Legacy of the Blade: The Complete Trilogy

by Joseph J. Bailey

  As I launched directly upward past the surrounding mountaintops and through the clouds I had been trying to mimic, I noted a few salient points.

  One, my butterflies were somehow still with me.

  Apparently they had decided that I was not going to lose them.

  No matter how hard I tried.

  Two, these were not ordinary butterflies, because such rapid acceleration should have ripped them to tatters.

  Three, there was a writhing mass of demonic forces seething across the valley toward my erstwhile position.

  Four, Lucius was left all alone to deal with a contingent of nightmares best suited for the dreams of fallen angels.

  Five, at the rate of my continued acceleration, I might not land before Lucius was swarmed by the horde of infernals.

  Let me clarify Lucius’s plight.

  The ruins overflowed with hellish forms, monsters from the darkest pits and crevices of the Abyss. An animated sludge dragon oozed sickeningly through the broken remains, towering above deformed creatures that skulked, skittered, and flew toward Lucius, drawn like moths to a raging flame. The roar of a massive winged beast, tail lashing, twisted horns spiraling outward from a flame-haloed leonine head, shattered the anticipatory stillness, presaging the mob’s arrival. Roughly humanoid in form but the size of a large building, a red-scaled, spike-covered behemoth waded forward, crushing stone and demons alike in its ardor for souls, ripping apart any demons that impeded its progress. Necrotic undead sorcerers wreathed themselves in dark magics in anticipation of violence to come. Rune-wrought armor hiding the beasts within, armored hulks brandished unholy blades, bloodlust fueling their berserk attack. Ghostly apparitions, the souls of the damned too foul to be restrained, wove through the massed horrors. Clouds of vile pestilence, manifest disease, filled the seething gaps between devilish forms. Teeth gnashed, claws scraped, chests bellowed, tails whipped, and wings beat in a fury of violence.

  Too many others to see, or wish to see, joined their foul brethren in their quest to return Lucius to the dust from whence he had arisen.

  I certainly knew how to draw a crowd.

  But I was helpless to make a difference.

  That would not stop me from trying, nonetheless.

  Thinking quickly, if not exactly logically, I released the magic that had been propelling me upward to the limits of Uërth’s atmosphere.

  My momentum pushed me yet higher, giving me a view of Uërth that stretched from far horizon to horizon.

  The Dragon’s Teeth Range became the merest rolling bumps on the ground as Maeron itself rolled out for me in all her tarnished glory. Though much of the continent appeared to be a barren wasteland, leached dry by the throngs of Chaos, there were, much like the Greensward, surprising patches of life and vitality to be seen.

  With any luck, these outposts of life would reseed the world in the near future.

  If I squinted my eyes, I imagined that I could see mighty Kerraboer glimmering like a star in the distance.

  As I finally reached the zenith of my ascent, my momentum shifted and gradually took me downward and my focus inward, toward my future, and not just my impending impact.

  Master Nomba had always said I was a rare talent, that my ability was only matched by my belief.

  He had often said that once I figured out how to properly express myself, the world itself would listen.

  Sadly, that day had yet to come.

  Although I was far from an arcane genius, my skills had slowly, if erratically, progressed until I could amaze myself almost every time I attempted a spell.

  Of course the outcome was seldom close to my intent, but my intent was generally expressed.

  Master Nomba had likened my challenges casting spells to someone with a speech impediment. The words and ability were there; they just often did not come out exactly how I had wished.

  In my case, however, the challenges were not words, but magic itself.

  Despite having a few esoteric mental wires crossed, prior to Master Nomba’s death, I had only managed to be a danger to myself.

  And I had exceeded beyond my wildest expectations in this regard.

  Right now was a case in point.

  I was one of the rarest individuals on Uërth. I could say, without reservation, that I was quite possibly a greater danger to myself than to any demon.

  Fall

  To my surprise, my descent was somehow faster than my rise.

  Perhaps this was because my expectations were pulling me down.

  Wind whipped around me furiously, the vibrations building in a sympathetic shield that glowed with the heat of re-entry.

  Undisturbed, my butterflies fanned out in an elegant, iridescent attack formation.

  Taking control of my fall, I swooped earthward, imagining myself launching into the center of the writhing mass of unholy bodies waylaying Lucius far below.

  Though his body was for too small to see from the lofty heights of my flight, I could sense Lucius’s presence clearly nonetheless.

  He was, to my augmented vision, a forest fire raging through dried trees, the halo of his aura slicing whole swathes through the churning throngs of Darkness in a blazing conflagration. Where he cut, batches of hellspawn burned to nothing, consumed by the fires of their own evil.

  I was—and this had been the case for most of my life thus far—entirely irrelevant and unneeded. Whatever I wanted to do to help, Lucius would perform far more effectively.

  I would not, however, be dissuaded.

  Channeling my inner meteorite, I propelled myself earthward, willing my butterfly swarm to join me in an incandescent explosion of purpose.

  We would not disappoint.

