m a wee bit hickey. I don’t understand what you’re blathering about.”

  I took a deep breath and started again, speaking a little slower. “There is a substance available that will provide eternal life. However, there is not enough of this substance to provide everyone with eternal life.” I took a sip of ale. “But,” I continued, “if I could get enough of it initially to provide myself with eternal life, then I could continue to try to find a way to produce the necessary substance in quantity. But I can’t do it alone. I’ll need some help in getting the initial substance to begin with.”

  He was not too drunk to understand. “You want me to help you get eternal life.” He brought his empty cup to his lips and scowled before flinging the cup aside. “What do I get for this? The satisfaction of knowing I helped you live forever?”

  “There is enough of this substance to provide us both eternal life, Jink.”

  He was thinking and I could imagine what his thoughts were.

  “What is this substance and how do we get it?” he asked when he finally spoke, bending over to retrieve his cup as Selma came then with her pitcher of ale, and I held my tongue.

  “Shall he stay or shall he go?” Jink asked as she filled his cup.

  “Fane should stay.” She gazed at me with her sultry blue eyes. “Jink should go.”

  “Jink will go when I say go,” I told her. “But I will stay.” Again my legs went willowy and a fire rushed through my belly. I had often imagined this night, but in those sexual fancies it had always been the fair-haired Karlee, a costermonger at the marketplace. I had even dared to speak with the girl one day, purchasing turnips I did not want, using them as an excuse to make contact. I had blushed and stammered and the stupid turnips spilled out of my hands all over the street and I had floundered about on my hands and knees trying to retrieve them all. Karlee had laughed and I dared not approach her again, too ashamed, knowing she must think me nothing but a noddy.

  Selma flashed a provocative smile and left again, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be back for you when Jink goes.”

  “But I thought I was your favorite,” Jink called.

  “Of course you are, my love,” she answered. “But variety is good for the soul.”

  Jink forced a chuckle. “Your night depends on me, Fane. Shall I go or shall I stay?”

  Anticipating my imminent discovery of what was concealed beneath Selma’s skirt, I tried to pull myself back under control. “Stay for now,” I managed to say. “For it’s you I came to see.”

  Jink took a long drink of ale before speaking. “So tell me, Sir Wizard, what is this substance that will make us live for bloody ever?”

  I looked about to make sure no one was near, then whispered, “It is gold, my friend.”

  Jink smiled. “Gold is wealth, but it is not life.”

  “Used properly, it can be life.”

  “And how do you propose to get this gold?”

  “There is ample gold atop Skur.”

  Even under the darkening light and the ale’s ruddiness, I could see his face blanch. “No one has ever returned from Skur. It’s a death quest.”

  “It won’t be easy, this I know,” I admitted. “But I’m not going to allow Ragg and his minions to keep me from the power that lies atop that mountain. And there are other riches on Skur as well. They would be ours, Jink. All ours. Wealth, plus eternal life.”

  Jink shook his head and stumbled to his feet. “I don’t know. It’s tempting, but it’s bloody insane. I’ll have to give this some thought.”

  “I do hope you’ll join me. Eternity needs to be shared.”

  Jink hiccupped. “Eternity and beer-maids. She’s a fair piece, Fane. A bloody good goer. Worth the croker she’ll ask for. Now, if you’ll bloody excuse me, I have to go shoot the cat.”

  Jink staggered off and Selma returned. Bravely, I slipped a croker into her palm and she led me to her snuggery behind the pub. And Jink was right. She was worth it.

  Over the next few weeks, I spent my mornings with Fith, concocting and decocting and boiling chalices in the cauldron, while my afternoons were spent with Kael behind the stable.

  We kept our swords securely sheathed and Kael insisted I wear one of his leather jerkins for added protection. Though the sword felt comfortable in my hand, I hadn’t realized there was so much more to fighting and self-defense than merely swinging the blade—the thrusts, counter-thrusts, lunges, and jabs.

  “Keep your eyes open,” Kael shouted as we parried. “Do not just watch my weapon.” He reeled suddenly, ducked, twisted, and brought his encased blade up tight against my lower back. Had it been a serious bout, I would’ve been run clean through.

