Legacy of the Blade: The Complete Trilogy

by Joseph J. Bailey

  “What do your spells tell you?” I asked.

  “That events are grim there, as everywhere.”

  “But there is a chance?”

  Master Nomba shrugged, unwilling perhaps to get my hopes up, or push them too far down, so recently after this last disappointment.

  “That’s good enough for me!”

  I would pretend excitement for death itself to keep Master Nomba’s dream alive.

  Sometimes the alternatives were even worse.

  “Are you able to scry the other hamlets as you have done with Luistaer?”

  Master Nomba smiled, his features somewhat bittersweet. “Yes.”

  Anticipating my request, he asked, “Would you like me to summon an image of them?”

  Before I answered, I asked, “Have you been able to contact anyone or anything within, as you did with Luistaer?”

  “No. I have not.”

  Why?

  If there were yet living souls inside the townships, why would they not heed his call?

  The answer was as obvious, and heart-wrenching, as Master Nomba’s efforts to reach Luistaer.

  If anyone yet lived inside the walls of those towns, they would not want more disappointment or hardship.

  They dealt with enough every day.

  Magical summons and calls would, almost exclusively, come from denizens of the Darkness, those fiends trying to take the residents’ lives from them, not give them a better one.

  The real question was why anyone would ever respond to a magical communication in the first place.

  So long as Uërth was plagued by demons, seclusion and self-isolation were quite often the safest paths to survival.

  Over the Hill

  If meeting a seething mass of fallen souls in close—or far—combat is not the best way to end an already exciting day, such a joyous encounter is only a near second to seeing a writhing mass of extradimensional monstrosities overtop the mountain you are climbing after meeting equally unholy apparitions just a short time before.

  I really do not have words for the insane assemblage of horrors that were surging toward us with all the chaotic violence of an approaching hurricane.

  If the pits of Hell itself could scrape the most vile, abhorrent refuse from its lower intestines and leave the residue to congeal in a pool of noxious, disease-ridden, mucus-laced demonic vomit, that would be far too positive an impression of what lay ahead and above. The mere presence I sensed oozing outward from so many unclean entities with my elemental-heightened senses was enough to prompt me to wish I had never been born.

  I did not think Lucius had ever been born, so he seemed entirely imperturbed by the whole ungodly procession.

  Which did not make up for my reaction, but it helped.

  As an added bonus, I noticed that I was still calm in the face of this fell storm, despite the fact that every fiber of my nature was rebelling against being half a mountain away from the roiling tide of Darkness.

  At least that was a positive.

  Maybe not one sufficient to cancel the negatives, but I tried to look on the bright side.

  I was turning over a new leaf.

  Too bad I could not hide under one.

  Or a whole pile.

  As if reading my thoughts of leaves blown by the wind, my butterfly shroud burst forward and into flames.

  Never having imagined what would happen if a hundred stars were born and took flight around me, I was a bit surprised when an incandescent halo of magically contained destruction came to life in my immediate vicinity.

  I would have been quite the showstopper at the local fair.

  My butterflies were not so encumbered.

  In fact, they seemed to flutter forward with the joy of little newborn supernovas ready to unleash titanic, uncontrolled fusion reactions upon the unsuspecting denizens of the Abyss.

  Which they did.

  Thankfully, I had no eyes to close when they went off, or I might have been permanently blinded.

  As it was, I was blasted across the valley by a monumental detonation that would have been far worse if the explosions had not been locally contained by the butterflies’ magic. Being composed of magically reinforced stone conferred some protection as well.

  As it was, I added more heaping piles of rubble to Raoul’s already blasted mountainside.

  The impact crater was a nice touch.

  After several minutes of total disorientation, I was finally able to get up.

  The demons were not so lucky.

  Vestiges of the Past

  We were still standing in Master Nomba’s home, the visions of Luistaer not yet cleared from my mind.

  With a brief series of gestures, arcane energy arcing between his digits as he worked, Master Nomba recreated a scrying portal much as he had before.

  Unlike before, Master Nomba’s efforts were quite a bit less complex. This was in part due to his weaving fewer protections into the casting, knowing he would not be in direct contact with another magician, and also because the destinations were more familiar to him.

  Or so I guessed.

  For he was able to conjure the viewing with far less effort than he had employed when sending for Luistaer. Not sharing Master Nomba’s level of attainment, I could have misinterpreted many of the subtle reasons for the discrepancies between castings, but I was fairly certain of my interpretation.

  Or so I believed.

  The village was like nothing I had ever seen.

  To say that it was built into the side of the mountain would be a misstatement.

  The village was literally part of the mountain.

  It was, to the best of my ability to discern, made entirely of solid, living rock.

  I could see no openings, doors, cracks, or crevices through which anyone could leave or enter.

  How Master Nomba could have discovered the village, I had no idea.

  Finding it at all was a testament to his skill.

  I certainly would have missed the hamlet without employing additional magics.

