Up in Smoke
The wizard’s body returned to the heavens in gray ash and soot, a dark, oily column spiraling upward with only the faintest regard for the whims of the wind.
Following the smoke, I watched my past vanish into the breeze.
A new future opened before me, one filled with the promise of Light but the expectation of Darkness.
I did not wish to enter or accept this new reality.
So lost was I in the gloom of my inner struggles and ruminations, I did not notice that a crowd had gathered around me in silent, respectful witness to my vigil.
I guessed they had decided I was not a demon.
That was a good thing, because the last thing I needed right then was an arrow, sword, or spear in the back.
I had felt enough pain already.
A hand came to rest firmly on my shoulder.
“You have done this town a great service, Saedeus.”
Mason.
Mason was one of the good ones. He had always given fair prices for mushrooms while others had tried to swindle me.
I knew the value of my goods…how rare some were…how sought after.
“I didn’t have much choice, Mase.”
Mason smiled, his gray beard cracking with a gentle grin. “We all have a choice, son, and you made a good one. I’m proud of you.
“If more acted as you did, standing up for their beliefs, this world might be a better place.”
I did not have the heart to tell him I was not standing up for anything, that I had little choice, and, though many had access to magic, few had boons such as Loer’allon’s.
Instead, I muttered a weak, “Thanks.”
“Mine is the thanks to give.”
He offered me a bundle wrapped in oilcloth.
“What’s this?”
“Something to help you on your way, wherever it takes you.”
The bundle was surprising light for its bulk.
“Is it a jacket?” I supposed that I would need a proper coat or cloak if I were to venture into the wilds…not that I knew exactly what was yet to come.
“Of sorts. It’s a chainmail jerkin that I’ve had for some time. It’s been gathering dust now that I’m too old to use it. It has a few enchantments ensorcelled into its links. You’ll need it more than I.”
Would I?
Couldn’t I just go back to my mushrooms?
Was this how quests, grand adventures, and great deeds commenced?
The heavy weight of expectation pushing the brave, or, in my case, the not so brave, onward onto a course of ever greater challenge?
Couldn’t I just step back before all that began?
All I really needed to do was make sure the Angel Sword got back into the proper hands, those that could and would willingly use Loer’allon to her full abilities in just cause.
“If that is what you wish, then that is all you need do, Saedeus.
“But I think Loer’allon has already chosen.”
What about my choices?
What about my desires?
“Those have yet to be made and fully expressed.”
So now Alric claimed to know me better than I knew myself.
I was in no mood to argue with myself.
Alric.
I was in no mood to argue with Alric.
My sigh fell on deaf ears as the gathered townspeople came to congratulate me, offer their respects, and give their thanks.
I just wanted to go home.
Home Sweet Heap
Now that I had been away for a few days, coming back home was something of a disappointment.
I missed my jail cell.
In retrospect, staying outside in the cold waiting for the soul-devouring demon did not seem so bad.
My house looked like an ill-kempt compost heap.
No, that was too kind.
My shack looked like a nightmarish refuse pile scoured over with supernatural encrustations.
I could see why demons left me alone in this place.
It was so nasty and appalling even hellspawn would not want to come close.
Well, that and Lucius.
If they could sense his elemental presence, that of one of their natural enemies, and I knew they could if he let them, then demons had ample reason to steer clear of my most great and noble trash heap.
Plus, I seldom bathed.
There was that.
Surely that was a deterrent of some sort.
And not just to demons.
At least now I did not have to bother with opening the front door to get in.
I trudged up to the entrance and stepped over the threshold into the clutter that was my home. Fresh piles of leaves and debris had found their way inside in my absence.
After making some room where there was hardly any to be found, I propped my door back up against its frame and plopped down on my now broken bed.
If I planned to stay, I might eventually try to fix the place up a bit, but since I wasn’t, I would let it be.
If, after attempting one impossible task in the restoration of Alric’s sword to its rightful owners, I decided that I needed another, then I might add the repair of my hovel to the bucket list of things I would not be doing.
Being a mushroom hunter, appreciating the enormity of what I had accomplished in the state of my hut, I fancied that my house would persist latched onto the outside of Balde’s fortifying wall like a particularly large, ornamental bracket fungus, gradually accreting more mushrooms as it grew on the outer bole of the town wall.
If I ever came back during some distant epoch in the future, I imagined my house—a vibrant living thing—would have prospered in my absence, the fungal spores growing and spreading, replenishing and supplementing one another, perhaps one day reinforcing the entirety of Balde’s wall itself.
Regardless what the fair citizens of Balde wanted or wished.
Such were my aspirations and dreams.
Unfortunately, I had a sword to return.
And a demon-infested continent to cross to do it.
Lying down on my lumpy, ill-formed mattress, I closed my eyes to sleep and gave myself up willingly to dreams.
Tomorrow there would be glad tidings of journeys to come, leavetakings, and the abandonment of hovels better left incinerated.
