With gusto.
I threw back the sheet, swung my knobby, dirt-smeared knees around and over the edge of the mattress, and my feet squelched in the cool, welcome ooze waiting beneath the bed.
While my mind screamed welcome encouragement such as STAY IN BED, FOOL! and YOU IDIOT, DON’T GET UP! I yawned, fighting back fear and the urge to faint, then put on my overcoat, patting my chest to make sure that Lucius, my pet rock, was in his pocket, and stood.
I wasn’t brave.
Just stupid.
A concussive blast of force threw me back onto my bed—knocking the air from my lungs as I fell with all the grace of a drunken Ogre—and it promptly collapsed, having been meted its fair share of injustice and travails.
“Narblung!” I swore.
Mostly for my own benefit.
Certainly not for the bed’s.
Trying again, I stood up once more. This time the mud squelching between my toes was not so welcome.
That was when I noticed the door had been blown off its hinges.
Or hinge, as the case may be.
Sighing, I put on my boots and stepped over the door fragments lying on the floor by the threshold. If only it had been held together by mushrooms and vines like the rest of the house, it might have survived the blast.
Peering cautiously outward through the black gap in my wall, I could not see anything untoward, or more untoward than normal, and heard nothing amiss.
Whatever was out there making a commotion was now silent.
That was scarier than the tumult itself.
“Lucius, I may need you.”
My pet rock responded with ready disregard—unmoving and unmoved by my plea.
Gazing closer, I let my vision expand into the night, my soul’s eye filling in the details my mundane eyes could not.
Shadows danced and wavered all around me, the evening alive with the luminous outlines of trees, the incandescent lights of grasses and shrubs, and the opalescent sparks of insects and small animals, all set against the lurid glare of my cultivated poisonous mushrooms.
In the distance, over the edge of the hill on which Balde perched like an unwholesome wart, magic danced and shimmered, drawn toward something or someone with Power.
I didn’t want to go over there.
Really.
But I had to.
I was a moth drawn to flames of eldritch light.
Empyrean Guard
Why exactly was I doing this?
What could I hope to achieve?
Whatever had made that noise, whatever had caused the explosion that had thrown me to my bed, would break me quicker than I had snapped my rotten bed frame.
Balde was abuzz behind me, lights coming on, doors slamming, people yelling commands and questions. If I delayed but a minute or two more, the town guard would be out through the gates to investigate, leaving me out of the whole affair. At least I’d be left out if they decided circumstances looked safe enough to sally forth from behind their gates in all their putative might and glory.
As sorry as Balde was, and it wasn’t much better than my hovel, as an ancient outpost of the realm it was warded by powerful spells to keep the likes of extradimensional invaders and associated miscreants out and away from its fine abodes.
In that case, given the force of the outburst, I might indeed be the only one willing to respond.
Shaking my head, I trudged across the hill full of trepidation, as carefully as I could through the slurping muck, avoiding the gnarled roots of trees too stubborn to give in to the relentless precipitation. As I struggled ahead, I noted that the shadowy essences around me did not recoil, vanish, or waver as they might have in the presence of some awful demonic denizen of the Deep.
The night shimmered around me darkly, untouched by my fears, concerns, and worries. There was little to be done besides moving forward, despite my anxieties.
Ahead, over the hill, power surged and danced, constellations on the horizon, dreams of auroras past clashing with powers yet to be.
Maybe things would be okay for once…
Who was I kidding?
Whenever I was involved, events quickly progressed from awful to abysmal…or worse.
Time to get this over with.
Keeping low in the grass, hunched down trying to remain as unobtrusive as possible, I slunk over the crest of the hill trying my best to determine the cause of the commotion.
There was, as yet, no sign or indication of response from Balde, the town guard safely nestled within their walls and unwilling to come out; perhaps heady with exhilaration and hung over on the joys of bucolic village life, they were reluctant to venture out into the glories of the local neighborhood. As inspired as the populace was, their initiative did not give them sufficient impetus to leave the welcome safety of their dank, ill-kempt thresholds. Not given the luxury of the town’s defensive walls, or much in the way of walls in general given the state of my home, I had little choice but to remain outside.
When I peeked over the hill’s crest, my eyes widened as I absorbed the events that had taken place on the far side of the slope. There, cast down in the muck, yet untouched by the mud and dirt of the storm just past, lay a man wreathed in Heaven's glory.
Pure shimmering light wavered about him while a glowing celestial blade rested several hands’ breadths to his side on the ground. As I watched, the light about the man slowly but noticeably faded, dwindling inexorably into the darkness.
Blood pooled thickly about the man’s armored form.
Given my extensive medical experience and expertise, I knew that was not a good sign.
From my vantage, the knight appeared to be of middle age, with relatively fair skin, his hair graying, framing a face careworn and wrinkled, a man exposed to harsh weather and long days in the sun. Many travails and concerns had etched his skin in an intricate tapestry.
