Legacy of the Blade: The Complete Trilogy

by Joseph J. Bailey

  Fiery bolts lit the still air in superheated arcs of crimson, azure, and indigo, each ramming into the demon with the force of a blazing comet.

  To my relief, the demon exploded like an overripe watermelon struck by a mallet.

  To my horror, glutinous ichor rained down the mountainside, drenching me in more unholy fluids than I would have imagined the demon capable of holding.

  If not for my defensive incantation, I might have been poisoned or worse by the tide of vile fluids.

  What a wonderful welcome to Uërth.

  No wonder so few Chose to come.

  And so few survived.

  Taking care lest I fall, cleaning myself of any traces of the ichor covering me with a few words, I studied the besmirched slope for the best route ahead.

  Decided, I steadied myself and began heading eastward along the mountainside.

  I would try to reach Kerraboer, home of the vaunted Empyrean Knights. Within those heavenly walls, more than anywhere else on Uërth, I might find a way to make my voice heard and for the world to listen.

  Fair Kerraboer lay hundreds of leagues to the north and east, beyond the Dragon’s Teeth, whole lifetimes away.

  Between Kun’Daer and Kerraboer were the homelands of dragons and elementals.

  Both would provide refuge and welcome respite from the trackless wildernesses between.

  If I made it that far.

  After my welcome, I worried about my chances.

  Pulling my cloak tightly about me, I began my attempt.

  Another World

  I picked my way across the fractured landscape of broken stone and abandoned dreams.

  Overhead, the muted sky refused the sun’s summons, holding tightly to the dim colors of nighttime, so different from the incandescent walls and ceilings of home.

  I felt like I could dive into the stars, for the sky seemed to go on forever.

  At least compared to the byways of Kun’Daer.

  Relative to the clarity of old, when unclouded skies had been far more frequent, these feelings might have been more apt in the past, but I had never walked beneath an open sky whether befouled or not.

  Shadows danced vividly, alive in the crevices between rocks and boulders, finding permanent refuge without fear of the full light of day.

  Any of these shadows could hold a demon.

  Any of these shadows could be a demon.

  My heart kept pace with my anxieties as I hummed a subtle tune.

  This refrain kept me alert, sensitive to the potential dangers around me, ready to react should one of the shadows come alive.

  No matter how helpless I might feel, I was not.

  I just had to remember that fact.

  And act like it.

  My Choice had remarkable consequences, many I had expected, and many more I would need to understand if I was to persevere.

  With one simple step, I had entered a whole new world.

  This was a world of harsh realities and quick deaths.

  There was little forgiveness or tolerance for weakness.

  This was a world of dearth and hardship.

  The excesses of the past, the richness of a world drenched in magic, were largely gone. Only the rare refuges like Kun’Daer and Kerraboer persisted as remnants of the way the world had once been.

  This was a world of lost potential.

  Members of each generation, those who had managed to live, were forced to survive, but there was little chance to thrive.

  This was a world of heartbreak and sadness, of terrible loss and endless tragedy.

  Whole cultures, ways of living, branches of study, and hosts of living things had been decimated. Many had been erased completely.

  This was a world that had tumbled from grace.

  Heaven had fallen, cast down by unending hordes of Chaos, the blackest filth scraped from the darkest Abyss.

  And yet, this was also a world of opportunity.

  For, despite all the violence and degradation, the world could be renewed and remade.

  Magic could be renewed.

  Living entities in countless forms could be restored.

  Civilizations could be rebuilt.

  Cultures and branches of knowledge could be revived and built upon.

  Perhaps men and women could one day retake the mantle of Heaven.

  But the world would be different nonetheless.

  For what once was would be no more.

  Each step across the rough mountainside, each view across the rugged slopes, was a reminder of what had been and would be no longer.

  But these same steps were also a chance to see and make what could be.

  For that, at least, I was thankful.

  Now I just needed to figure out how I, too, could make a difference.

  A Reconnection

  I sensed a presence behind me.

  Moving slowly, turning carefully lest my motion draw attention from something that had not yet seen me, I looked all around.

  Nothing.

  Just rugged mountain slopes unadorned by vegetation or relief.

  I began to wend my way forward again.

  After just a few more steps, I stopped, confused.

  The presence was back, stronger than before, somehow nearer.

  “Ilya?”

  My teacher!

  “Mistress Alyendra?”

  “Yes, my dear.”

  “Mistress!”

  I felt like I had been cast a lifeline after being thrown from a ship in the darkest depths of a tempest, with cold, raging seas dragging me under as I struggled for air, barely treading water.

  My teacher’s warm, reassuring voice was emanating from the crystal affixed to the top of my staff.

  That was…unexpected.

  I withdrew the stave from my back and peered into the gem’s faceted depths.

  Mistress Alyendra waved, a bright smile on her face, her visage refracted from inside the gemstone.

  I was not alone!

  This was a surprise, but one completely welcomed.

