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

by DJ Morand

  * * *

  Fire rained from the sky in a hail of arrows. The lit projectiles ignited the air around them giving light to the battlefield. Legionnaire Commander Trist watched with trepidation. His eyes traced the flaming arrows overhead. The arrows were crushed in a simultaneous crunch as they hit an invisible wall. The wall flared to life with green light, nearly blinding the legionnaires.

  “Son of a harpy,” Auren cursed. “Loose again, fire at will.”

  A second wave of arrows crushed against the magical wall. Auren didn’t wait to see the results, he was already leading his men in retreat. Of the hundred men he had led to battle, only twenty were with him now. Stopping at one of the bunkers, Auren motioned for his men to keep moving, and he stepped inside. Three young men knelt in the bunker with barrels next to them. They held short bows and had notched an arrow each. Black pitch oozed from each of the wrapped arrowheads.

  “I’m sounding a retreat,” Auren said. “Wait for two minutes, loose those arrows. Then knock over the barrels and set this place ablaze. I don’t plan on making it easy to follow us out of here.

  As he spoke an arrow whizzed past the bunker window and struck one of the boys in the throat. Blood sprayed Auren as the boy fell back, the arrow in his bow feel listless to the barrel beside him. Fire roared from the barrel in a choking cloud of smoke. The event had been merely bad luck, but Auren suspected magic anyway. The witches were efficient killers, if barbaric. Auren helped the other boys out of the bunker. Screams followed as they exited. Black smoke billowed up within the bunker. Auren dropped to his belly to get under the choking air.

  He crawled from the structure to find the two boys slain. Pin-cushioned by arrows both had little chance of survival.

  Serves me right, he thought. I should have called the retreat sooner.

  Auren crawled away from the bodies and slowly descended into the trench behind the bunker. The smoke continued to billow in great puffs of blackness blocking out the stars and the moon. The night grew darker. The Legionnaire Commander could barely see, but he recognized the clatter of armor several hundred feet in front of him. He moved to the sound. The mud of the trench gripped his heels and make a sick sound of suction as he pulled against it. Auren growled. He knew his men were ahead, but at this rate he would not catch up to them.

  He growled again. “Son of a harpy,” he cursed.

  The hair on his arms raised. Auren turned to look behind him when a concussive force threw him down into the muck. He sat up, sputtering and spitting mud. With a shaky hand, he wiped the mud and blood from his face, effectively smearing it across instead. The stench of the sludge was permeating, and he had trouble not letting his gorge rise. Auren turned back to locate his men and found a crater instead.

  * * *

  Auren approached the hole in the ground. The mangled corpses of his men lay strewn around the crater. He could not keep his stomach this time. Bending over he retched.

  “Commander?” a voice said. “Is that you Commander?”

  “Pells?” Auren asked, wiping his mouth with a dirty sleeve. The effect was less than he desired as he smeared more mud and blood into his short beard. “Duster, who else survived?”

  Duster Pells, one of the lieutenants under Auren’s command, exited from behind a pile of debris. Four others exited with him. Auren looked at each of them, sounding off their names in his head. Lt. Duster Pells, Sergeant Tak Balman, and the Soldiers - Yen, Farlin, and Tem. He didn’t know the soldiers’ family names, but he was sure that Tak and Duster knew them. Auren grimaced.

  So few of them left, he thought. I should have retreated sooner.

  Auren could hear the deep sonorous voices of the Atasat coming towards them. The witches would have sent them to mop up any not taken out in the blast. Auren looked at the crater and wondered what kind of power created it. There was no debris in the crater itself and the depression was a smooth bowl. It was like the earth had been displaced or ejected. He could still hear the Atasat approaching.

  “Alright,” he said. “The five of you, get moving. The Atasat are coming which means the magic is going to die down some. They generally don’’t risk their own. Whatever happens, do not let one of the witches touch you. Is that clear?”

  They all nodded and Duster said, “don’t get touched, understood. Move out men.”

