The Legends of Vandor: Anthology Volume 1 (The Legends of Vandor Anthologies)

by DJ Morand

  Cortland could feel his blood begin to heat and with it the ire of the devil inside him. He crushed it, forcing the raging emotion into the recesses of his being. He knew he couldn’t risk exposing the city to the ravages of that spirit. Surbin struck again with a heavy fist that knocked Cortland back. The bard shook his head. The blow had hurt. He used the wall to keep himself from falling and pushed off it with added force. Cortland catapulted into the assassin, knocking the man to the ground.

  Surbin hit the cobblestone with a pained cry as his ankle twisted back and snapped. Cortland didn’t stay to watch, instead he turned and begin to run. His footsteps echoed. Turned a corner too fast caused him to stubble and slam into a wall. The yowl of an alley cat greeted the startled yelp of a drunk.

  “Apologies,” Cortland said as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

  He heaved breathlessly, unable to restart his lungs. With a quick glance behind him, Cortland peered into the alley. Something ghostly burst from the wall, passing by him. Cortland spun. He met the ghostly blue eyes of a redheaded woman. A crown of crystalline light lay atop her head and she smiled when she looked at him. With a single finger she beckoned him to follow her. Cortland felt the tears well up in his eyes. His princess. His love. Cortland couldn’t contain himself and he moved towards her.

  The woman moved away from him, and he followed. He never heard the clank of several crossbow bolts as they collided with the wall where he had been standing. His entire world was consumed by the beauty of his love. She began to move faster. Cortland kept the pace, and soon he was running again. The city flew by him as if he were moving with inhuman speed. Cobblestone walks gave way to packed dirt and turned again to grassy fields. It was not until he could no longer see by the light of the city that the woman finally slowed.

  “Wait,” Cortland said.

  “My love,” the woman said, her voice silvery and pleasant. Cortland could hear the touch of sorrow in it though. “I cannot, my presence wanes already.””

  “No,” Cortland said, his voice thin and choked. “Please.”

  “I cannot my love,” she said. “Rest now. Rest.”

  Cortland sat down hard, leaning against a tree stump. His eyelids felt heavy. Moments later he closed his eyes and his princess watched over him until he slept. A pained look pinched the lines of his brow as he drifted into the world of dreams.

  Vessen Marr

  The First Bladesinger

  Riftlands: Year 320 AO

  20 Sepfer: Zaral - 8th Hour of Eralda

  Razor sharp teeth gleamed with menace. The stink of death hung heavy in the air from eviscerated remains strewn about the ground. They steamed and cracked as lively flames still consumed them. They represented those I’d gathered to join me. They were dead, but I was not. I was fucked! I stared into deep boulder sized pits of pure darkness. They were like the openings of caves. A flurry of hot air heaved forth from the dragon’s nostrils as they flared. Fear shuddered through my body. I could feel cold sweat forming on my brow. I hid with the aid of magic. The magic I held would only work, secluding me in the stone crevice, for so long. This bestial-reptilian face explored the area for my scent. Another hot gust of putrid breath snaked its way through the crevice. But for the death stink around me, I am sure the dragon would have discovered my hiding place. I stayed my breath and hoped the gods watched over me.

  The beast turned away from my tiny hiding place. Its claws sucked and slurped against the blood soaked ground. Armor clanked and kicked up the putrescence of death again.

  It kicked aside one of the Riftlanders, I surmised.

  As the sick stink reached my nose, I struggled not to choke nor gasp for breath. If you've never smelled the stench of death mingled with the sulfur of dragon's flame, be glad for it. The beast continued scouring for my presence.. The dragon’s scales glistened red in the glow of campfires fueled by the corpses of the fallen. The worst of the smell was flesh burning and popping. The choking strangling taste I could not swallow away threatened to steal my gut.

  "Man-thing," its voice rumbled in a low baritone that shook the rock face on either side of me. The crevice in which I hid, seemed to close in. I was never fond of small spaces. Believe me, it is no better when a dragon is hunting you. "Man-thing, I can smell the flesh of your friends. The savor of their souls warms my belly."