Leave-Taking
I woke up covered in sweat, aching and exhausted.
Nights were no longer my own.
Whenever I closed my eyes, hoping to lose myself in sleep, in vistas and vagaries of dreams, forgetting the rigors and disappointments of the day, Alric took over.
He guided me through remembrances of drills including donning and repairing armor, how to handle a blade, the proper ways to maintain a sword, demonstrations of countless forms of hand-to-hand combat, defense against single attackers both armed and unarmed, responses to multiple opponents in more unpleasant situations than I would care to encounter in several lifetimes, and dealing with untold numbers of supernatural horrors even worse than nightmares.
He schooled me in lore lost to many outside the Empyrean Knights—enchantments offering protections against demons, means to heal, restore, and reinvigorate myself through higher Arts, ways to enhance the body and mind, and the intricacies of subtle arcana used to invest properly prepared items with power and purpose.
He drilled me in ethics and logic, medicine and philosophy, and in moral imperatives, along with tactics and strategy.
He showed me how to survive in a world inexorably falling to demonic infestation.
He showed me more than I wanted to know, see, or experience.
This was but one day of many.
Each time I woke up, my head hurt from the evening’s strain—throbbing, aching, and on fire—and my body felt as though it had been tortured mercilessly on the rack after being run over by a stampeding herd of massive rhinoceros-dwarfing yurkas.
Such were the joys of sleep.
When I looked back on our dream journeys as best I could un
der the light of a pallid sun, the scope of these lessons humbled me. Since Alric’s knowledge was now my own, having but to unlock his experience and claim it through his willing tutelage, I was shocked by the speed with which he could fully impart this understanding to me.
I felt more and more like I knew what he knew.
I felt more and more like him.
Despite this ever-growing gift, I struggled more and more to remain myself.
“You will come to know these things instinctively without my instruction.
“The more you access my knowledge and skills, the more adept you will be in learning from the soul you have taken.
“Not only that, but if the lore I know of the Djen’toth is correct, honing your skills with me should facilitate the transfer, and give you further protections, when next you dip into the wells of another’s soul.”
Great.
Just what I did not want to do.
Ever.
Packing was easy.
I put on the chainmail Mason had given me, made sure Lucius was in his favorite pocket and was willing to come along, harnessed Loer’allon, and left.
I did not bother to shut the door.
Okay.
I’ve overstated my case.
Leaving wasn’t that easy.
But leaving my house was.
Partly because I couldn’t shut the door.
I also swung by Balde, purchased as much dried foodstuffs as I could carry in a small satchel, and got new clothing suitable for the rigors of the road, including a greatcloak enchanted to ward off the worst of the rain, heat, and cold that I would be exposed to in the weeks ahead, along with a pair of boots that I would not walk through two leagues from home. I also bought padded undergarments suitable for wearing beneath my shiny, not-so-new hauberk. A solid padded helm for my head and leather gloves to help protect my hands completed my upgraded ensemble.
Given my hero’s discount, I could actually afford to buy all these things instead of only drool over them and pine for days when riches would fall from the sky like Angel Swords and I could conceivably buy them.
In truth, many people just gave me what I wanted, allowing me to save what coin I had for the times to come.
What I really wanted was a horse.
The sooner I could return Loer’allon, the sooner I could come back…or go wherever I was going, which probably would not be back.
Unfortunately, since the fall of the Empyrean Gate, the demons had made finding proper horses people were willing to part with almost impossible…that is to say, impossibly expensive.
Even for someone with a hero’s discount.
So I walked.
Proudly.
With my head held high.
But I still walked.
I imagined myself storming out of the town’s gates at full canter on a powerful, midnight-hued stallion, though.
You can bet on that.
“Exactly how long will it take to return Loer’allon?”
“You cannot return a gift freely given, Saedeus.”
I was not a fan of information that ran counter to what I wanted.
Or what I was going to do.
I rephrased. “How long will it take for me to return Loer’allon to the bastion of the Empyrean Guard?”
“Kerraboer?”
“Glibness does not suit you, Alric.”
“Running away from your destiny does not suit you, Saedeus.”
Alric obviously did not know me very well.
And I thought we shared something.
I must have been mistaken.
“Kerraboer lies almost a thousand leagues to the south and east across the breadth of Maeron and the depravity that now wanders freely across the land, standing in defiance before the Chaos Gate.”
His voice softened. “Though in times long past Kerraboer lay in supplication and stewardship before the Empyrean Gate and the Heavenly Host the fortress was built to uphold and serve.”
Well, then.
I had some trekking to do.
A day’s walk south found me in the heart of Silvaeron, the vast forest sweeping across the entirety of the Northern Reaches below the Unbroken Range.
Many were afraid to tread deeply within the Unending Wood, but I had spent my entire life wandering its glades, gulleys, and shadows. The wood was a magical place, full of wonder and beguilement, but, by and large, if you were smart and kept your wits about you, it was relatively safe and free of demonic taint. The farther north one traveled beyond Balde toward the forest’s true heart, the wilder the wood became, the land filled with the legacy of legends past and mysterious creatures rarely encountered by men.