Looking pointedly both left and right, I saw no direct indication of fell powers that might have cast down such a mighty hero. No dark essences crouched or coiled, gathered or pooled, in preparation to strike in any place I could see or feel. There were no demonic corpses, footprints, or implements of depravity that I could sense even when I strained to the limits of my ability. Glancing back to the man to assess his status, I noted that the aureate glow around him had continued to fade, his luminous exterior Sigil Armor evaporating in a shimmering haze as he weakened.
In a sane world, I would have called out for help.
Since I lived on Uërth after the Fall, I held my tongue lest my good deed bring a pack of ravenous demons skulking in the night down upon me in a rending, tearing, soul-devouring vortex.
Feeling safe for the moment, or as safe as I could in a place where a man this mighty could be laid low, I rushed forward to the knight’s side, forgoing what little common sense ever was unfortunate enough to claim my wretched self as home. My feet squelching in the mud as I slogged forward, I was ready to be of some assistance if I could, although there was, in truth, little I knew that could be done to aid him without access to higher magics. As I neared the warrior’s body, the full significance of what I saw and the gravity of the man’s injuries became more apparent. The knight was, it seemed, only weakly holding on to life by force of tremendous will, and that will was waning rapidly.
There was a gaping wound in the man’s chest despite his otherworldly armor, which now trembled and flickered about his body as fragilely as his failing breath. How something had gotten through this magical aegis I did not know, though I could certainly imagine, but that it had happened was beyond a doubt, for the man’s lifeblood pooled thickly about his recumbent form, the sodden ground unable to absorb his loss.
Kneeling beside the warrior’s still frame, I placed a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder, wishing but unable to offer more.
Life from Death
Upon touching his shoulder, feeling the moist fabric of his garments beneath my touch, offering a soothing gesture of reassurance, a tide of power overcame me. I shook violen
tly as with an electric shock, unable to control my motions or remove my hand, writhing in agony as though I had been blasted by a bolt of lightning descending from the firmament in righteous fury that refused to ground itself in the earth.
With this surge, visions flashed in my mind’s eye, ever faster and more frenzied, quicker than I could register or catalog.
In rising horror, I realized this phantasmagoric tide of images of a life past was not my own.
I was reliving the life of the fallen hero lying before me.
Worse than that, I was losing myself in his resurrection.
I received my blessed sword from my father in the lush hills surrounding the family keep, overlooking glacial lakes beneath the distant sky-spanning peaks that separated Fornost from surrounding realms as I first laid hands on the enchanted blade.
I spent years wandering the land, challenging myself in search of a brighter future.
I marched alongside resplendent Empyrean Guard caparisoned in lucent Sigil Shields, proudly brandished glowing Angel Swords as we marched alongside fey dryads, sidhe, and other allies of men.
Creatures of Darkness fell before my mighty glowing blade in an endless tide.
I spent decades in prayer, supplication, and study in various monasteries, keeps, and retreats.
I practiced the arts of war on the field amidst enemies and at home amongst friends and allies.
The light of hope was cast across a land wreathed in despair in times of darkness and desolation.
Heroes walked among men and fell just as readily.
Was there no end?
Faster and faster the visions, sensations, and memories came.
Just as quickly I began to fade.
This was too much…
Everything was moving too quickly…
I…could…not…take…any…more…
Unable to bear further witness to the life of a man whose heroics spanned an entire world and crossed generations, I fell face-first into the muck.
And Now the Cavalry
Spitting, coughing out dirt, I awoke to a boot kicking me unceremoniously in the ribs.
Trying to call my attacker off, I attempted to stand, but a boot planted firmly in the small of my back discouraged further movement.
“Stay down, Saedeus, if ya know what’s good fer ya.”
The town guard had finally arrived.
Just not in the nick of time.
Carefully cracking open my dirt-encrusted eyes, I tried to remember where I was and what had happened.
My arm lay on the cool fabric of someone’s garment.
Of a man…
A dead man.
A man with an alarmingly awful hole blasted through his chest.
This was not good.
But what ever was?
I was at the scene of a crime cradling a dead man, a man of nobility as high as I was low, his blood all over me with no other tracks, signs, or evidence in place.
No, this was not good.
Not good at all.
“Jon…” I recognized the ready compassion and intelligence of Jon’s voice even with my head buried in the mire. Jon often offered sage words of advice and heartfelt encouragement to me from the safety of the barricaded far side of the town gates when nights were especially dark and grim. “This is not what you think.”
“Oh? And just what am I thinkin’, ya pile o’ mushroom dung?”
Recognizing that his question was largely rhetorical, for Jon did not think, he merely acted on base instinct, I replied, “I heard a commotion last night and came to investigate. When I arrived, I found this man here, injured, dying, in fact. I came over to help but fainted before I could.”