  The beast's taunting cadence chilled my blood - it knew it was a matter of time. Riftlanders know that death awaits every man. They go to it willingly. I am no Riftlander. I am Clydorein, Bladesinger, Elf. The red scaled behemoth stomped and roared. My blood ran cold again. A completely rational fear crept into me and grew nearly out of control. I pushed against the encroaching feeling. I screamed at it in my mind. The moment I allowed myself to give in, I would die. I could not give in to that dread feeling.

  "You are a coward," the dragon rumbled. "Man-thing, you are a coward. Come and meet your death. It will catch you eventually, and I will savor the crunch of your bones. I will drink the sweet smell of your fear. I will devour your soul. Face me, man-thing."

  I ignored the dragon's taunts. It must have realized that taunts would prove fruitless for it roared so mightily that the sound echoed in the still night. The sound shook the walls of the crevice and pebbles toppled down from the stone above. My breath caught in my throat at the tiny pick-pack-pick of the rocks falling. The smallest clinked and danced down the wall. One stray pebble, little bastard of a stone, clinked against my vambrace - the armor that covered my left arm and shoulder. I heard the low guttural laugh of the dragon. My ruse was up.

  * * *

  "I will chew your flesh!" the beast roared its triumph.

  I leapt from my hiding place and raised my sword. Erreysos in Bhaskar it was called. Tear of Bhaskar. The stark white metal surface of the blade glowed with internal light.

  The thing about a sword forged from the tear of a god is that it is powerful. Sometimes too powerful. The blade sensed my need and flooded me with power. I felt the surge like the blow of a hammer against my chest. My breath caught and my vision wavered. The moment of surprise was brief, but it was enough. The dragon spun and slid in the blood-slicked mire. The sickening slosh of muck, blood, and bodies elicited a gruesome display as the dragon planted his hind legs and lifted its sinuous neck to the air. The creature was magnificent. His crimson scales appeared to bleed as if they had a life of their own. I am sure part of it was the blood of the Riftlanders, but it was more than just blood it was something supernatural. Its hot fiery eyes burned into my being. The reptilian orbs looked so full of passion.

  The dragon barked a laugh.

  “An elf!? No wonder you hide,” his voice rolled like thunder beneath the crust of the earth. I could feel the vibrations of his speech in the ground. I could taste his stench. The dragon flexed his wings and displayed the loud brilliance of blood red skin pulled tight between bones of steel. I felt fear threaten to steal my resolve. I squelched it.

  “E ma Clydorein,” I took a step forward. I am the Bladesinger. “Know this beast, you will not survive the day!””

  Alright, it was complete bravado. Dragons are no easy foe and this one, red scaled and as large as a barn, could devour me in a single bite of its powerful jaws. I didn’t know if I would amuse or confuse him, but I had to try. My bravado was folly. The dragon laughed and took in a deep breath. The sound of steel scraping stone rumbled from its gullet. Fearful I would be burned as the Riftlanders had, I drew upon the power of Erreysos in Bhaskar. The blade lit with internal light and arced down my arm and into my breast.

  “Ervirefirden!” I thrust my left hand towards the beast.

  The dragon opened its maw as the incantation passed my lips. The fire lanced from its gullet and vaulted toward me. I could feel the heat of the flames. Hot sticky sweat slicked my body and my hands. The blade’s song vocalized in my mind - the sweet melody of a woman’s voice rose within me. Extending from my hand a blue-green shield formed to intercept the dragon’s breath. The flames glowed
red against the shield, and the heat intensified. The song of the Erreysos in Bhaskar grew to a crescendo as the flames began to wrap around the shield. The magic extended from me and diverted the dragon’s scorching breath to either side. The flames died as quickly as they came. I had a moment of blindness as the shield dissipated in a flash. The dragon seized his opportunity and leaped at me.