  I probably would have missed it even after employing additional magics.

  That is assuming I could correctly cast the requisite spells in the first place.

  I could also see why the place might have survived for so long untouched by demons.

  If its occupants could grow or summon the food and water they needed.

  And that there were sufficient numbers inside to maintain a healthy population.

  And not go mad.

  “How extensive is this settlement?” I asked.

  Master Nomba smiled. “Far more extensive than you might guess,” was his answer.

  If people had lived inside that mountain all these years, I would guess the village was quite extensive.

  “Do they even need our protection, Master?”

  “The stone alone does not protect them. Without diligence and care, their defenses could be breached over time.”

  In this case, time certainly was on the demons’ side.

  Unless we were able to help.

  Master Nomba shared my hope.

  And determination.

  “What of the other village, Master?”

  Master Nomba’s fingers were a blur as he adjusted the visualization.

  The rocks shifted from one mountainside to another. This village looked more like a small temple or retreat built out on outcroppings separated from the majority of the mountainside. Where once a bridge might have connected the craggy peak to the prominence on which the township rested, now there was but empty air and steep cliffs.

  The village itself appeared as a moderate fortification enclosed by high walls with numerous modest stone buildings clustered fearfully within. Most surprisingly, and encouragingly, there was actually greenery visible within the walls.

  Despite its superior defensive position and relative impregnability when viewed from a mundane human perspective, without suitable wards, the village would quickly fall to demons.

  That the community stil
l stood intact was a sign more promising than any I had expected.

  Looking beyond the fortified hamlet, great mountains soared in the near and far distance untouched by human hand.

  Perhaps the village’s isolation and protective wards had rendered it relatively unnoticed or unnoticeable by infernals.

  Regardless, it still stood, and we would visit.

  “Where are these townships located, Master? Are they both in the Dragon’s Teeth?”

  “They are indeed.

  “Though far from here, they are the last remnants of human civilization that I have been able to find within the vast reaches of the Dragon’s Teeth.”

  Swallowing my fear, though filled with trepidation, I asked only somewhat hesitantly, “When do we leave?”

  “We leave when you are ready. No sooner, and no later.”

  That was reassuring. At least I could choose the time of my own imminent death.

  I was, after all, something of an optimist.

  Just not much of something.

  A Fading Sun

  Weak and groggy, resisting unconsciousness, I slowly roused myself from the ground.

  Across the valley, the indescribable light of the blazing suns slowly faded.

  With the light’s departure, the full extent of the explosion was revealed.

  The entire top of the mountain was gone.

  Shorn off like last month’s hair.

  Entirely.

  And, along with the mountain, all the demons.

  In fact, I could see the rising line of still more snow-capped, gray-clad peaks beyond the one that had vanished.

  Raoul would have a more expansive view.

  I hoped it was one he welcomed.

  We had brought whole epochs of change to his valley in but a day.

  Like the mountaintop, my butterflies had disappeared, and with them a part of my soul.

  No longer able to stay awake, too weak to hold myself up, I succumbed to darkness.

  “Rest, Maeraeth. We are here to watch over you.”

  A huddled mass of concerned elementals hovered around me, stones with hearts warmer than most men’s.

  Theirs were utterances from another world.

  “You are weak. Much of your longruen is gone.”

  Lucius was right.

  I felt empty, hollowed out to the core.

  I felt enervated, my life force and vitality gone.

  I felt fragile, so frail that the slightest movement might blow me away.

  With the loss of my butterflies, I had lost a significant portion of my self.

  I had lost my soul glow.

  “Your essence will return in time.

  “Do not fear.

  “Rest and be safe.”

  So I did.

  Looking up to the sky, surrounded by elemental guardians, I closed my eyes and knew no more, comforted by the security of deep, irresistible quiescence.

  Leave-Taking

  The entire village had gathered to send us off. From Mayor Rathsburn with his kind, intelligent eyes, bushy ham hock sideburns, and full paunch to Meyrna Maelus cloaked in her thick indigo robes radiating almost as much power as Master Nomba himself, young and old, healthy and infirm, all were there.

  While everyone gathered round giving us hugs, pats on the back, and words of encouragement, Meyrna walked forward to speak with us. She had been Master Nomba’s apprentice many years before me and, unlike me, she had grown into a formidable wizard.

  I had merely grown.

  Somewhat.

  In Master Nomba’s absence, Meyrna was the most gifted practitioner of Craft in the valley and the most senior by accomplishment and learning of his remaining apprentices.

  Her time and studies were now her own, but, in our absence, she would be fully capable of maintaining or even expanding the valley’s shields as needed. Master Nomba had also entrusted her with teaching the next generations of wizards should we not return.

  I knew she was more than equal to the task.

  Her words were full of care and consideration. “Master, will you not reconsider? The world beyond our walls is fraught with danger. Your wisdom could still do so much here.”