  Auren and Duster led the way. The Legionnaire Commander continued to watch their backs. He caught glimpses of the pursuing Atasat several times, but noted they were not gaining ground. Auren motioned to Duster to take the southern exit and circled behind the group. His heart pounded. He knew that remaining in the back of the group would likely spell his doom, but he couldn’t let one of his men do it. With furtive glances behind them, the men continued marching through the trenches. The southern exit was just out of reach when they came face to face with one of the witches.

  Her long dark hair hung to her hips. Long sinuous strands flowed around her. She grinned. Auren watched behind them as the pair of Atasat cleared the trenches. Soon they would be stuck between the witch and her soldiers.

  Auren didn’t hesitate. “Draw arms,” he said. “We fight our way out.”

  * * *

  The witch laughed as the men drew their weapons. Her cackle echoed in the air. It split the atmosphere like thunder as its pitch rose to a maddened height. The soldier called Farlin cried out with despair and tried to run away. He ran past Auren and into the waiting Atasat. The waiting soldier lifted Farlin off the ground as they connected. The Atasat’’s arm clenched with corded muscle as he squeezed Farlin’s throat. The legionnaire squirmed and kicked his legs. He gained no purchase on the Atasat. Moments later, Farlin stopped struggling, his body limp.

  The Atasat casually tossed the body to the side. The warrior wore a leather tunic and breeches covering enough muscled flesh to make him appear decent. Mud caked his lower calves and feet. Despite the wet and chill, the Atasat was steaming, great streams flowed off his limbs as if he was on fire. He glared at Auren and took a step forward. He drew a wicked two-handed axe from his back. Auren looked back. Kneeling to pick up a fallen spear, the Legionnaire Commander prepared for a fight.

  “Don’t let her touch you,” Auren said, warning his men.

  “Yes sir,” Duster said and was echoed by the others.

  The sky cracked with light, a momentary flash followed by a cacophonous roar of thunder. As if signaled by nature, the first Atasat moved in on Auren. The legionnaire side-stepped the swing of the great axe and jabbed out a quick punch to the man’s jaw. The Atasat seemed unaffected and swung his axe in a sideways arc. Auren ducked beneath the weapon and rolled behind him. The second Atasat leapt from the top of a bunker and barely missed crushing Auren.

  The witch began to move her hands in fluid motions. The mud in front of her began to bubble and spit. Duster and the others took a step back as a giant fist of mud and silt burst from the ground. The appendage swirled. Duster motioned to Tak and Yen, signaling them to flank on the left side. Duster moved to the right. Tem followed his sergeant realizing the flanking tactic. Duster held his sword in a tight two-handed grip. The blade pointed out before him. He took a step forward testing the hand’s perceptions.

  The constructed appendage whipped towards Duster with sudden ferocity. He yelped and leapt back as Yen lunged with his spear. The tip of the spear slid through the mud. The hand seemed to sense that another had come near and swiveled to slam down on Yen. The spear penetrated deeper and then vanished as the hand pressed Yen into the ground. Yen struggled.

  Auren dodged the attack from the second Atasat, who was reaching out to grasp the legionnaire. The second of the witch’s slaves appeared to have no weapon aside from his brute strength.

  Think, Auren thought.

  He grinned. Auren spun his spear overhead and managed to clip the Atasat with the axe in the ear. Blood spat from the top of his ear where Auren’s spearhead sliced through it. A pure growl of frustration emitted from the Atasat’s throat. He charged Au
ren. The Legionnaire Commander anticipated the action and dropped low, allowing himself to slide in the mud. He slid between the charging Atasat’s legs and came up behind it. The two Atasat collided. Bloodlust took them and for a brief moment they battered at one another. Auren heard the crunch of an axe against bone and then silence.

  Yen’s feet kicked in a panic. Tak and Duster struck with their swords, striking at the thing’s wrist. The blades displaced muck and silt, but it reformed immediately after. Recognizing the impervious construct, Tem dodged around it and threw his spear at the witch. The metal tipped weapon struck some kind of invisible shield around her. The shield flashed bright green. The spear exploded into sparks and wood splinters. Tem continued his charge, drawing a sword. He swung with a vicious overhand chop. The witch caught Tem’s wrist and smiled. Energy flooded into him. Tem’s eyes widened, and he began to writhe. He could not get his arm free as more foul magic flooded in through his arm. Pain lanced through him, and he screamed.

