Andoran's Legacy

by M. Gregg Roe

  Siljan looked upward and saw Hankin staring at her. He made a gesture, and she nodded in response. Because it was quite flammable, the magical web could be easily burned away. But Hankin was going to get rid of it another way, by simply ending the spell early. Ariel and Gabriel separated as Siljan moved up between them, mindful of all the blood now staining the rock floor. She drew her shortsword with her right hand, pointed her left arm toward the center of the cavern and waited for Hankin to do his thing.

  “Fireball!”

  It was perfect. The tiny red sphere flew true and detonated in a ball of angry orange flame. There were groups of troglodytes not far off to both the left and right, but she had targeted the group farther back. A brief glance had shown a troglodyte cleric, or shaman, or whatever they called themselves. And it was surrounded by a guard of four troglodyte zombies plus a couple of regular ones. When the flames faded, the zombies were piles of ash, one of the regular ones was dead, and the other was staggering away smoldering. The cleric definitely had a singed look about him. Or maybe her. It was hard to tell genders with troglodytes.

  Siljan stepped forward, but then hesitated. Saxloc was flying directly toward where the cleric was now fleeing into a side passage. Hankin cast another Cold Blast that struck two of the lizards and killed the three troglodytes behind them. Gabriel would have no trouble finishing off the lizards. Two of the big gray ones were off to the right, but they hadn’t reckoned on Ariel. She made it look easy, dodging their powerful club blows then darting in to stab and slice with her sword and dagger.

  Movement from the rear of the cavern caught her eye. Two troglodytes led out a huge and nasty-looking creature from a side passage. That definitely looked like bad news. Her Fireball spell took care of the troglodytes but didn’t even slow the thing down. Siljan hefted her sword and prepared for combat.

  Saxloc had waited patiently. There was no room to fight next to Ariel and Gabriel. And Hankin and Siljan had been engaged in competitive spell-casting, which was typical. But now was his chance. The troglodyte cleric was fleeing, and he wasn’t about to let it get away. He flew high down the middle of the cavern and then swooped down into the narrow passage.

  “Mono Volt!” The words were oddly accented but understandable, and unfortunately they weren’t his.

  Saxloc desperately tried to dodge a spell that he could cast himself. But the violet bolt of electricity struck his left side, dropping him to the ground as his muscles spasmed painfully. It was all he could do to keep hold of his sword as he gritted his teeth.

  The cleric cast another spell, but it was simply healing itself. That was bad, but not as bad as another attack spell. Saxloc had just managed to climb to one knee when he was hit in the back by some kind of blunt object. It hurt, but his armor absorbed much of the blow. He staggered to his feet and turned to confront a third type of troglodyte, muscular with dark green skin, and armed with a large club. It looked very surprised when he lunged forward and drove his sword through its midsection. Saxloc was elated as he ripped his sword back out and the creature collapsed, but then he was hit from behind again, this time on the back of his head.

  With his head ringing and eyes blurry, Saxloc used his still active Levitation spell to fly out of the passage and into the cavern. He looked back and saw the cleric standing at the entrance to the passage. It pointed its left arm and yelled, “Lightning Bolt!”

  There was no dodging the spell, not in his current condition. Saxloc felt the impact, dropped his sword, and lost consciousness.

  There were few things more embarrassing—or more dangerous—than being knocked down while engaged in combat. An opponent would be quick to take advantage, and one’s companions would never allow you to forget it afterward.

  Gabriel rolled to his left and began to climb to his feet as the beast completed its spin. Measuring five yards from its beak-like mouth to its unusual tail, the creature looked like some horrific blending of a dragon and a turtle. Its arched back was covered by spiked and ridged plates of thick green chitin. Although the mouth looked threatening, the creature made no attempt to bite Ariel as she threatened it. It was the creature’s tail that was the real threat. The tail was long, heavily muscled, and ended in a knobby ball that was rock-hard. The four legs were stubby, but remarkably agile, allowing the creature to whirl around at incredible speed. The first attack had merely grazed Gabriel, but had actually killed a troglodyte that chanced to be in the wrong place, sending it flying headlong into the wall of the cavern.

