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

by DJ Morand

  Delfin considered her words, then nodded. “I will do this.”

  “Good,” Alea said. “Very good.”

  * * *

  Alnarland: Year 1330 AO

  31 Zarfer: Eral - 5th Hour of Feralda

  Serpent Marked Building

  Delfin spent the next several hours with Alea, learning of how they had planned to attack and kill the Pasha. It was an elaborate plan that relied heavily on employed magic. He wasn’t certain how much of the Sister’s magic he was comfortable with, but the offer had been compelling. He doubted the Pasha understood what he had taught might eventually come back to his doorstep, but that was no longer Delfin’s concern. The Pasha would die, and Delfin would take his place.

  That was the plan. Delfin was not entirely certain it would work, but if it did not he would die. He had no qualms about it, if the Pasha ever discovered he had taken this job, he would die anyway. Alea was covering the basics of the plan again. He surmised she expected him to be listening.

  “We can shield your presence long enough to sneak past the guards,” Alea said. “Are you listening?”

  “We’ve been over this,” Delfin said. His voice was tight and the tension in the room was palpable. “I am not sure of this plan; it relies too heavily on your magic.”

  “Our magic has served us for hundreds of years,” Alea said, her voice taking on a superior tone.

  Delfin moved quickly, faster than Alea could react. He swept up the dust of the room as he did so and the illusion shimmered for just a second. Delfin felt his hand grip around Alea’s throat and he felt the tip of a blade against his abdomen.

  “Do not think I am so reliant on my magic that I am unaware of my surroundings,” Alea said, her tone venomous.

  “On the contrary,” Delfin said. “I just proved that magic alone is not what is needed. Reliance on any one form of power is foolhardy.”

  Alea nodded and withdrew the weapon. Delfin released her throat and saw that the weapon was his fan-knife.

  “A good weapon,” Alea said.

  Delfin nodded. “It has always been a stable tool,” he said.

  “We will shield you from the guards’ view for a time.” Alea continued as if the past few seconds had not happened. “The Pasha’s chambers are ...” she paused, searching for the right words. “Protected.”

  “What do you mean protected?” Delfin asked, suspicion evident in his tone.

  “Our magic cannot pass its barriers, it is warded,” she said.

  Delfin turned the word over in his mind, warded was not something he had heard before. “What do you mean by warded?”

  “Another user of magic has protected his chambers,” Alea admitted.

  “Another?” Delfin said, his eyebrows shooting up. “Well, that doesn’t make things worse at all.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. He sighed and looked at Alea. “I’ve taken the job. I will see it through.””

  Alea nodded, but said nothing. She held out his fan-knife and Delfin took it.

  “Tonight,” he said.

  “Tonight,” Alea replied.

  Delfin turned and walked out the door. It looked like a wall, and he knew he would look like a fool if it was substantial, but it was not. The illusion Alea had created, vanished as soon as he made contact with the wall. He hoped her magic would hold up until he could reach the Pasha. If it was not ... he killed that line of thinking. Delfin needed focus if he was going to survive the following night. He made a mental calculation and realized he had less than fifteen hours to plan his assault. The Sisters of the Order might have a plan, but the Brotherhood made a point of disrupting plans. He was not entirely comfortable with the time frame, but he had already put his foot forward.

  You’re a fool, he thought.

  We could simply tell the Pasha of the plan, his inner self countered.

  At what cost? I have already accepted the job, he thought. If the Pasha discovered I took a job and then betrayed my employer ...

  Even at the cost of his life? Delfin’s conscience muttered.

  Forget it, he thought, firmly pushing his conscience away. Focus.