  Master Nomba stepped forward in turn and met her, reached out both hands and lightly rested them on her shoulders. His was a gesture of thanks and love. “This danger is exactly why we must leave, Meyrna. This valley is safe and stable. I trust you to see to this in my absence. But what of the world outside?”

  He swept one long robed arm across the horizon. “What of others who cower in fear of Darkness? In truth, I have stayed here far too long. I grieve for what might have been if I had left sooner.

  “You will see to the future.

  “I have faith in you.

  “Your energy and enthusiasm, your drive and creativity, are what the Greensward needs. With your guidance, this valley will become a true Eden.”

  Meyrna’s face, usually so strong and composed, cracked, if only for a moment. “Master, please...”

  Before she could finish, Master Nomba squeezed her shoulders briefly and broke contact. Although his voice was soft and intended for Meyrna as much as anyone, he said in farewell, “I am needed elsewhere now.

  “Be well.

  “Be true.

  “Be the Light you wish to see in the world.”

  With that he turned away, the hem of his robes describing a graceful circle with the turn, and started away across the valley to the shield’s edge in the near distance. Although nearly invisible, his destination was clearly seen by the end of vegetation and the beginning of raw, ravaged earth.

  My lips pressed tightly together, fighting back tears and the upwelling emotions that threatened to overwhelm me, I gave a brief nod and wave and followed Master Nomba into the unknown.

  If only Meyrna had pleaded with me to stay…

  But, unlike her, I was not the future, merely an accomplice.

  A Nightmare Revisited

  I stood alone atop a strangely familiar rocky prominence. The bleak, overcast sky seethed violently overhead, its motions impelled by some inner commotion, the low clouds appearing near enough to touch.

  But I did not wish to extend my arm outward, lest something in those clouds reach out and grab me.

  No matter how secure my footing.

  Or how certain I was that this was a dream.

  A scalding wind whipped ferociously across my face, drawing the moisture from my eyes, mouth, and nostrils, leaving my eyes grainy and blinking, my lips cracking, and my nose hot and irritated.

  My clothes thrashed about me, the material too short to become knotted but long enough to be caught by the brutal wind, the cloth cracking with every unpredictable turn and frantic adjustment of the currents.

  The next time I ended up here, I would have to remember to bring a drink.

  I adjusted my footing, the sharp rocks biting into the soles of my feet through my boots as I perched atop the wind-battered stones.

  Xeric, desolate plains stretched to the horizon, the land as fissured as my unfortunate lips, as desiccated as my nose.

  Rain still had not yet come.

  Neither was any life visible within its extent.

  The foul smell of brimstone filled my nostrils, an unwelcome foreboding of what was to come.

  A counter-aroma would be nice.

  Another item to remember when next I ended up here.

  My eyes watered futilely in the acrid wind.

  Blinking did little to help.

  Neither did my unbidden tears.

  I felt arcane energies surging through my veins, the raw substance of magic seething through my essence, eager to be released.

  I already knew that this was a dream, for I had visited this place before. But this time I felt ready not only because power really did move through my veins now, but also because something else stirred within me, things far more important.

  Confidence.

  Assurance.

  Belief.

  I no
longer sputtered.

  I blazed.

  My eyes fixed on the broken plains, I observed the end of an era unfolding, the demise of surety and well-being.

  I did not wish to watch this tragedy unfold again, but I seemed to have little choice even though I knew I was dreaming.

  The very fabric of space above the hardpan warped and contorted, distending and extending in ways my intellect could not fully comprehend, assaulted by some extradimensional force.

  With a final rip that made not a sound but that resounded through my soul—buckling my knees and deadening my mind, my heart lurching in the agony of grief—space ripped apart, a yawning pit opening onto an infinite well of Night.

  The absolute Abyss that loomed ahead was so dark that I could see it engulfing light, the air itself mangled and misshapen into nauseating forms, the luminance disfigured and turned as it fell into insanity, giving off final flashes of kaleidoscopic hues before being consumed absolutely.

  The gaping portal, this insatiable maw, was alive.

  It was hungry.

  And it wanted to devour our entire world.

  I could feel the gate’s malevolence bursting outward in an all-consuming wall of animosity, one that strove to push me off the mountaintop with the tangible impact of a physical blow, sending me careening down the mountainside to my bloody, dismembered doom—a wet spot to be quickly lapped up by the plains.

  But I was in no mood to be knocked off my perch.

  The gate’s incomprehensible regard, an intelligence so vast that I could not fathom its depth, smote me like a god’s own hammer swung down from the heavens, raging with cosmic power as the impact of its blow rang across the plains, smashing into me with the force of a fallen star.

  But I would not let this thing, no matter how mighty, hold me in place.

  No matter how much it wanted to.

  I was here for a reason.

  And I would see this reason to its end.

  Even worse than the gate’s baleful essence, this bottomless pit was not empty.

  The gateway brimmed with malevolence, malevolence that now had a way onto Uërth.