  A sea of twitching, dismembered, burned, and shattered bodies surrounded Lucius as he cut, burst, blasted, and annihilated his way through the rapidly diminishing demonic multitude.

  Gritting my imagined teeth, gathering a wall of power before me the likes of which could decimate the valley and all it sheltered, I surged downward, ready to detonate into my foes, leaving a wake of destruction even Lucius would admire.

  Just before impact, I released my massed wave of force, letting it discharge outward in a flood of destruction.

  Reality and imagination, I have found, are often two very different constructs.

  Reality was seldom constructed from my imagination.

  There was an explosion; of that I was sure. It might even have killed a few demons, but of that I could not be sure, particularly since so many were already being so ably vaporized by Lucius’s implacable advance.

  Of this I was certain—the energy of my spell rebounded upon itself and sent me heavenward.

  Again.

  With even greater velocity than the first launch.

  As I rocketed skyward, once more joining my friends in the heavens, I got one last glimpse of the battlefield before it shrank into obscurity.

  My butterflies were acquitting themselves nobly on the field of battle.

  Of that much, at least, I was proud.

  And rather surprised.

  But still proud.

  Then I was in near-Uërth orbit and was more focused on getting back down than on the course of the battle unfolding on the ground so far below.

  Aftermath

  “Good evasive maneuvers, Maeraeth.”

  Evasive maneuvers?

  We were floating in the air on the far valley’s far slope, well outside the hellish wasteland of extradimensional destruction wrought by Lucius’s response to the demonic attack, twin planets orbiting about a central axis. If ever a place could be said to be ruined, these ruins now truly were.

  Tainted by dire magics and corpses far worse, the valley was a vile desolation to be left to tragic memory.

  Given my propensity for magical error, and my desire to keep those around me safe, or at least aware of the potential risks of my continued presence, telling Lucius the truth about myself was my only real option.

  I was an unfortunate mage, my
actions seldom reflecting my desires, and most often surprising even me.

  My journey to the heavens was one such example.

  Its repeat made two.

  The discovery that my fluttery, lepidopteron contingent were a destructive, if rather endearing, juggernaut was another.

  I cleared my throat, embarrassed. “Lucius,” I hesitated, stopping mid-sentence, unsure what to say. “My response to the attack was...entirely accidental.”

  I had to own up to the whole truth, not just part of it. “Not only was my reaction inadvertent, it was entirely out of my control.”

  I dropped my head in shame. “In fact, I had no idea there even was an attack until just before I saw you surrounded by hell-born monsters as I flew into outer space.”

  Lucius bobbed simply, nonchalantly, as if my heartfelt failings so vulnerably revealed were of no matter. “That is why I am here.

  “To guide and protect.”

  He paused a moment before adding matter-of-factly, “Your heart-essence is tangled.

  “That is why your magic fails to express your true purpose.

  “Once your heart-essence is true, your spells will mirror your intent.

  “This will come. The mua’di will guide you.”

  If my elemental form had had a mouth, it would have been hanging open.

  Since it did not, I was saved a bit of additional embarrassment.

  I hoped.

  “What are you, Lucius?”

  Surely Lucius was not just another elemental. If he had been, the world would not fear all the demons within the far reaches of the Abyss. Nor would they have survived on Uërth for so long.

  “You know what I am—a rock that floats.

  “That is all.”

  That is exactly what he was not: a common rock. The simplicity of his answer was but the merest sketch of the enormous extent not explained by his reply. And this, the immense unsaid, implied the truth of what he was.

  Perhaps he was not just an elemental. Maybe he was the elemental.

  Or something more fundamental, something primal.

  A force of Creation.

  One capable of untold destruction.

  Regardless, I was glad he was with me.

  Otherwise, I would not be here now, in the recent past, or in the future.

  What Next?

  “What will you do once we reach Kerraboer?”

  I was happy to see that I was bobbing behind Lucius somewhat consistently, only occasionally smacking against the ground or ricocheting off another rock.

  Lucius seemed to shrug, deflecting my question.

  I was learning to read the subtleties of his movements without resorting to words.

  He turned my question around. “The question is not what I will do. It is: what will you do?”

  “Me?”

  I could not do much, only offer my best.

  And hope my best did not blow anyone up.

  Myself included.

  Lucius did not reply.

  He had spoken, and that was enough.

  His silence anticipated my response.

  I thought for some time before answering.

  As I considered, we crested another ridge like so many before, the Dragon’s Teeth worn and ground down with age and abuse, no longer quite so sharp or menacing as they had been in the distant past. Another valley and looming ridge lay before us, one more crest in a long line of waves stretching out into the distant sea of peaks.

  How could I best serve Uërth?

  How could I best serve Master Nomba’s mission?

  If we—rather if I, for I had no doubt Lucius would survive—managed to live through the journey, how would my purpose be best served, my actions generating the greatest effect?

  The answer was as simple as it was clear.

  I could not be trusted with Master Nomba’s vision or his knowledge.

  I was too grave a risk.

  I could not be relied upon to shield villages and protect the precious lives within, as had Master Nomba.