  Auren heard the scream and turned to see what was happening. He was stunned. Tem was held in the air by some kind of power, it glowed green and black and swirled around his person. The witch held one hand in the air and was muttering something under her breath. With a dismissive wave, she flung Tem into the back of the mud hand. Tem hit with a wet smack. The hand balled into a fist and whipped around violently. The black and green power exploded from within the fist. The force of it swept over Auren and knocked him to the ground again. Auren heard more screams and two more bursts of energy. By the time he rose to his feet the Atasat was standing by him.

  The witch’s slave stood, similarly stunned by the blasts. Auren thanked the gods and drove his spear into the Atasat’s throat. It looked down at him, still stunned. Confusion crossed the slave’’s features as he raised his axe to strike at Auren. The legionnaire kicked the man in the groin and fell back, scrambling away from the falling axe. The Atasat fell backward and died.

  * * *

  The witch wailed. Auren could almost feel her pain. He scrambled from the ground and drew the sword from his belt. The broad bladed sword came to a sharp tip and had a double edge, it was called a gladius. The blade felt heavy in his weakened grasp. A night of fighting, and then fleeing, his enemies was beginning to take its toll. The witch’s cry grew more intense as she dropped to her knees in the mud. Hands to her ears, she screamed. It was a cry of supernatural anguish and it wrenched at Auren’s heart.

  He did not pity the witch, but the cry reminded him of what he had lost. He crossed the point where the mud construct had held his men and then exploded. The ground lay strewn with the armor of his men. The mud looked depressingly damp. He had seen the power envelop Tem, but he had not realized its destructiveness. The sight of the sludge made his gorge rise again. Murderous eyes turned to the witch. She still wailed. Auren growled as he strengthened his grip on the gladius. He charged and dove forward to drive the blade into her breast.

  The witch opened her eyes and waved her hand surreptitiously. Auren was flung physically aside. He flew a good ten feet, but held his grip on the sword. He landed hard on his side and felt a rib crack. The smell of the muck seized his senses, and he struggled to keep from vomiting. The witch rose to her feet, mud now caked the front of her dark red dress. She looked uneasy. Auren nodded to himself as he rose again. The witch raised her hand again and snarled something. Auren couldn’t make out what she said, but he felt the magical force strike his breastplate and rebound.

  “Ha,” Auren said, his voice full of derision. “Blood of Kokila witch! Your magic cannot touch me.” How had she thrown you then? He asked himself. Auren looked to the place where he had been standing. The earth was upturned. His heart sunk. Not all the Praetorium’s legionnaires were equipped with the armor he wore, that is why she had been able to kill the others. His armor would protect him against direct assault, but not against whatever forces she used indirectly.

  “I will make you beg for death,” she said, her voice was full of venom. “I shall deny it, until you have died a thousand deaths such as the one you brought to Armond.”

  “It had a name?” Auren said, taunting her. “Your favorite pet then?”

  Auren noted the flicker of hate that crossed her vision. He knew he could get her to act rashly. She took the bait. Another wave of energy leapt from her finger tips as she snarled something in another language. Auren thought it sounded like Tibu. The energy laced itself together as it flowed toward him, blossoming into an inferno before his face. The magical flames enveloped him, and he could feel the heat of it. It was distant and did not burn. Auren laughed.

  “Is that the best you have witch?” he taunted again.

  The flames dissipated and the witch was standing next to him. Son of a harpy! He cursed internally. It was a ruse. Auren leapt back, trying to get the sword up between them. With a steely hand she knocked the blade aside. Her body glistened with some kind of metallic sheen, and Auren realized she had armored herself. Her metallic hand wrapped around his throat and he tried to force her back with his free hand. She couldn’t throw magic at him, but empowering herself appeared to circumvent his armor.

  She squeezed and Auren could feel his breath catch in his chest. He struggled to free himself, swinging the blade down at her head. It clanged with an iron clash. His breathing grew more shallow, and his weapon grew heavy. The witch smiled. He stared hatred into her eyes. Without warning she released him, throwing him back. Auren landed on the ground flat on his back, knocking what air remained out of him. Gasping for breath he writhed in the mud.

