The Quest of the Legend (Dark Legacy Book 1)

by A. J. Cronin

  “Ah, yes there is, but you should already know what I would have you do.”

  The winged boy flies away, declaring the arrival of the Knight. In a flash, the streets fill with people. The winged fly and take to the rooftops. Alastor looks at the people in the crowd, trying to be pleasant, but he does not look into the eyes of any if he can avoid it. Never having been one to even remotely enjoy fanfare, the cheers and praise, all undeserved in his opinion, makes traveling through the throng toward the castle courtyard difficult, but he somehow does so with a subdued smile.

  Among the people, he sees many familiar faces, mostly from Judeheim or the Guardians, but even they he tries to ignore lest his state of mind become altered with unneeded sentimentality. The message in him is of the utmost importance and must be delivered free of emotional ties or taint. Each step forward, each moment that passes, the assemblage becomes thicker, but always makes room for Alastor to walk until, at last, he can see the grand court and the speaking podium of the royals. There stands Lisa, with Edna on her right, and on her left Mikha’el, with the Dreamer boy beside him, looking at Mikha’el in triumph at being proven correct concerning his vision.

  Here, Alastor forgets himself, his eyes drawn into those of the Queen of Essain. In them, he sees that which he hoped not to, and so breaks himself from that shared gaze. He finally comes to the foot of the speaking podium and ascends the stairs to where his allies wait for him. He nods to each in turn before Lisa steps aside, granting Alastor control. Alastor looks at the great mass of life before him. The three kingdoms, though the phrase is larger than the reality.

  The words that Alastor had so carefully planned begin to escape him as he beholds the countless faces angled up toward him. He shuts his eyes to them, finding his former resolution. Slow and meticulous, he speaks.

  “Not long ago, a plague befell you three peoples. It started in Judeheim, where many suffered and died from it. A year later it came here, to Essain and took the life of a great man, a great King, along with the lives of those who fought against it. Finally, the Guardians, the winged kind, who for centuries have lived in hiding peacefully, were forced into a second exile when the plague found them too.

  “By most of you, this plague was called by a simple yet deadly name: The Necromancer. To the rest, however, he was Lucius, the disinherited first born son of Eoin, the Black Knight, a man whom all of you knew, and my father.”

  Alastor pauses. This news is known to Judeheim and the winged, but amongst the Essain people, a murmur passes from mouth to mouth.

  “This plague,” Alastor continues, “threatened to destroy all good things. It came here, to Essain, for one purpose: to revive an ancient terror of which many have been told of since childhood, but through the ages has become little more than a fairy’s tale. Cain, blood drinker and king of that heathen kingdom of old, Valachia, of which, I am sad to say, I am a descendant. But, by the grace of the One we all hold allegiance to, and the help of the good Queen Lisa of Essain and the just King Mikha’el of the Guardian kind, along with many other friends I would call my brothers and sisters, Cain was finally destroyed, followed in like method by Lucius, thus putting an end to the plague.”

  The people cheer as one, but Alastor raises a hand for silence. All fall quiet and curious, but none more so than those standing behind him. For them, the many months since that battle have led to this moment. Alastor goes on.

  “However, even though this was a momentous day, a grand victory worthy of your cheers and happiness, you must all ask yourselves: what was the origin of the power that these two monstrous men held? What sort of creature could give men, born of flesh, such horrible abilities? I have assembled you all here on this day not to frighten, but to warn, so that you may in turn prepare. My brothers and sisters, Cain and Lucius were the servants, the products, of that creature we all know. Our greatest of enemies, Samael. Betrayer and accuser. Samael is alive and well, not in some unseen realm of existence, not in some hell, but here, just beyond our reach, plotting and planning not simply to rule over humanity, but to completely destroy any who oppose him and conquer the rest.