  * * *

  Alnarland: Year 1330 AO

  32 Zarfer: Ienal - 9th Hour of Eralda

  Brotherhood of Assassins: Pasha’s Home

  Delfin stood across the street from the Pasha’s home. It was a lavish building with crenelated balconies. Two armored guards stood outside. Each guard stood with a halberd and flanked the door. He did not see a way past them without the assistance of the Sisters’ magic. The thought still made his skin crawl. He had seen through Alea’s illusion, but it had fooled him at first. He hoped it would do the same for the guards at the front. He had a feeling that they would see through it, but pushed the feeling aside. If he was going to accomplish this, he would need to remain focused. The cobblestone street echoed with the sound of a carriage. Delfin stepped back into the shadows of the alley.

  The horse drawn carriage stopped in front of the Pasha’s home. The driver stepped down after calming the horses to a complete stop. Delfin watched as the bottom hem of a woman’s dress touched the ground on the other side of the carriage. He couldn’t see anything but the bottom of her dress, but he assumed it was an escort or whore of some kind.

  A whore in a horse drawn carriage? The nagging part of his mind asked.

  Quiet, he thought at the voice violently. I need to focus. The woman is unimportant, whoever she is.

  The voice quieted and Delfin continued to watch. The driver returned and climbed back up onto the carriage seat. He clicked his tongue. The horses began to move, drawing the transport behind them. When it was gone, the two guards remained, but no one else was visible.

  Delfin noted the position of the sun and the looming moon, Eradri beginning to make its appearance. The smaller Iendri was nowhere to be seen. He nodded at the moon and started to make his way back to the old mill. He still had to meet with Alea and the other Sisters of the Order.

  * * *

  Alnarland: Year 1330 AO

  32 Zarfer: Ienal - 3rd Hour of Feralda

  Serpent Market Building

  Delfin took the better part of the early evening reaching the building. It was the same as before, dilapidated and abandoned. The mark of the serpent was missing now, and he assumed it was some part of the Sisters’ magic that left it there in the first place. He entered the building unhindered and it looked as it should. The wood was rotted and much of the surface of the floor was covered in splinters or sawdust. It smelled of wood rot and animal. He was growing wary of the apparent emptiness of the place and drew his fan-knife.

  He had modified it slightly after his encounter with Alea. He fitted a ring to its center and lashed a rope attachment to it. The rope was thin and light, but extremely strong. The woven fibers, while weak individually, gave it strength as a whole. He kept the design of the blades that could fan out when thrown and tested it several times before arriving. The rope was tricky, but he had used a rope knife before, if not one specifically attached to a fan-knife. He felt he had enough expertise to make it work to his advantage.

  The fan-knife in hand, Delfin inched forward. A stirring of air from his left, made his hand twitch and he almost threw the knife, instead it shifted to his right and let the knife loose. The blades extended out pulling the cord of rope from his sleeve. The knife lanced towards his target and connected solidly. Delfin turned to see who it had been and his mind began circling. Confusion slammed into him and he took a step back.

  A Brotherhood Assassin? He thought. How did they know?

  He knew he’d been betrayed. He began cycling through the last two days trying to determine how he had not seen it, but before he could another sound danced to his left. He yanked the cord pulling the fan-knife from the first attacker’s corpse. Delfin spun and let the knife sail past him in a wide arc. The blade’s compressed into a single blade again, slicing at the throat of the new attacker. The assailant was another of the Brotherhood.

  Seeing the k
nife coming the assassin bent backward and let the blades sail over his face. Delfin had to readjust when the blade met air. He stuck his other arm up and caught the rope on his forearm. He applied enough pressure to send the blade back at the same attacker again.The assassin was not quick enough to dodge the impromptu attack and the knife blades stuck hard in his throat. Delfin tugged at the rope again and the knife sailed back to him. He caught in the air.

  Brotherhood assassins, he thought. Who sent them?

  The Pasha, his inner voice commented. Who else?

  The Pasha doesn’t know about the contract, he thought.

