Legacy of the Blade: The Complete Trilogy

by Joseph J. Bailey

  A white fluffy ball rested in my hand.

  It looked like nothing so much as fibrils arranged with the regular geometric patterning of a dandelion seed head.

  I was crestfallen.

  I dropped my hand, exhaled slowly, and tried to hide my disappointment.

  “Open your eyes, Saedeus!”

  I did.

  The feathery, filamentous ball remained suspended in the air.

  And it glowed!

  My plans to become the world’s greatest archmage were not derailed!

  I could do this!

  At least in my own way.

  Alric’s compliments were glowing.

  Like my ball of fuzz.

  “You are the first person I have met who successfully manifested a ball of fluff on his first try!”

  Here was the sarcasm he had been practicing.

  I was ready for it.

  I had a lifetime of practice in this arcane art.

  In this realm, even the mightiest archmages bowed before my derisive talent.

  Before I could give a snide retort, Alric offered his praise. “Creating a physical object that glows represents an order of magnitude greater difficulty than merely creating an energetic expression, Saedeus.

  “Not only that, but your physical object actually did what you wished for it to do.

  “For that you should be proud!”

  When he sensed my ego swelling faster than the speed of sarcasm, he added firmly, “But you still need to learn to cast the simplest spells properly.

  “Otherwise you will never have any true idea of what you may manifest.

  “Therein lies the ultimate danger to yourself and others.

  “So let’s try that sphere of light again.”

  So we did.

  Over and over until my eyes burned from the visualization, until the sun in all its fearsome summer intensity lived furiously behind my eyes, and I feared I would never see again.

  But, after some number of tries I care not to repeat, I was finally able to cast an orb of light.

  And it did not even look like a dandelion.

  But I was still far away from being able to hide myself from a demon prince.

  Higher Ground

  Eventually the swamps dried.

  Or, more accurately, I left their region of local depression.

  Which is not to say that I was depressed, only that the land was…geographically.

  I entered another region of rolling hills and forestland.

  The few fields present were indications of former human inhabitation.

  In these areas left open to the sky, lustrous grasses shimmered in kaleidoscopic swathes, overhung by the hoary limbs of ancient trees along the meadows’ edges, the magical nature of the plants evinced not just by their luminous forms but in the myriad expressions of the essence playing lightly over the plants’ swaying leaves, fronds, and flowers.

  Becoming more and more wild and beautiful in humanity’s absence, the land also evoked a startling fragility, as if this beauty were too frail to last, a temporary boon that would soon pass with the seasons. There was, to my eyes, a vulnerability to the place that demonic occupation would soon shatter, sullying wonders decades in the making.

  That the land had survived many years after demonic incursion belied this impression somewhat, but I worried nonetheless, for magic alone was unlikely to halt demonic corruption.

  My mind filled with visions of massive clawed feet shattering the swaying stalks of grass like delicate crystal, the shards churned into the earth, trees shattered, the woods burnt to the ground, the streams filled with soot and effluent, and the land made barren and defiled.

  But I was, above all, an optimist.

  My visions did not have to come to pass if enough people came together and found a way to throw back the demons and seal the wound that allowed them into our world.

  Though parts of Uërth had indeed met a similar fate, such an outcome was not guaranteed.

  I would see to that.

  By bravely returning my sword and running away to the farthest corner of Maeron and going to ground.

  Was Alric getting to me?

  Was his essence corrupting my own with higher visions and ideals?

  Was his presence within me steering me away from my natural tendencies to lie low and get out of the way?

  Was he somehow guiding me toward false hope and the possibilities that such foolish ideas revealed?

  Or did I have a conscience that I had been neglecting for far too long?

  Was my mind rebelling against the atrocities it had seen after being sheltered in self-serving isolation for most of my life?

  Were my thoughts and actions my own, an internal realignment pushing me to be someone different—more just, of broader view, and deeper thought—than I had been?

  Could I be embarking on this quest of my own will and volition, not just to return an object of great value but to cast off a part of myself that was unwanted and in need of change?

  Was I serious?

  Really?

  Did I want this?

  Was this necessary for me?

  Could I actually make a difference?

  Shaking my head, I trudged onward, letting these questions bounce around in my head like so many nuts falling from trees, ducking low so as to not get whacked on my noggin by a particularly large or solid one, hoping that these considerations would resolve themselves or at least come to a new state of equilibrium that I could live with through the days ahead.

  Who knew?

  Maybe these notions would grow into new trees themselves and form a new forest, one I could live in and be proud to call home.

  If I were lucky, it might even have mushrooms.

  How We Got Here

  When I was young, I often wondered why the world had not been overrun by demons.

  Then I began to grow up and realized that people could be every bit as crafty and ruthless as demons.

  After all, if I managed to survive in the wilderness scrounging for mushrooms with demons and other monsters on the loose, imagine what someone actually competent could do?

  In fact, I came to understand that men could be worse than the demons, for in us was both Heaven and Hell, angel and demon. Humanity could reach the highest heights and the lowest lows; within us was both the best and the worst.