  Another attack began with no warning. Ariel simply leapt over the tail as it came around, even managing to slash it with her scimitar as it went past. Gabriel backed away far enough to evade the ball at the end of the tail, but he lost his footing on the irregular ground and fell down again, this time on his behind. While there, he noted that Siljan was tending to Saxloc, who was lying motionless, and that Hankin was pursuing a troglodyte farther back in the cavern that was wearing metal armor, perhaps the leader.

  By the time Gabriel was back on his feet, the creature had missed Ariel again and killed another troglodyte that had gotten too close. Each attack ended with it facing them briefly while it rapidly moved its head around, presumably selecting targets for the next attack. It made an odd squealing sound as Ariel managed to stab its left foreleg after feinting an attack at its head.

  Gabriel decided to try a different approach. He dropped his shield and took the hilt of his longsword in both hands as he stepped forward next to Ariel. When the attack began, he stepped forward and swung his sword across his body, keeping the blade low and the edge angled toward where the tail would be coming from. The impact sent him flying and jarred the sword loose, but not before he felt the blade bite deeply into the root of the tail.

  This time the squeal was earsplitting. The creature seemed uncertain as it eyed Ariel, even taking a step backward. Gabriel retrieved his sword and headed toward its right side, noting that Siljan was approaching the back with her own sword in hand. As he neared, it took another step backward and squealed again. Gabriel hewed at the creature’s right rear leg with as much strength as he could muster. The heavy blade cut deep, resulting in a spray of dark blood. A second stroke, as the creature began to totter, nearly severed the leg. After wrenching his sword out, he stepped back and watched as the creature suddenly collapsed, hitting the ground so hard that he felt it through his boots.

  “We got it,” said Ariel, shaking blood off her weapons before walking over to him. “That was fun.”

  Gabriel could think of other words to describe that particular fight, but he simply nodded while returning her smile.

  There were no other sounds of battle, so all the troglodytes were presumably dead. He hoped they might find villagers that the troglodytes had taken, but he knew that was unlikely. At best they could give any money or other valuables they found to the villagers as recompense for their losses.

  When everything had been thoroughly searched, they headed back up toward the surface. The job was done.

  8

  ‡ Deities ‡

  Standing well back, Alessandra watched as villagers dragged troglodyte corpses into a pile. They were all protected from the creature’s appalling stench, but there hadn’t been enough of the smell-deadening salve to go around. The first whiff had caused Alessandra to lose the breakfast that she had unwisely eaten. She drank a sip of water, trying to calm her agitated stomach.

  Alessandra had come along in her capacity as a Priestess of Kyran. When the five returned from below, they might well be in need of healing. There might have even been a fatality, in which case she would utilize her god-given power to raise the dead. Accompanying the five had been out of the question because she had no combat skills to speak of. She would only have been a hindrance.

  The manner in which Alessandra had come to be a priestess had not been normal. Her family was one of three in Maratana with a history of producing spell-casters. She still remembered the day that she had awakened to a different world. At
the age of eleven she could suddenly sense magic. She had the gift. Her parents had been proud and her older brother jealous. She needed to be apprenticed to an experienced spell-caster, but there simply wasn’t anyone. The last one in her family had been her paternal grandmother, and she had died over a year earlier. Alessandra was unhappy with the situation, even asking if she could go somewhere else to study. In an effort to placate her, her father and brother had lugged a heavy trunk to her room that had belonged to her grandmother, and which no one had been able to open.

  It was late that night when Alessandra finally worked up the courage to touch the trunk that to her new eyes seemed to glow. The two latches snapped open promptly, and inside were wonders. There were books about magic, including detailed instructions on casting spells. One book was about the gods in general, and two more were devoted solely to Kyran, the god of fertility and harvests. Alessandra’s grandmother had been able to heal, and had claimed to be a devotee of Kyran, but she had never referred to herself as a priestess.

  The illustrations in one book, a treatise on the undead, frightened Alessandra so badly that she didn’t open it again for nearly three years. And there had been nightmares for days.

  Another book had completely changed Alessandra’s worldview. It was a history of the world going back over four millennia. The sheer scope of it had fired her imagination, and the illustrated maps inside had shifted her perspective. Andoran’s Realm was only a small portion of the huge continent known as Thren. And there were many other continents. The world was vast, and she longed to explore it.