  “You’ve just been snabbled,” he admonished, rising to his full height. “You are dead. Do you like being dead?” It was the fifth time he’d killed me this afternoon and I dwindled in defeat as my brother continued
. “Despite what it seems, it is the one who is first attacked who has the most control of the fight for your enemy has already revealed his play. You can swiftly turn his offense into defense. Strategy is your strongest ally. You’ve got to learn to watch your enemy’s every move, Fane, not just his sword. Learn to anticipate his next move by his current action. If you concentrate merely on the moment, you’ll be defeated every time.”

  My sword hung limply in my hand. “But how am I to know what you’re planning to do next?” I had yet to beat him.

  “First of all, always be prepared.” Kael’s sword swished by my face too close for comfort, the wisp tickling my nose. I lurched back.

  “Get control of the battle.” Kael lunged forward. I brought my sword up to block the thrust. Over the clunks, Kael continued to shout, “Get control of the battle, damn it! Put your enemy in check. Force him to react in an anticipated manner. Usually he will follow through and do what you expect. Then, move in for the kill.”

  I caught sight of Father riding up. He brought his steed to a halt to watch us and with my concentration broken, Kael snabbled me again, his face clearly disgusted by his repeated triumphs.

  “What is this?” Father asked, dismounting. The afternoon sun made him look older than he really was, highlighting the gray that had begun to invade his dark hair, deepening the hard lines of his face.

  “Fane expressed an interest in becoming a warrior, Father.”

  “Did he now? So you’ve finally decided to give up magic and join the King’s Service. What wonderful news.”

  I had never seen my father look at me with such admiration before and my stomach knotted. I couldn’t lie to him. Nor could I tell him the truth.

  “I didn’t say … I was joining the King’s Service.” I scrambled for an explanation. “I just wanted to learn to fight and defend myself.”

  The fleeting admiration vanished and Father’s stare tore through me as keenly as Kael’s sword would have done. He took a deliberate step forward and I flinched, anticipating the blow of his fist, but he held his hands in check.

  “Why, in the king’s name, do you need to defend yourself?”

  “I only want … to learn the warrior ways … in case I should ever need them.”

  “Balderdash! You are up to something. I can feel it.”

  Cowed by my father’s bearing, all I could do was shake my head “no.”

  He began to pace about in a rant. “It’s Jink and that bawdy pub. I’ve heard you’ve been spending your evenings there, drinking and wanting to piss pins and needles by occupying the whore. Shirking your apprenticeship with Fith, and now convincing your own brother to shirk his duties as well by teaching you the art of sword-mastery when you have no intention of using it as a warrior. So what is your intention, boy? Do you intend to be a magician, or some ribald mercenary? Or will you serve your king as you should?”

  Father folded his arms across his chest, silently waiting for me to speak. His magnetic glare tugged at my resistance to reveal the truth, and in the end, I couldn’t keep it from him. “I intend … I intend to get the treasure of Skur.”

  For several thick moments not a word was spoken. Kael just stared at me in owl-eyed muteness. When Father did speak, his voice was a limpid drone. “That is a path of eternal darkness, Fane.” Dark hair flew beneath the golden coronet as he whirled, mounted his steed, and trotted away.

  “Are you out of your mind?” Kael shouted. “Is that really why you asked me for training?”

  I nodded, a bit sheepishly. I hadn’t lied to him. I simply hadn’t revealed the truth.

  “You can’t believe you can fight the magic of Ragg and his consorts with a sword! Who put this madness in your head anyway? Was it Jink?”

  “I have my reasons for going, Kael. They are worthy reasons. Come with me. Come with me and I will give you unlimited power. Power beyond belief.”

  “You are beyond belief,” he snorted in disgust. “I’ve had enough of this.” He grabbed his swords and left me standing alone behind the stable.

  I poured eighteen gold crowns from a worn leather pouch onto the bench at the smithy. They had been given to me by my mother, years ago before she died, and I had treasured them since. Now, I pushed them toward Jink. His eyes lit up, and I’m certain if it had been anyone but me, he would conjure a plan to relieve me of a few.

  “How soon can you make me a sword out of these?”

  Jink shook his head. “First of all, there’s not enough gold here to make a sword. Secondly, a sword made of gold is worthless as a weapon, Fane. It’s too bloody heavy and too bloody soft. It won’t hold an edge.”

  “Then use the gold on the hilt, where it’ll be next to my hand.”

  “That, I can do.”

  “And make me the finest blade you possibly can. And if you’re coming with me, make yourself one as well. Use the gold. We will need its power.”

  “You will need its power. I am not going with you.”

  My heart sank, but I could not fault him for that decision. It was a dangerous quest and I had no right to believe Jink would forsake the comfort of his life to join me in my insanity.