  And the demons never saw it coming.

  So used to fighting the honorable angelic knights of heaven, the demonic hordes were caught unaware by humanity’s surprisingly creative destructive capacity.

  With the demons’ victory at the Empyrean Gate and Heaven’s fall, the entropic hordes must have thought the worst of their battles were over.

  They were wrong.

  Unfortunately, there were more demons than us.

  A discrepancy we tried to rectify at every opportunity.

  Even as far north as we were on the outskirts of civilization in Balde, tales filtered northward of humanity’s heroics.

  As brave and formidable as the Empyrean Knights were, there were others far braver, for they fought on without the knight’s strength and power. These warriors fought not for themselves but for our common future.

  Their valor allowed the rest of us to live.

  Being the coward I was, I cannot say I agreed with their methods or would participate, but I was glad to reap the benefits if it helped us survive a little longer.

  There were the J’andre Fulminants whose order relied on the willing self-sacrifice of its members to lure demonic entities into themselves, temporarily binding the demons within while the order’s wizards blasted the possessing demons into oblivion. Fanatics came to the order in droves to willingly sacrifice themselves, feeling that their offerings not only helped cleanse the Uërth but would help resanctify Heaven after Its fall.

  No less effective but equally fanatical, the Uërthen Stoics cast their souls out of their bodies into consecrated reliquaries to make them immune to demonic infestation. Similar magi
cs augmented their bodies, often beyond recognition, so that the Stoics could fight face-to-face with demons and prevail.

  The Priests of D’almere practiced imbuing themselves with holy Light until they became living embodiments of divine energies. At the highest levels of attainment, it was rumored Priests could face off against the mightiest demon princes and triumph. Unfortunately, with this gradual ascension, many of the D’almere lost their ties to the material plane and ascended to other realms.

  Within the fey races, the dryads, the sidhe, and their kin, myriad ways of power outside mortal ken vied with demonic incursion, holding the infernals at bay on land and sea. My own home within fair Silvaeron benefited in part from such fearsome magics.

  The Elemantus Magisterium, the Elemental Speakers, bonded deeply with elemental forces and called on the spirits of the land to fight against demons from earth to sky. Their bond and control was far greater than anything I enjoyed with Lucius, though I am certain Lucius would say that I played second harp to no one. So great was their rapport with elemental powers that the Magisterium were able to transform into elementals themselves and rain destruction upon the demonic hordes.

  Numerous species of dragons banded together in common cause, throwing aside old enmities to bring their mighty roars to the chorus of those who willingly fought against extradimensional assault. Tales of draconid heroics leading the charge and rallying the motley legions of Uërth on the Front were the stuff of legend.

  These heroes and many others like them helped slow the tide of demonic incursion.

  But, despite these heroes’ valiant efforts, the demons continued to push forward through the Chaos Gate and then outward into Uërth beyond.

  Whenever one demon fell, more were ready to take its place.

  I was, on the other hand, not ready to take anyone’s place.

  I wanted to return Loer’allon and find a place safe enough to hide while the real heroes took care of business.

  My entrepreneurial spirit was rather low.

  I Find Myself Here Because?

  Why exactly was I doing this?

  What did I hope to accomplish?

  Loer’allon could take care of herself. For all I knew, the sword had existed since the beginning of time.

  My track record could do little to improve on that.

  I was under no obligation to help Alric. If anything, he had steered me away from my present course, instead encouraging me to take the mantle offered by Loer’allon and become an Empyrean Knight. My journey southward could, in fact, be viewed as a knightly pilgrimage or quest, or some masochistic training exercise, so Alric was still getting what he wanted whether I accepted his offer or not. Similarly, his constant coaching and words of advice could easily be viewed as teachings to help me become a knight errant embodying the ideals he so clearly espoused.

  In sum, as was the norm, I was in a lose-lose situation where no matter what I did, the outcome was not exactly what I wanted.

  Quite the opposite.

  I am always the proverbial fly caught in the spider’s web. Only, in my case, I can fashion my own web, entrap myself, and create a spider to cause untold difficulties just by being myself.

  Despite my struggles with arcane magic, there is a lesson here.

  I am a magician. I can conjure the means of my suffering with a surety and skill that would be the envy of the greatest wizard.

  I am magical.

  Like unicorns.

  Except different.

  Now that’s something to be proud of...

  Or not.

  Waylaid

  Lucius wanted out of his pocket.

  I gulped.

  That was never a good sign.

  I reached into my tunic, my hand only shaking slightly, feeling the hard metal rings of my armor through the fabric beneath my fingers as my hand settled around Lucius’s cool, burnished stone surface.

  I dropped Lucius to my side.

  He stopped abruptly mid-fall, halting his downward trajectory at thigh height.

  Hovering next to me, floating about an arm’s length away, Lucius matched the pace of my strides across the dusty, hard-packed road.

  I left no visible footprints.