  The inner voice was silent. Delfin stayed crouched, waiting to hear if any others were waiting. His breathing was heavy and it sounded like a thunderstorm in his ears. A fan-knife, similar to his own, flew from behind him. The attacker was not skilled with the weapon and the blades clipped Delfin’s shoulder. The cut was superficial, but it stung. He could feel the warm trickle of blood coat his shoulder, running down his back. He whipped his own fan-knife around on the cord a couple of times and released it quickly, like a sling. The blade thudded hard into the rotted wood of the building’s frame. There was a sharp crack and the blades clanged against the outside of the building. He tugged on the rope again, but the blades caught in the building’s side. Delfin released the rope.

  “Who is there?” he said, calling out all around him.

  No one answered. Another of the fan-knives came out of the shadows from the upper level. Delfin saw it this time and flipped backward, catching the knife in mid-flip. Without missing a beat he landed and threw the knife underhand, towards its origin. There was a thump of metal striking flesh and a grunt. A moment later another assassin fell from the upper level. Delfin rolled across the floor and gripped the rope again. With increased force he pulled on the rope and the fan-knife came free. He drew in the cord until he had enough to spin the knife again.

  There was a low hum as he increased the spin of the blades. “Who’s there?” he asked again. ““I won’t ask a third time.”

  “Nor should you,” came a quiet reserved voice, barely above a whisper.

  Delfin’s heart sank. He recognized that voice. “Pasha?”

  “The same,” the Pasha said, still concealed in the shadows. “I am disappointed Delfin.”

  Delfin Cain knew his life was forfeit. Somehow the Pasha knew about his betrayal. He stopped spinning the blade and hung his head. “I have no words, Pasha,” Delfin said.

  “I shall have no mercy save for a quick death,” the Pasha replied.

  “How did you know?” Delfin asked.

  “Know? I arranged it boy,” Pasha said. “I never expected that you would fall for the ruse. I had hoped you to be my successor. Now, your name will be stricken from our records. I cannot allow a traitor’s name to mar the name of the Brotherhood.” The Pasha paused for a long moment. “Sisters, kill him.”

  Alea stepped out of the air. Delfin didn’t know how else to describe it. One moment there was no one, the next she was standing beside him. Behind her were seven other women. Delfin realized then, the woman that had visited the Pasha’s home, she had informed the Pasha that Delfin had taken the deal.

  I told you, the inner voice said. We should have told him.

  Shut up, he barked back at the voice. Let us die with some semblance of dignity.

  “There is no dignity in betrayal Delfin Cain,” Alea said.

  “How did you ...” Delfin said before letting the question trail off. “You’ve been in my head? Your magic?”

  “Illusions reside in the mind,” Alea said. “Only in belief does one make another see what she wishes.”

  “Riddles? Even now?” Delfin gripped the knife. If he was going to die here, he intended to take Alea with him.

  The assassin lunged forward, flinging the knife out in front of him. The blade soared towards Alea’s face. She caught it, just as she had in the alley. Then she whispered a word and Delfin felt his skin begin to tear. It wasn’t like being cut with a knife. It was like being cut by a million tiny needles. The pain drove him to his knees as his vision blurred. His heart felt as if it would explode from the pain.

  “I am sorry Delfin Cain,” Alea said. “I did not wish this on you. I would have made you an Atasat.”

  Delfin snarled wordlessly as he tried to rise, but Alea whispered the word again. Delfin’s world turned red, then black as he felt his life drain from him. He heard the Pasha speaking.

  “Thank you sisters. The Brotherhood is in your debt, I shall do as you’ve bid and train your ... Hounds in our arts. Fare thee well,”” the Pasha said. The words echoed in Delfin’s mind.

  He set it up, Delfin thought. He knew I would take the job. He knew ...