  The witch doubled over and shivered. Her body grew rigid and the magic around her seemed to fade. She panted heavily and sweat broke out on her brow. She gasped heavily and fell to her side. Auren had begun to sit up. He watched the witch and smiled. He had been fighting the witches long enough. He knew all about their particular weakness when they drew too much of their power. Auren didn’t understand the specifics of what happened to them, but he knew it was called the toll and it all but incapacitated them.

  “Ha,” he said, still gasping. “The toll, right? You forgot about the cost of the magic. You’ve been doing some fancy stuff tonight.”

  Auren forced himself to his feet. As much as he wanted to kill her now, he worried about her curses. The Order boasted about their ability to slay their foe even in death. He had seen what happened to those that slew a witch, slowly they were overtaken by the witch’s magic. Men had gone mad. He wanted no part of it. Auren sheathed his sword and turned from her.

  * * *

  The toll wracked her body. She could feel the pure ecstasy of the magic’s retreat. As full as she felt when the power was in her, the release of it was the most intense feeling of her life. These legionnaires had waged war against her and the Order. She knew that righteousness was on her side. The power came to her, courted her, used her as a conduit, and now it was finished. Pain came with the ecstasy. Horrible cold biting pain struck through her spine. She had drawn far too much of the magic and now its presence was ravaging her.

  Breathless, she snarled at the legionnaire as he taunted her. Then he gathered himself and turned his back on her. He turned away from her. She could feel bile and bitterness rise up in her throat. The whelp had turned his back on her; she would make him pay for it. Tyrsi, Sister of the Order, would not be forgotten like some trollop in a flop house. She stood, ignoring the overwhelming feeling of joy and pain.

  “Fev etidis,” she said, allowing her voice to impart the power of the words.

  The ground shook beneath the legionnaire as Tyrsi gathered the power and her will. A huge mound of fresh mud and dirt swirled beneath his feet and threw him violently to the left. He gained his footing quickly and turned on the sister. She snarled again as the toll struck her again. In her thoughts she remembered the teachings, but she tried to ignore them.

  The purchase and the toll, her mentor had said. The first is power. The second is enfeeblement; the cost of the power.

  Tyrsi t
ried again to ignore the toll, it wracked her spine the pain growing more intense. NO, she snarled internally. I will not give into this. Drawing again, she gathered the power and it eluded her. Fire burned in her bosom as she tried to lash out again at the legionnaire. He stood over her now. She could barely see him, the ecstasy and pain was overwhelming. Her vision blurred.

  “Die,” she said, the word drawing itself out in a horrid rasp.

  “No witch,” the legionnaire said. “You die.”

  His words were so final. She watched as he lifted the blade above his head, the point angled down. With two hands he thrust it into her breast. New fire burned in her bosom as the blade pierced her heart. Trying as she might, she struggled to gather her will even now. The magic failed her again. Warmth spread across her chest and back. Then she suddenly felt cold, so cold. Tyrsi tried to bring her hand up, to beg mercy, to curse the legionnaire; she didn’t know. With the sound of a gasping breath she tried to speak. The Toll struck her again and she arched her back, the blade thrust through her slid further down and she shook violently. Blood choked in her throat as she felt the waves of the Toll flood through her. Gently, the waves subsided and were replaced with pain. Death had come for her. Tyrsi refused to believe it, but death took her anyway. The Sister of the Order gasped again; blood bubbled in her mouth, foaming. She jerked again and was still.

  * * *

  Auren held the blade against the witch. She shook violently, then she was still. He shuddered and looked around him. The sun rose in the east, casting a gruesome light over the battlefield. Red and black mixed with dark splotches of brown and gray all over the border between the two lands. The Order had won the day, but he had slain one of theirs. Still, he could not help but feel a sense of pain in it. The carnage, the death, the brutality of it all, it was all too much. Auren Trist, withdrew the insignia from the pin holding on his cloak. The purple and gold cape dropped to the ground, and he dropped the insignia upon the cloak. The sword, he left embedded in the witch.