  Trying had killed my teacher.

  But I could share his knowledge and purpose with those better suited to the task.

  If anyone had the ability and resources to offer protection to the survivors of the demonic occupation, it was the holy Empyrean Knights, wreathed in the residual power of Heaven. They could take Master Nomba’s vision, knowledge I held but dared not use, and bring his dream of a protected populace to reality now that the Chaos Gate was sealed, the Knights were not forced to hold fast, and no more demons would be coming through the rift.

  My course was settled, then.

  “I will share Master Nomba’s knowledge of how to shield, protect, and link villages with the Empyrean Knights so that they can make his vision a reality.”

  I was rather pleased with my answer.

  Lucius, however, was less than impressed.

  “And what if your purpose is not their own?”

  I spluttered and sputtered. “How could they not..? Why wouldn’t they..? Surely they will see..?”

  “The Knights have worked long centuries to protect the people of Uërth. Surely in that time they have come up with their own plans for the future, on the off chance they managed to survive and see the fall of the Chaos Gate?”

  He did have a point.

  One that stood on fairly solid ground logically and strategically.

  One that put mine in an entirely different perspective.

  But I was not yet done.

  “I will have to convince them.”

  “And if they are too busy to listen?”

  “Then I will show them!”

  I could almost see Lucius’s smile.

  Guraem

  This guraem was crystallizing nicely.

  His facets were sharpening and resolving with his vision.

  His internal lattice structure and crystalline habit were slowly becoming more and more euhedral with the continued refinement of his longruen.

  In time, he would become the equal to his heart-essence.

  Then his inner radiance would shine outward and help light up the world.

  Uërth needed more lights.

  Luecaeus would help him shine, as he had others.

  When one light shone, the whole world brightened.

  When many lights shone, the world blazed.

  In time, the world would catch fire.

  Uërth

  “Maeraeth!

  “Come!

  “I have something to show you!”

  I dared not disregard Master Nomba’s summons, no matter how interesting the ant nest at my feet appeared to be: a world in miniature, neatly organized and protected by the tiny insects moving within.

  The colony would be there for further study when Master Nomba was done.

  On my hands and knees, face nearly touching the pile of mounded earth that housed thousands, perhaps millions, of tiny lives, each granule so distinct in the bright afternoon sun that it shone like a diamond, I finally managed to pull myself away.

  Standing, I dusted my robes off, clearing the grit scattered across my knees and elbows, before turning to walk over to where Master Nomba was standing on the outskirts of the village. My venerable teacher was waiting beneath the shade of an old oak tree that had seen the passage of many generations, one that had perhaps been planted long ago by Master Nomba himself.

  Though older than the trees surrounding our village, or even the village itself, Master Nomba did not look his age. Despite the presence of a copious gray beard hinting at his long years, Master Nomba’s eyes glowed with good cheer, humor, and vitality despite his living in a self-contained oasis surrounded by a desert of demonic incursion. He was tall and lithe and moved with far more grace and competency than I, despite the fullness of my youth. His dark skin glowed with health and vibrancy, almost lit from within by his inner power. His smile was quick and ready, like his wit, and he filled whatever space he occupied with assurance and calm.

  He was my teacher,
my adopted father, and I was glad to have him.

  “Coming!”

  I jogged toward him across the leafy ground separating us, listening to the rustle of last year’s dried leaves beneath my booted feet.

  Beyond Master Nomba, outside the trees flanking the village, I could see the fields of central Greensward Valley rolling in the steady breeze coming down off the slopes, with the ribbon of the Bouras River glowing like burnished gold at their edge.

  Following the Bouras, the lush valley slowly faded and dimmed beyond the Greensward as the land opened up onto the demon-haunted wilderness beyond. Sadly, those lands were not protected by my master’s magic.

  Yet.

  Pulling up to a halt, slightly out of breath from my run, I asked, “Yes, Master?”

  I was fortunate indeed that Master Nomba had taken me in as his apprentice. I tried to show him the respect he deserved, especially since my actions often disappointed, if not Master Nomba, then myself.

  “Let me show you how we’re going to change the world, lad!”

  The liveliness of his tone drew me in, pulled me forward to him and his intent just as his words beckoned when he told of days past, of the fall of Heaven, of the demonic invasion, and how men must remake the world if it was to be restored anew.

  “Look!”

  His hands swirled around a sphere, lightly caressing a ball only he could see.

  With the motion, an image began to coalesce between his hands, a luminous orb suspended within a tapestry of darkness. Distant lights shone all around the fragile sphere, only hinting at its mysteries. This was the Uërth, swimming in the limitless void between the stars—our world.

  Clouds swirled across its tawny surfaces, white-capped mountains, and dark seas. Islands of green were scattered across its exterior, regions I knew yet held out against demonic incursion.

  These areas were depressingly few and far between.

  As Master Nomba’s hands moved, Uërth’s face began to light up, small points of illumination growing across her pocked and damaged skin, as if the stars themselves had alighted upon our home.