Truth be told, if the alliance of men and fey fell to the demons, Silvaeron might be one of the last vestiges of old Uërth left, its near limitless intrinsic magics protecting against the demons’ implacable advance.
Only time would tell.
But since this is my tale to tell, that is what I would like to think…and sincerely hope. For if any place on Uërth can be proof against the infernals, or serve as a bastion in worse times ahead, the Unending Wood is primary among the candidates.
Even near the outskirts of the great wood, Silvaeron had managed to keep Balde relatively safe when many other towns and cities farther south were regularly preyed upon by demons or, worse yet, in utter ruin, their populations lost, scattered, killed, or corrupted.
I did not want to leave her shade or shelter.
Have I mentioned that I am not particularly brave?
Or adventurous?
Embarking on a journey that would take me out of the only place I had ever lived, the only place I knew that offered some protection from a world gone mad, certainly pushed what little bravery and sense of self-preservation I had to the breaking point.
A point I was never far from.
“Remember to breathe.
“Not only is breath your lifeblood, and a means to regulate the body and mind, but it’s actually rather enjoyable to do.”
Alric’s words reminded me of what I was not doing properly…or enough.
So I did.
If this were my last time to walk through Silvaeron along her many paths and ways, I might as well appreciate the trip.
All around me, moss-dappled trees thrust skyward in riotous profusion, their mighty boles cloaked in crystalline symbiotes, jewel-like encrustations, and coralesque growths. Golden sunlight filtering through green leaves was transformed by the myriad vibrant magical symbionts thriving with the trees, cloaking the wood and its various plants, shrubs, and vines in kaleidoscopic resplendence.
Harvesting both light and arcane energies, the wood held wonders beyond counting.
It also held mushrooms.
Many, many mushrooms.
Lush and moist, fungal formations sprouted up wherever there was space amid the fertile organic matter carpeting the forest floor. So rich and vibrant was this forest sublayer that many naturalists said the mushroom shoals of the Unending Wood resembled nothing more than the coral reefs found along the outer continental shelves worlds away in the warmer oceanic climes of the south.
Never having left the wood, I couldn’t verify these claims, but I could appreciate my good fortune to live here.
And the fact that many no longer dared to venture out.
Which left more mushrooms for me.
Sadly, these next few days might be my last glimpse of the first magic I ever saw in the world—that of my home.
That demons might one day soon pervert its marvelous wealth, subverting it to their foul ends, provided the necessary fuel to keep me moving forward. Otherwise, I would have turned around long ago, Angel Sword or no.
Alric gave me the silence of my own mind to admire what I might soon lose.
For that I was thankful.
I walked alone, lost in introspection, until the sun’s last light vanishing through the trees reminded me that the day was done and my walk with it.
Dawn rose frail and
wan through the thick, interlaced treetops, heavy with the threat of rain. Yesterday I had been visited with the rare treat of a cloudless day full of sun and warmth. Today looked to be more typical—cool, damp, and full of impending misery.
I needed to adjust my mindset.
With me wearing my new misery-repellent cloak, as opposed to my old threadbare clothes, the rain would not bring anything other than sustenance to the plants and creatures of the wood.
With a newfound skip in my step, I broke camp, gathered my few belongings, and rejoined the trail where I had veered off it last night to rest.
Sadly, my skipping did not last too long after the added load of the mail byrnie began weighing me down.
Channeling my inner Alric, I tried my best to look on the bright side.
Carrying the extra mass of the armor and supplies would slowly help me get in good enough physical shape to actually begin performing some of the drills and techniques Alric spent the majority of my sleeping hours running through in my mind.
Inspired by my reminiscence, I unsheathed Loer’allon from where I had her strapped across my back and began practicing swipes, parries, and various guards while I walked, all the while adjusting my footsteps on the irregular terrain of the partially overgrown trail.
Although I felt somewhat odd doing it—who works on their swordsmanship with a holy artifact from Heaven?—the effort was necessary if I wanted to survive once I left the forest’s shelter.
Plus, watching the pure beauty of Loer’allon’s luminous blade slicing through the morning fog, the enlivening glow reflecting the water droplets in a bright, dancing nimbus, was worth experiencing any awkwardness I might have felt using the holy sword for something as mundane as practice.
“This is exactly what Loer’allon is for, Saedeus: helping you be better, helping you feel better, helping you do better, that the world may be better.
“There is no shame in using Loer’allon for her intended purpose, whether the deed is great or small.”
I did not let Alric’s words break the rhythm of my strokes, but his advice was appreciated.
I let my movements flow with more passion and enthusiasm, allowing any self-consciousness to fall aside in the dance of the blade and the play of light around me.
Legacy of the Blade: The Complete Trilogy Page 5