  “I will make you the best sword I possibly can,” he told me. “Give me three days.”

  “Three days.”

  “I would prefer to never finish it at all if your departure depends upon its bloody completion.”

  “I expect it in three days.”

  “You shall have it.” Jink scooped the small fortune of coins into his hands and put them back into the bag.

  “Are you sure you won’t come?”

  Jink’s deserted gaze combed the smithy. “I’m never sure of anything, Fane. Never bloody sure of anything at all.”

  After I paid Jink to make my sword, I took the last of my silver and went to the stable. I would need some way to pack the gold back to Avar once I got it.

  “Good day, sir,” I hailed the stablemaster.

  I told him I needed a sturdy ass and he led me to the rear of the stable. “I would have thought you to be more of a horseman, Fane.”

  “I’m only in need of a pack animal.”

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  “Just a short journey.” I would say no more. He had no need to know my business.

  “This one here I call Snorts,” he pointed to the largest, “because that’s the noise he makes most. He’s the best I’ve got. What do you think?”

  The animal was a burly, burnt-wood colored beast with brandywine eyes and when I brushed my hand down the shaggy withers, the beast snorted, bared his teeth, and brayed so loudly I thought the stable walls would come down. I looked the other three asses over, coming to the conclusion that the stablemaster was right. Snorts was the best of the lot.

  The stablemaster sold me the ass and six saddle packs for what little silver I had left and I knew I’d gotten the better end of the deal. Sometimes it paid to be the son of Dian.

  I did not go home that night to face my father or brother. My purse was too empty to seek solace in Selma’s bed, but the comfort she could have provided would’ve been empty anyway, for there was a dark hollowness inside me too vast to fill.

  I spent the night in the stable with Snorts, almost wishing Fith had never introduced me to the power of gold.

  3

  Leaving Avar

  The following morning, expecting to have a flea put in my ear and having fully prepared arguments in my defense, I revealed my plan to Fith. Instead of scolding, the wily old gaffer smiled.

  “Splendid, Fane. Excellent. Although I would have never asked you to go, I was hoping you’d make this choice.”

  “You really think I should do this? You don’t think me a fool?”

  He shook his head. “Quite the contrary, my boy. It takes a very brave man to take on such a quest. The power the dragon’s gold contains could be used for so much good in the right hands, yet it lies useless and degenerate in Ragg’s possession, wasting away in the ages.”

  From beneath th
e folds of his robe, he pulled out a gold chain from which hung a sparkling blue crystal, so bright it resembled a blue flame. Fith motioned for me to sit at the table. He took a seat opposite me and laid the crystal upon the table, not quite releasing his hold upon the chain.

  “You are aware of the legend of Makor?” Fith’s voice was barely a whisper.

  I nodded, the tale coming to mind. Makor had been the wizard to King Aiken before the king’s death which had spurred the rebellion that split the kingdom between his two sons—Tilla to the north, and Cork to the south. During the upheaval, Makor absconded with half of Aiken’s treasury, a fortune of gold, silver, and jewels. Secreting the pillage away upon Skur, the wizard had then created Ragg, the guardian dragon, to protect his stolen wealth.

  “Where that legend ends, this wizard stone begins another.” Fith looked nervously about the room as if there might be spies among the stones in the walls. “I’m not certain just how it happened, but eventually Ragg grew too powerful for Makor and imprisoned his master for countless years on Skur. When Makor finally escaped, he was little more than a blithering idiot. He died a broken man, the only piece of his once great power remaining in his possession being this talisman.”

  I gazed at the crystal with new wonder.

  “Most of what is known of Ragg died with Makor.” Fith petted the stone. “And the only protection against the dragon lies within this crystal. It was passed to me when I was young. When I was considering attempting Skur.” He arose and slipped the chain over my head, then clasped my shoulders. “I didn’t have the courage to go through with it.” He crossed the room, cleared his throat, and spoke with a sigh. “I was not a very brave man.”

  Was I? Lifting the cold stone from my chest, I lightly caressed it. “What power does this hold?”

  Fith sat upon a three-legged stool and clasped his hands, gazing at me in the murk. “Every wizard stone is unique. It is said that this particular one will not allow Ragg to touch the one who wears it. What other powers it may contain are unknown.”

  A warm glow swept through me and the delight it caused must had shown for Fith suddenly jumped to his feet, waving his hands back and forth.