  “How are you, dear one?”

  Much better now, but I would not, could not, answer like that, could I?

  It was the truth, however.

  “Much better now!”

  Mistress Alyendra smiled, the warmth of her expression lightening my own.

  As wind whipped across the rocky mountainside, utterly alone on the slopes with no one in sight, I was struck by the oddity of speaking with my teacher, connected to her as though she were with me even now.

  This gift was a reassurance, a feeling of support that I had not known I had.

  If the connection held, if it was active or available at need, I would have an invaluable resource in the days to come.

  Anticipating my query and my desire, Mistress Alyendra offered, “I have woven additional enchantments into this stave.

  “I will be here to help you as best I am able, at your need.”

  She smiled again, adding, “And mine.

  “As you know, after your recent encounter with the demon, your staff has enchantments to help ward you against demons and strike down the supernatural.

  “But it also has a few more surprises that I will leave to you to discover.”

  I gave a bow, or as much of one as I felt could be seen through the crystal.

  “Is there any way I may be of assistance to you now, Ilya?”

  Mistress Alyendra’s voice was soothing, like a lullaby, and full of love.

  “Your voice is enough, Mistress.”

  I could see her moving through her chambers as she spoke, her eyes focused either on the distance or a matched crystal while she spoke. “What are your plans?”

  I thought back to my reasons for leaving, for giving up all that Kun’Daer offered, to venture out into the wide world.

  Mistress Alyendra had a right to know, to understand. I felt some comfort in knowing she would share my motives with my family, even though many others were not so honored after Choosings.
/>   “After Master Nomba came to Kun’Daer, I did a lot of soul-searching.

  “How could a man whose circumstances were far worse than our own risk everything to come and offer us assistance?

  “Why would someone with seemingly so little offer us so much?”

  Mistress Alyendra was silent while I spoke.

  “Of course, Master Nomba did not have little. He had a great deal to offer, but his world had suffered so much more than ours, was in need of so much more attention.

  “Why would he offer to help us when it should have been us offering to help him?

  “If this man and his apprentice could risk everything when their own world was in turmoil, I wondered why couldn’t we, those who had so much, who had comparatively suffered so little, not offer more?

  “Bruen’s rebuke of Master Nomba’s gracious, unselfish offer only underscored the importance of action, of trying to make a difference, of working to make Uërth a better place.

  “That is, after all, the purpose of Choosing, finding your place in the world both for yourself and others.

  “And this event, the visit by a random well-meaning stranger, helped me find mine.

  “I do not yet know how I will make a difference, but I will.”

  My momentum spent, my purpose clarified, I paused.

  Mistress Alyendra spoke into the silence. “Where will you go?”

  Now I offered my teacher reassurance and a bit of the substance of my burgeoning ideas. “I will aim for Kerraboer. The world is in need of rebirth.

  “Perhaps I can help.

  “Between here and there, I will try to travel through the lands of the dragons and elementals to move in safety as much as possible.”

  Mistress Alyendra pursed her lips in thought for but the briefest of moments. “Your intent is noble and just, one I believe in.

  “I know you are fully capable of its realization.

  “Know that I will help you in any way that I am able.”

  Her words filled me with encouragement.

  “Abide by your course. I believe it is the safest way forward. Give your vision time to mature, that you may reap the greatest reward.”

  “I will, Mistress. Send my love to everyone. Let them know I am as safe as can be expected.

  “Keep in touch!

  “I miss you.”

  “I miss you too, Ilya.”

  Before the connection was severed, the last thing I saw was the light of love in my teacher’s eyes.

  Even in a land filled with darkness and despair, a single glance held the power to change worlds.

  A Voice of Old

  A voice called to him as of old.

  It came from the west, from a time long past but not forgotten.

  This voice told him of what was and what could be.

  Luecaeus heard, and he listened.

  His heart-essence moved in concert with the guiding intent of the request, for it was true, as was its purpose.

  He would look.

  He would wait.

  He would be ready.

  Starry Night

  I found a relatively flat perch on the side of the mountain to sleep for the night.

  By the time I finally settled down, my knees ached, my back was tight, and my feet were sore in places I had never felt before.

  And I was in excellent condition.

  I felt like I had spent the day sparring.

  On the receiving end.

  Without padding.

  My training had prepared me for the rigors of challenging physical activity, but I had never spent a full day scrabbling over hard rocks with a backpack and a large staff attached to my back, interfering with normal movement as I climbed.

  Nor had I ever actually fought a demon when my life depended on it, perched on the edge of life and death.

  I pulled my pack off and set it on the ground, then drew the staff from its harness and planted it into the earth. The burnished wooden staff slid into the rocks as easily as if I were dropping it into water. When the haft reached the desired depth, I let go, and it remained firmly in place.

  The staff’s magic would provide the shelter and protection I would need to be able to sleep alone and travel by myself across hostile lands. Its magic was flexible and adaptive, not quite as potent as a proficient spellcaster’s, but it could recreate many complex magics with clever usage of its glyphs.