  Auren Trist

  Legionnaire

  Midland/Southerlund Border: Year 1410 AO

  1 Ienfer: Eral - 9th Hour of Eralda

  The Battle of Midland

  “Move the gods-damned line,” he said, his voice roaring above the cacophony of battle. “Lieutenant, take Gamma Company and flank the west side. Captain, you take Zeta Company and flank--”

  Concussive explosions rocked the legionnaire captain back on his heels. Earth shattered and blood sprayed his face as an enormous hunk of solid stone crushed the Captain. The impact drove Legionnaire Captain Auren Trist from his feet. The ground was soaked in blood and cold rain water. The rains had not ceased for days, and the ground had grown soggy. The relative chill kept minds alert, as if the roaring magic of the Order hadn't done that for them enough already. Auren felt the slick blood soak into his pants. Forcing himself back to his feet he examined the boulder. It had taken a great deal of power to force the stone to travel far enough into the trenches to strike at them. However, there had been no precision to the attack. He took that as a momentary comfort. Somewhere, across enemy lines, one of the witches had expended a great deal of power on a gamble. She had been lucky and wiped out half of his force with the effort, but it was evidence of a desperate attempt.

  Auren could respect the power being wielded, but he didn't have to like it. It brought a grim satisfaction to his being to know that his assault had driven at least one of the witches to desperation. Still, he didn't want to rest on those laurels. It was time to retreat. Desperation in an enemy was a sure sign that one was doing things properly, but given too little hope and they would fight to the death. Auren wasn't interested in a drawn out campaign of give and take with the witches of the Order. The Praetorate might be interested in prolonged conflict, but it just needlessly got men killed.

  “Sound the retreat,” Auren said, calling to the scouts nearest to him.

  The men looked haggard. Their faces were drawn and dirty; blood and mud covered them. Auren could sympathize with their hopeless faces and the downtrodden looks of despair, but he couldn't let those emotions touch him. He had an army to command. The men nodded gratefully and began to climb the muddied slope ahead of them. The trench had been dug at least eight feet deep. A lattice work of wood and clay kept the raw earth from sliding in too much, but the constant rains had taken their toll. The once even walled trenches were now a series of sloping mounds of mud, and the occasional flat wall still holding back earth. Auren shook his head. The campaign against the Southerlands and the witches of the Order had also taken its toll.

  The concussive blasts of energy steadily grew to a halt. Auren's senses tingled. The enemy spells had not ceased for the entirety of the engagement. The spells stopping now worried him. Acting on instinct, the Legionnaire Captain leapt forward calling out to his lieutenant.

  “Pull back,” he said. He was too late.

  The Lieutenant led the men up the slope. Armored in breast plates, sodden cloaks, and armed with wide bladed swords, the legionnaires charged forward to their deaths. A massive beast of a man rose up to meet them. With a side swipe he swung a two-handed scythe through the front ranks. The bladed weapon cut through the Gamma Company’s front line like a hot knife through butter. Blood s
prayed in a fine mist that mingled with the pouring rain. Another brute of a man rose up on the left side, opposite the first. He swung a mighty war axe in a downward arc. The Lieutenant didn’t know what hit him. His skull split and brain matter squelched noisily. The axe wielding man never stopped. He stepped back, raising the axe again. The lieutenant was still attached to the blade. With a force of will Auren had rarely seen, the man let the blade descend again. Lieutenant’s body and blade alike smashed into another of Gamma Company’s men.

  The late order to pull back seemed to register with the rest of the company as they scrambled away from the two Atasat. Mind-controlled slaves of the witches, the Atasat were relentless and tireless warriors. When the witches were out of magic, or could not utilize their spells, the Atasat were there. Auren had seen this attack before. Five years ago when he had first taken a field command, the witches were cornered. He and his men had advanced steadily, driving the witches into a corner. It had been a trap. One the witches sprung as soon as enough legionnaires were committed. Twenty Atasat flooded around the worn and tired legionnaires. Out of a company of sixty, only seven escaped alive. Auren had been one of the lucky seven.

  The witches used the tactic here too. Auren had not caught it in time to save his Lieutenant, but he saved the company. Soldiers barreled back down the slope in a tangled rush of bodies. Auren motioned for the men to get down, and he raised an arm to signal his archers. The men tumbled down in a frenzied blitz as Auren dropped his hand.

  “Loose!” The unified cry of bow strings echoed. A sea of arrowheads, wooden shafts, and feathers soared overhead.