  “Cain and Lucius are gone, but Samael’s servants are many, and his mind is always on finding more. It is for this that I ask you three peoples: do not be lulled by the beautiful fantasy of a moment’s peace. Yes, there are breaks in the battle, but the war still rages. Until the war is over, there will always be someone or something seeking your end. It may not be tomorrow, or the next day. Next decade or next millennium, but that is no excuse to let the edge of your blade dull or to let your shield rust. Be vigilant! Remember the pains of yesterday that you might be guarded against them in the morrow.” Alastor stops momentarily for a smile, which catches some people off guard. “With that said, though, it does not mean, I think, that one cannot take a moment, however brief, to enjoy a victory such as the one we have earned. Friends, take your joy this day!”

  The people cheer louder and longer than ever, some breaking out into song and others to chant. Alastor bows low to the people and steps away from the place of speaking. Edna leads Alastor, Lisa, Mikha’el and the Dreamer boy down to a feasting table set up with food just placed.

  “Nice speech,” Edna whispers as Alastor sits at the table. “You really have changed. I look forward to aiding you in your new fate, Brother.”

  ~-~~-~

  The people set up their tables and picnic areas and the whole city takes to their meals. Alastor eats with a smile, saluting to the people who look to him, but he remains silent, avoiding the gaze of Lisa. Lisa, though, spends most of her time picking at the food in front of her, instead staring at Alastor, obsessing about talking to him. Alastor playfully places his helmet onto the head of the Dreamer boy, who sits between Alastor and Mikha’el, brought to this place of honor by Alastor himself.

  The boy wears the helmet proudly.

  After a short while, people end their eating and yield back to their various celebrations and games, bringing a state of jubilant chaos to Essain. Alastor takes this time to sneak away, going to the throne room of the kingdom. It has been brought back to normal and, perhaps, more grand than before.

  Alastor stares not at the room, but the throne itself, and its base. He walks to the seat, touching it, unable to remember how to open the secret passage.

  The throne stirs not by his touch or by his thought. He then remembers that as a child, when he sought out Cain’s crypt, the way was already open. Cain had been waiting his arrival that day, apparently. No. That cannot be the case. Someone else would have had to open it. Of course, there was only two people that could have done so...

  Alastor stands to one side and pushes upon the throne with his shoulder. It is stubborn at first, but gives, sliding on stone rails. Walking down into the ancient prison crypt fills Alastor with dread, but it is necessary.

  There, in the room where Cain had been kept, stands the empty coffin, the chains that bound it are no more, but that was expected. The coffin itself, however, was not. The Knight reluctantly touches the coffin, but feels nothing. The Knight then takes to examining the crypt, searching for any clues.

  “Alastor?” a voice calls, gruff but calm.

  Alastor looks to the crypt entrance and sees Mikha’el.

  “Yes, friend?” the Knight asks.

  “What are you doing down here?”

  “I had hoped to find something. A relic perhaps. Maybe something more. Why are you here?”

  “I wanted to speak with you before Lisa or the Fairy got to you,” Mikha’el says with a subdued smile.

  Alastor looks beyond the fake smile, finding his proud and noble friend distant and saddened.

  “What bothers you, Mikha’el?”

  Mikha’el struggles for words, becoming frustrated before finally managing.

  “A dream most disturbing.”

  “Dreams, it would seem, are running rampant as of late. Tell me of it.”

  “I remember it as though looking at it anew. I am in a city of pal
e stone and glass towers, standing upon a smooth road. Amid the towers, with all roads leading to it, is a citadel that stands far above its brothers. Inside this citadel, I find a throne room with a single seat. Upon this throne sits a man wearing an expressionless, faceless mask. On the left of the masked man stands a living skeleton cloaked in flowing black robes. On the right, a red dragon, except that it wears a hide of black scales over its own skin. I moved to speak, and my voice was taken by the masked man. I went to draw my sword and the dragon stole it. I started forward to strike the man on the throne, and the skeleton snatched my soul. I then awoke, crying.”

  Alastor steps closer to Mikha’el, somewhat stunned into quiet.