  * * *

  Its massive bulk flew gracefully through the air. His claws were extended like a pouncing feline. I dove to my right. I landed on my side on the putrid blood soiled ground. The mud splashed up around me. The glow of my blade dimmed as it flew from my grasp. The dragon’s landing shook the ground, and he slid again. Unable to compensate for his mass, the dragon slid further and toppled sideways. I scrambled to my feet and grasped the handle of my sword. He recovered quickly and turned to face me again. I drew upon the blade’s magic once more. Again, light grew from within the sword and filled me. The sweetness of the power surged into my heart and took hold of me. The burn of the magic seared my interior as I became its conduit. The dragon glared. It sensed the power of the Tear of Bhaskar.

  “Man-thing,” it stepped towards me slowly and tried to goad me, “You are weak.”

  The dragon whipped sideways and threw its weight into a surprise slash from its tail.

  “Spey Oma!” I cried.

  My body became the wind. I moved back like a flash of lightning. The dragon spun, and his tail barely missed striking my head. Infused with magical speed, I took a downward swing with the sword. I felt it bite into scale and flesh. The dragon howled. The weapon continued and bit deep. It tangled in the dragon’s scales. As the beast continued his spin, the motion took me from my feet. I spun with the dragon - my blade caught in the scales. The dragon whipped his tail back and forth still howling with pain. I refused to release the blade, and the blade refused to release the dragon’s tail.

  The beast swung his tail to its body and slashed at me with a claw. The razor sharp claws scraped against my vambrace. However, the impact of the claw dislodged the blade from its tail. I felt the sensation of falling from a great distance. Panic swam through my thoughts. I collided with the ground. The blood mingled with the putrescent mud cushioned the bulk of the impact. As it was, I felt the wind pass from my chest, and the ribs in my back cracked audibly. I felt my death approaching as the dragon slowly sauntered closer. It continued its taunting tirade. Curses in every language of man among others, but I couldn’t make them all out. My ears still rang with the impact of the ground. Fear crept back into me. I pushed it away violently.

  Magic still pulsed through my veins and I knew if I could not catch my breath it would be pointless to try to use the magic. I forced myself to my feet. The dragon snarled. Its teeth sparkled in the dim light so near to the Rift - that pit from whence demons and beasts like the dragon rose. Some say the Rift is the final resting place of a god. Kokila once the lover of Bhaskar and the dragons were her consorts. I didn’’t want to think about what that actually entailed. Pain lanced through my back. I was sure I had broken at least a couple of ribs. The impact in the mud left me feeling completely soiled. The warm bloody mud crept down the back of my trousers. The smells of death and decay were all around me.

  The dragon snarled and drew its breath in again. Again, I drew on the power and thrust out my hand. The second gust of flames was shorter than the first.

  So, I thought, they don’t have infinite resources.

  I wasn’t sure if dragon’s breath was magical in nature or if he had some sort of igniter in his gullet. A moment after the flames died, my shield dissipated again.

  The dragon laughed, “You are mere sport, elf! I shall crush your bones and feast on your innards. I will spew your bowels across the land. Fear me mortal,” the dragon puffed out its chest and made a proud showing of itself. If I hadn’’t been so disgusted by the thought of a dragon spewing my guts everywhere, I might have found the diatribe amusing. As it was, I did not. I was fucked.

  “You make a great many promises beast.”

  I flourished my sword, allowing the glow to leave an after image of power, “But I am Vessen Marr, First of the Order of Bladesingers, husband to Annara, father to Yeslan and Torrman. I demand your death!”

  The dragon puffed out its chest again and spoke gutturally, “I am Treagoloniman Scourge of the East. Your death shall be mine!”

  I knew the name of the dragon that had slain my family. Treagoloniman was the red I sought. The one I had sought for more than a century. I came to the Riftlands and hired the mercenaries that lay slain around me. I did all this to avenge my love, to avenge my children, this red ... nay, this beast, was the one who stole them from me!

  * * *

  I can smell his fear, Treagoloniman thought. The majestic creature had been astonished by the elf’s movements. The dragon’s leaping and bounding had been intended to terrify the elf, but they had not. Treagoloniman did not understand this. What manner of creature can imbue himself with power like this?