Jon snorted. “You would.”
After a long pause, one in which I knew the four or five neurons still residing in his skull were trying to express themselves fully but failing, he added, “Save it fer tha magistrate.”
I would.
Sitting in the dank, ill-lit, dusty prison cell, I realized something.
It’s sad when a prison cell is an upgrade from your home, especially one as abandoned and run-down as the dungeons unlucky enough to be still standing in Balde.
As a corollary to this insight, I realized something else—perhaps I should have tried to get arrested sooner.
My house and the mushrooms holding it together would not notice my absence.
“You must always remain optimistic so that your views will guide your actions.”
What the huh?
“Who’s there?”
I stood up within the cramped confines of my cell and looked around, leaving footprints in the dust as I circulated about the small stone chamber.
There was no one to be seen.
The banded oaken door was shut, allowing only a limited view of the passageway beyond through a hand-sized, iron-barred window.
I could see no onlookers or spectators looking in on the sorry exhibits in the menagerie.
I walked over to the pile of rags serving the dual role of bedding and minimalist artistic architectural element and kicked them aside.
“You’ll find nothing there.”
I jumped…thankfully not very high, or I would have smashed my head into the low stone ceiling.
Spinning around, I got dizzy as I tried quickly but unsuccessfully to locate the source of the advice.
Using my superior reflexes and the element of surprise gave me little advantage.
“Sit down.”
For the love of the Light, what was going on here?
“If you would please sit down, I will tell you.”
I sat.
There was no point arguing with something I could not see, touch, or feel.
Especially when using my second sight revealed nothing.
And, as crafty as I was, I knew ignoring the voice would only make it talk more.
As a general rule, I hated talking.
At least when I was not the one doing it.
Better to get whatever this sorry excuse for a joke was over with. Surely some witty local hedge wizard had decided, or even more likely had been contracted by the local officials, to hex the room to torment prisoners as a deterrent to further incarceration.
“The sooner you accept my reality, the sooner we can begin to work together.”
Work together?
Work together!
I worked alone!
Except for Lucius.
And my mushrooms.
“What exactly are you talking about?”
“I am not talking.”
Then it hit me.
The voice was right.
It was not talking.
It was in my head!
Right then and there, I bestowed myself with a Saedeus Award for Genius, one of many SAGs I had earned for my uncanny skills of observation and discernment.
Of course the voice would be in my head!
What better place for a new voice to take up residence than inside my very own skull?
“If your petulance is at an end, I will begin.”
At an end?
My petulance had yet to begin!
“I seem to be truly needed here,” the voice sighed.
It actually sighed.
Inside my own head!
“Now listen here…voice…and listen well. This is my head we’re talking about…or in, and I’ll have no lip from the likes of you!”
“Perhaps introductions are in order?”
The voice was so calm, so civil, so smooth and composed.
I hated it.
“How about I introduce you to the back of my hand?”
“No thanks. I have already met it.”
The nerve!
“Now, if you are done pouting, I would advise you to stop talking aloud. Talking to yourself in public certainly will not help your case before the local justice.”
I steamed but managed to hold my tongue…tightly, pinched between my teeth.
“I am Alric of the Empyrean Gu
ard, erstwhile defender of the realm, hunter of demons, and protector of the Light’s cause.”
I knew this guy!
I had lived his life!
“I know all about you, Alric. I just lived through your near-death experience…although it seemed quite a bit more than that.”
“Indeed it was.”
“What do you mean?”
“I share your thoughts, Saedeus.”
The proof was right there. I had not even introduced myself and he knew my name.
This was not going to be pretty.
My secrets really were not worth knowing.
“You know all that I know, Saedeus. You have but to learn to access it, and grow into your ability to use it.”
“What?”
I could not have heard that right. I knew how to grow and harvest mushrooms…not slay extradimensional nasties from the black pits of Chaos.
“I will show you how. I will teach you what you already know.”
“Why would you do a thing like that?”
“We now share a common body, Saedeus, along with a common cause.”
I did not like the sound of that!
The True Beginning of My Travails
There’s a saying, “Two heads are better than one.”
This is generally true.
Except when there are two heads in one.
Then all bets are off.
I did not bet, nor did I want to, but I had already lost.
And I did not even have any money.
“You expect me to follow in your footsteps?” I asked incredulously.
“No. I expect you to follow in your own footsteps. I will just provide some guidance along the way.”
“Then why do you presume that our interests are aligned?”
“You wish to survive. I wish to make that happen.”
Old Al had a point there.
“So what do I need to do?”
“Listen to me.”
Why did they always want me to listen?
“Alright. I’ll do my best.”
“First, you must get out of this cell. Then you must retrieve my sword. Then you must begin becoming what you will.”
Legacy of the Blade: The Complete Trilogy Page 2