  Over the past few days, the forests had thinned with more obvious signs of former human habitation. Burnt fields stretched away from the road on either side, the land unclaimed by the derelict cottages crumbling within their midst. Denuded trees crackled and snapped in the wind. Between patches of bare dirt, scraggly plants slumped in the irregular ditches lining either side of the road.

  Everything looked parched and in need of water.

  What life was here was thin and wan, sapped of vitality and expression.

  This place was demon haunted.

  And I was here.

  Alone.

  “You are not alone, Saedeus.

  “You never are and you never will be.”

  Looking left and right, I saw no one else here.

  Just my pet rock.

  I think Alric was overlooking something.

  His reassurances did little to settle my nerves.

  “Trust in your allies and training.

  “All will be well.”

  Allies?

  Had Alric missed what I’d just seen?

  Empty fields.

  An abandoned roadway.

  No one but me, my shadow, and a small hovering rock.

  And out there…demons.

  I could feel them.

  They were a shadow I could not quite see…disturbances in the essence that were not right, like an oil slick on water whose presence only showed up in the right light when viewed from the proper angle.

  They were the darkness within the shadows’ heart…the depthless gloom hiding in plain sight that screamed of fear, terror, and doom. They howled of the end of things, of man’s cosmic impotence, and unbridled, insane rage.

  And they were everywhere.

  I wiped my sweating palms on my tunic.

  Bravely.

  At least give me credit for that.

  Plodding up the long rise that now delayed my progress and urged my legs to work harder against their will, I was in no rush to see the next tragedy that was about to befall me.

  I knew it was coming and was in no hurry to meet it.

  Lucius began to twirl.

  His dizzying motion generated a faint hum.

  I only hoped that his thrumming, rotational vibration meant something like, “BEGONE, DEMONS!

  “YOUR REIGN HERE IS AT AN END!

  “YOUR TIME IS NIGH!

  “I AM YOUR DESTINY AND ANNIHILATION!

  “RUN IN FEAR OR FACE MY WRATH!”

  The humming sound slowly faded as Lucius’s rotational velocity increased and the sounds of his movement passed into octaves I could not hear.

  I did not sense any demons leaving posthaste.

  Nor did I sense any response in the local canine community.

  Apparently the dogs could not hear Lucius’s high-pitched whistle either.

  I was not alone in that at least.

  Small rocks began to gather about Lucius in a whirling, tornadic cloud.

  I was proud of my pet rock.

  I wanted to pat him on the head… Since he did not have a head, his top would do, but I did not want to lose a hand.

  Some gestures are not worth the risk.

  Touching a magically reinforced elemental stone moving at speeds I could not register would not be wise, especially if I wanted to keep my hand.

  Having only two, I complimented my little tornado instead. “Thanks, Lucius. The air has been rather still. I needed a breeze.”

  Lucius spun faster.

  I wanted to risk getting closer to show my approval for his efforts and soak in the refreshing draught but the thought of instant death held me back.

  So much for my gratitude.

  By the time we reached the hill’s top, I could no longer see Lucius. I knew he was there, however. In my mind’s ey
e, a furiously blazing ball of magical forces surged frenetically next to me as I walked.

  I focused everything I had on not tripping.

  Stumbling toward Lucius would not be good.

  On the bright side, if I did fall on Lucius, Loer’allon would be able to find a new master without having to travel all the way to Kerraboer.

  I always looked on the bright side.

  Call me Bright Mind, Lord of the Optimists.

  Or Saedeus.

  I will answer to both.

  Upon cresting the rise, I noticed two things.

  First the view opened expansively onto a broad valley bisected by the iridescent strand of a wide, snaking river. At the valley’s center, far ahead along the road’s path, a city nestled within the comforts of a shimmering dome of force.

  Surprisingly, the city looked untouched by the desolation lying all around it.

  Inside this sphere of eldritch energies, the world appeared as it once had—the land was lush and green, covered with tiered fields and tall trees while many colored pennons swirled in an invisible wind on high walls unbroken by strife. Soaring behind the city walls, delicate towers of lambent crystal, appearing made of artfully spun glass, thrust heavenward while the distant specks of minuscule people moved freely through wide boulevards and avenues.

  The swirling dome was a window into another time.

  Much closer, across barren ground choked on dust and desolation, a disparate band of armored warriors blocked my passage ahead.

  Or at least what one might have assumed were warriors at first glance.

  I was not just anyone.

  Being a natural coward—I prefer the term survivalist—I tended to look closely for many details that might be easily overlooked in a given situation, details that might prove the difference between life and death.

  Wanting to live, I paid attention.

  I was also astute.

  Meaning even I could not miss the true nature of the small horde that had materialized on the highway, ready to rend me limb from limb.

  To say the creatures had once been, or might have once been, human would be a far stretch of the imagination…at least an imagination as limited as my own. Scabrous faces twisted and disfigured by past torture glared at me through the heat haze separating us. Slouched shoulders terminating in desiccated arms perched atop twisted, broken spines that remained unconcerned by my unsteady approach. Rotten flesh fell away in irregular clumps. Broken swords, rusty spears, dented shields, and scarred maces created an irregular picket of hostile intent.