  The burned corpses carried a pleasing aroma of dinner; yet, he still fought this elf. He had feasted on Riftlanders for years, but only a few times had he savored an elf’s flesh for a meal. He wondered if all elves were as difficult a prey as this Vessen Marr. The pit at the core of the Rift burned like the nine hells. Demonic forces clawed for survival. The demon lords demanded obedience and threatened death to any who disobeyed. Treagoloniman was a demon lord, a consort of the great queen Kokila. He did not lose.

  He considered this elf’s words and actions, they felt familiar, “Did I wrong you?”

  Treagoloniman smiled. His great maw opened slightly. Rows of white teeth, oozing saliva dripped making them glisten in the twilight. He could feel the stones in the back of his gullet prepare for another burst of flame. He needed only enough time to gather the necessary fluids in his stomach. “Perhaps, I fucked your wife,”” he taunted.

  Vessen stared. He said nothing as the great dragon continued his taunts, “Maybe your father became bitch to my girth!” Treagoloniman roared with laughter. The dragon was enjoying himself. Taunting this elf to action became a game. He thought of the worst possible wrongs he could do to the elf or his kin. He spewed them all.

  “Or, maybe, your babe roasted in my gullet,” Treagoloniman spoke. He grew tired of the game. He had gathered as much fluid as he could. Treagoloniman gave the elf a look of pity, “I am sorry. I have grown tired of this game. Perhaps, you will rejoin your lost ones in death!”

  The last word was more growl than an intelligible phrase as the great red dragon opened his maw again and spewed an inferno of liquid fire. The heat blazed in his mouth and warmed him. Dancing on the air the sweet sickly smell of scorched earth encircled them. Treagoloniman pushed until nothing was left in his belly. The fire spat and cracked. The dragon gave all he had. The roar of the blaze vanished and Treagoloniman panted. The dragon heaved strangely as his head bobbed with the effort. Hot breaths gusted from his maw as he wheezed.

  “Have you had enough yet, Treagoloniman?” the elf taunted. “You look tired.”

  Treagoloniman stared in amazement. The elf had blocked yet another of his breaths.

  Impossible! He thought. No mortal could do such a thing!

  His rage overtook him and he leapt forward. His maw lay open with teeth barred. Treagoloniman was determined to devour the elf and seal his doom, but the elf dodged to the left. Vessen was faster than the dragon had anticipated. Treagoloniman pursued. He twisted to the left and slipped again on the soft earth beneath. The ground and the filth were beginning to annoy him. A sting of pain crossed Treagoloniman’’s face. His right eye burned with agony. He opened his eye and felt the hot blood of his life hemorrhage from the wound. The world was a blurry haze of red. Treagoloniman roared and spun around whipping his tail across the elf’s path. The satisfying thud of a body struck by his tail echoed in his thoughts. The elf landed few hundred feet away. Vessen Marr rose to his feet.

  * * *

  I knew
I would die. There was no doubt in my mind. I chose to attack a dragon. My need for vengeance was too strong. Treagoloniman nearly had me when I struck his eye. The beast was too fast. I am not even sure I managed to blind him as I intended. The retaliation of his fury had nearly been my undoing. Teeth and claws struck out at me as I narrowly avoided his strikes.

  Then that tail. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t. He swung that mighty tail and it connected solidly with my abdomen. The sensation of flying came back to me again. Or is it the sensation of falling? I didn’t exactly miss the ground. When I hit, the mud worked to soften the blow yet again, but the ground was still underneath. Cracked ribs became broken ribs. The pain in the back of my lungs told me everything. I rose again and coughed. Blood sprayed from behind my lips. Wracking pain crisscrossed through my insides. I am sure my visage was a gruesome and macabre scene of blood, grime, and determination.

  I stood again; the pain in my side ached, “Is that the best you have!? Come on dragon! Come and meet your death!”

  “You would do best to keep your tongue, whelp!” Treagoloniman’s voice was laced with pain.

  Perhaps, I did more damage than I realized, I thought. I looked the dragon in the eye, “I will be your death!”

  The dragon rushed towards me as well. I pulled the last ounce of magic I could from the sword. The white metal was stained with red dragon’s blood, but it still shone in the early twilight of the evening. I roared my defiance and leapt into the air just as Treagoloniman’s jaws met the earth.