  “Have you told anyone else?” the Knight finally asks.

  “No. This dream, I knew, had to be meant for you. I am curious, does it have meaning to you?”

  “It does, but do not ask me to explain.”

  “Why not?”

  “The time is far from right. What you saw was to me a verification of an idea. Unfortunately, for every loved one of mine, secret shall it remain until the correct time.”

  Mikha’el cannot hide his disappointment, but nods in acceptance.

  “Did you find any such relic or item?” Mikha’el asks, gesturing to the room.

  Alastor looks uneasily to the coffin, then turns back to Mikha’el, shaking his head.

  “No, I did not.”

  Alastor and Mikha’el leave the crypt, pushing the throne seat back over the secret entrance.

  “I should return to the others,” Mikha’el says, beginning to leave the throne room.

  “Mikha’el, I have a bit of counsel to give you,” Alastor calls after him.

  “Yes?” he says, looking back to Alastor.

  “Listen to your nephew more, especially now.”

  “It was pride that made me disbelieve him.”

  “Such pride has no place in the heart of one such as you, not with what you have seen and done.”

  “Thank you, Son of Eoin.”

  Mikha’el bows and walks away.

  ~-~~-~

  Alastor exits through an alternate way, avoiding the primary castle entrance. The joyous sounds continue to fill the air, bringing a small smile to his face. He sneaks through the back streets and alleys, making way to a side route from the city and into a forest glade, near a body of water watched over by the rear of the castle. There, waiting, is Alastor’s black war horse, grazing in the light of the lowering sun.

  “Sorry for keeping you waiting,” Alastor says to the animal, petting its mane.

  “Well, that speech nearly made up for it,” a gentle voice replies.

  From behind a tree, Lisa reveals herself, crafty and proud. She beat Alastor, and she knows it, the shocked look on his face leaving no trace of dispute.

  “Lisa,” Alastor says surprised.

  “Alastor. Trying to leave without even so much as looking at me?”

  Alastor says nothing in defense, though not for a lack of trying.

  “Did I do something to offend you?” Lisa pleads, standing an arm’s length from Alastor.

  “No, Lisa. Nothing of the sort.”

  “Then what changed? That night, before you came here, we kissed. Now you are repulsed by me?”

  “Did you hear nothing I said today?”

  “I heard it, but what I did not hear was a reason for your sudden change. What I did not hear was why you took so long to come back here, and do not dare give me some story that Hector had you worried!”

  “That was not just some story, Lisa.”

  “I want the truth, Alastor!” Lisa demands, ignoring his comment. “I want to know what happened to you, what you are planning, everything.”

  Alastor laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “You were not listening at all. Samael is what happened, Lisa. Samael is what I am planning, Samael is everything. Your cousin, Gawain’s murder, my brother, all the way back to Cain and Leon, Samael has been at the center of it all.”

  Deflated spirit in hand, the Queen lowers her head.

  “So, killing Lucius was not the end, was it? I mean, it was naive of me to hope it began and ended with him, but I wanted so much to believe it did.”

  “I hoped such too, but it was always a false hope.”

  “Alastor, say that I do believe you, and Samael is a true threat, that Samael is stalking us. How do we fight something which pre-dates man, a creature which has and always will desire our destruction?”

  “That is why I have been missing for three months, Lisa. Well, partly.”

  “You are making no sense...”

  “The less you know, the safer you will be, Lisa. Please trust me in this regard.”

  “More secrets. More trust.”

  “Like before, a necessity.”

  A moment of absolute quiet passes between the two.

  “Where were you going in such a hurry that you abandoned the very celebration you called together?” Lisa eventually asks to break the silence.

  “I was beginning a trek to the northwest, to be honest.”

  “Northwest? The Scyld?”

  “You know of them?” asks the Knight, impressed.

  “The Knight is not the only one who has taken a moment at one time or another to study distant lands, you know,” the Queen answers proudly.