  The shaft of the staff was covered in sidhe runes. Each glyph was flexible in its intent, manifestation, and energy output. The crystal affixed to the stave’s top held enough energy to sustain moderate magics indefinitely while recharging itself, but powerful bursts, discharges, and wards could quickly deplete its reserves.

  The runes were magical representations of the sidhe language.

  The sidhe had not first learned to write on flat objects. As creatures of magic, so legend had it, their initial efforts at written communications were through spells, most often cast in the air. As a result, their language was written in three or more dimensions.

  Each glyph attempted to represent the entirety of its object.

  Manipulating and writing the runes was a magic unto itself, one used in many higher arcane Arts.

  The glyphs’ meanings were most often articulated along four primary axes, although extra dimensions were possible for complex expressions and concepts. Combined, each sigil created a powerful abstraction of its subject.

  One dimension, or portion, of the glyph related to components corresponding to thought, mind, or conceptualization. Another strand conveyed emotion, feeling, or expression. The third axis expressed action, deed, or requirements. The fourth captured matters of the spirit, soul, magic, or essence.

  The sidhe glyphs were shorthand representations of the fundamental nature of Creation, and could be as simple or as complex as needed to express an idea or thing.

  Each dimension could have branching means to further explicate or more adequately capture a concept.

  The more complex an idea, the more convoluted the rune.

  Another way to look at the sidhe mode of writing was that each component of a word or sigil expressed different levels of being, from the physical to the emotional and the mental to the spiritual.

  Many of these concepts were foreign to human understanding and quite difficult to translate.

  Amongst the sidhe, I was fluent in the equivalent of babbling, grunts, and baby talk.

  However, I did know enough of the language to affirm my need and make it real.

  Resting my hand on the cool wood of the staff, I began to manipulate the sigils to create a ward that would protect me from the elements and keep me hidden while also preventing supernatural attack.

  Each glyph on the staff glowed with its own inner light, rotating about its axis, appearing to float within the burnished wood, waiting for activation.

  With a few less than deft movements, I managed to make my intent known.

  I chose physical, mental, and spiritual comfort as the basis for the creation of the shelter, branching out from the physical theme with a representation indicating a protective structure.

  Using a separate rune focused on eldritch protection, I tied into the magical warding branch of the first shelter rune. This acted as a reinforcement along a similar theme to magnify the protection for defense against potential attack, with sub-branches particularly focusing on demons, the supernatural, and spells.

  I joined a third rune to the shelter rune, this one articulating my desire to remain hidden. I tied this glyph into the central shelter branch of the first rune, since this expressed my desire to conceal the object I wished to shelter—the overarching framework both covering and protecting me.

  When I was done, the complex multidimensional runes floating within the staff’s core looked like a single, complex tangle of eldritch symbols.

  As far as sidhe sigils went, this one was actually rather simple. A single glyph could range from a symbol as basic as a written word to something far more complex than
a scholarly tome.

  Without the staff to guide my motions, I would have been far less successful in my attempt, but the staff’s magic anticipated my need and intent, steering me to the proper representations and connotations.

  Otherwise, I might have managed the linguistic equivalent of a porous tarp.

  One with a giant glowing sign hovering overhead, pointing downward and saying, “Eat me!”

  Thankfully, as quickly as my fingers moved over the shifting runes, the staff responded, cloaking me in a shroud of shimmering energies, a cascade of silvery starshine, one that would keep me safe and secure until morning.

  Glad for the opportunity to relax, thankful for the magic that made it possible, and grateful to Mistress Alyendra for offering me such a wonder, I ate a brief meal and quickly fell asleep.

  One Mountain Is Much Unlike Another

  I climbed, I descended.

  I headed east, I headed north.

  I went up, I went down.

  I imagined each mountain as a wave caught between moments, ready to crest and crash, pulling me under if I was unable to cross its rugged expanse before the break.

  Each wave was unique.

  Some were rough and jagged, so sharp they pierced the sky.

  Others were rounded and worn by time and the elements.

  Still others were broken, shattered by past holocausts or unremembered catastrophes.

  Some faded into the distance, lost amongst the roiling clouds or still fog.

  Others stood out in stunning clarity, so bright and unblemished that I had to shield my eyes to gaze upon their flanks.

  Riding their breaks, regardless of how they churned and tossed, I hummed.

  I sang of renewal and regrowth, of quietude and grace, and of the imperceptible movements of the wind.

  This song manifested through me, allowing me to drift lithely and easily over the precipitous slopes, ascend without flagging, and to remain unnoticed by infernals.

  Or so I hoped.

  Thankfully, I saw no more demons, just rocks, dirt, and a clouded sky.

  While I moved forward, my mind drifted back.

  I missed home, so vibrant and full of life. There was almost no greenery here. What vegetation I saw was wan and stunted.