  “I never meant to imply that you were unlearned, but few know of the Scyld.”

  “Why are you going there?” she asks, again ignoring Alastor’s previous comment.

  “I am looking for someone,” Alastor says bluntly.

  “Who?”

  “A friend. Potentially at any rate.”

  “Is it so important to leave now? Can we at least not sit and talk if even for only a brief time?”

  Alastor searches for an argument or excuse, but he knows that he does owe her this, so he concedes, and the two sit. It is Lisa who speaks most, recalling the last three months, with Alastor only adding his opinion or observation where prudent. When it comes to the trials of the army traitors, he pays the utmost attention.

  “Many times, I was sorely tempted, Alastor.”

  “How so?”

  “I wanted nothing more than to find out why our own people would betray us, my father, but at times a darkness came over me and I...”

  “And you what?”

  “Desired to execute them to the last myself. No questions or protests. Just kill them. Cold blooded and remorseless.”

  “Did you?”

  “No! Of course not, but that is what makes it so strange. When I would fight this urge, they would end up killing one another in a mania.”

  “It is good that you did not give in, Lisa. Who knows what evil would have befallen your home had you indulged.”

  “I sometimes feel regret that I did not kill them. Does that make me wicked?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Quite.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  “I have seen your heart, watched your actions, and heard your words. I promise that wickedness is nowhere found in you.”

  More quiet follows as Lisa absorbs Alastor’s words. Edna then comes into the glade, smiling gently.

  “My Lady,” she says to Lisa, “I believe the time has come for a few closing words to this day.”

  Alastor stands and gestures for the Queen to follow Edna. She stands and does so, but not before stopping to speak one last time to Alastor.

  “When will you be back?” she asks.

  “I know not.”

  “Tell me the truth: will you return at all?”

  “I know not, Your Highness.”

  Lisa thinks about this for a spell, then turns her beautiful eyes up to the Knight.

  “Alastor, one last thing.”

  “Yes, Lisa?”

  “I am sorry about Amelia. I really am. I liked her. In the short time I had with her, she became like my sister. I just wanted you to know that.”

&n
bsp; Alastor is unable to speak. Lisa turns reluctantly away from Alastor, letting Edna lead the way back to the throne room. Before they are gone from sight, Edna swings her eyes to Alastor and gives him a reassuring nod that he is doing the right thing.

  ~-~~-~

  In the throne room, the leaders, elders and people of importance have gathered. Lisa sits upon her throne, looking back at all those clustered around her.

  “What are we to do?” asks Dahlia of Judeheim.

  “The Knight requests vigilance on our respective parts. Samael is no longer a legendary villain, the fireside myth. He is quite real, and every one of us must take him deathly serious.”

  “The Knight asks for us to be vigilant, of which I understand, but the question becomes what are we to do about Samael?”

  “We do nothing overtly, presumably”

  “And what is he going to do?”

  “If I have interpreted him correctly, he is to take a more hands-on approach to fighting our infernal foe.”

  “He would take all the risk and have us do nothing?”

  “It would seem so,” Lisa says with a displeased tone.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Again into Her Hands

  Return to Table of Contents

  Alastor mounts up, giving one last look to Essain and everything he knows and loves. Onward through the western portions of Essain’s forests, through mountains, across stretches of desolate wasteland, all the while an unseasonable cold creeps over the world.

  The days of wandering become weeks, the weather gives in to fits of snow and sleet, but resolve in the Knight’s heart will never fade. No weapon forged can kill it. Though he could continue non-stop, stop he must for the sake of his horse, so that his lone traveling companion, the last evidence of Amelia’s existence, may rest.

  With the sun falling, Alastor seeks out shelter, finding a small cave. While the good beast grazes on what little it can find, Alastor decides to try and find sleep out of longing, having forgotten the sensation, only to be roused by the howling of dire wolves in the distance. As they sound far from them, Alastor ignores them. A dreamless, unrestful sleep is all the Knight takes.