  The remaining books, all clearly manufactured locally, were her grandmother’s journal. And the things she had recorded! Losing her virginity to a married man twice her age. Seducing both men and women, sometimes at the same time. Alessandra had never heard about any of that. She had always regarded the old woman as prudish.

  Alessandra suddenly noticed Bianca returning along with two of the village’s archers. The woman’s self-satisfied expression was encouraging as she made her way over.

  “We spotted two of them returning,” said Bianca in her deep, guttural voice. “They never saw us. We killed them both with arrows from behind.”

  “And the bodies?” asked Alessandra, arching one eyebrow.

  “Covered with some branches for now. We’ll burn them later. Don’t want to alert any others.”

  “Well done.”

  Bianca nodded, clearly happy with the praise. “We’re going back out in the opposite direction.” She turned and walked off.

  Learning magic on her own had been incredibly frustrating for Alessandra. Her grandmother’s journals detailed her own training with one of her uncles, but that was of little use. It was two full years before Alessandra managed to properly cast Illumination, one of the simplest spells. Progress came faster after that, but it was still too slow for her liking.

  Three years later everything changed. Two new spell-casters had been revealed in the village. One was a teenage boy named Morton that Alessandra detested. Despite repeated rejections, he became obsessed with her. He wrote her love letters, followed her when she ventured out, tried to befriend her brother. It took the intervention of both their parents to finally put a stop to it.

  The other spell-caster was a skinny girl named Isadora that Alessandra had barely noticed. To Alessandra’s amazement, she heard herself not only agreeing to teach the girl magic, but to train her to become a Priestess of Kyran! It was only after a delighted Isadora ran home to tell her parents that Alessandra recognized the truth: It was Kyran himself who had made the offer, speaking through her. Since receiving the trunk, she had prayed to him nightly. It was unbelievable, but her prayers had been answered.

  After that, the years seemed to fly by. By the time that Alessandra had mastered Recovery, the primary spell of healing, she could feel Kyran’s power working through her. She moved out to a small house, and Isadora moved in with her. Two more female spell-casters appeared, and Alessandra snapped them both up. And it didn’t stop there. She recruited other young people with useful skills, telling them that she had a divine purpose, that they had been chosen. Morton, meanwhile, had fled the village, but not before vowing to one day return and win her love.

  At the age of twenty-two, Alessandra was a force to be reckoned with. Beautiful and shapely, she had her pick of potential lovers but was careful not to mislead. Marriage and children were not part of her planned future. Isadora, now seventeen, had also blossomed, both as a woman and as a spell-caster. The two of them tended to the villager’s needs, healing injuries, curing diseases, offering advice. Their house had become a de facto Temple of Kyran. But it wouldn’t be for much longer.

  Kyran’s purpose was revealed as Alessandra led her followers north toward the Valena River. There they found a long-abandoned stone building with a peculiar design. Through her, Kyran spoke of the tasks that awaited them. They would restore the temple, construct other buildings, plant the nearby hills with grapevines, and then learn to make wine from them. More people would be recruited from Fisherton, which was the nearest sizable town. Eventually, they would send forth priestesses to many places, both to offer assistance and to spread their faith. Kyran had long-reaching plans, and she was both thrilled and honored to be part of them.

  It took years, but they succeeded beyond Alessandra’s wildest dreams. She was High Priestess of a Temple of Kyran, commanding power and respect. Their wine, which she developed a real liking for, was excellent. And when they began to sell it in other places, it was hugely popular. It was clear that the wine would provide more-than-adequate income for the temple for the foreseeable future.

  Then disaster struck. Morton, now a priest sworn to serve Yalk, the god of death, infiltrated the temple. Alessandra managed to save herself but no one else. Isadora and Julien were fortunate to be away at the time. Only the timely arrival of Siljan and her friends had saved Alessandra and forced Morton to flee. But the slain were either missing or had been transformed into undead, rendering them unrecoverable by any means. With a heavy heart, Alessandra set out to rebuild.

  The wholesale slaughter of so many people who had given their loyalty to her shook Alessandra’s faith to its core. Why hadn’t Kyran warned them? Was it a failing on her part? Were they merely collateral damage from some altercation between two deities? Even now she had no answers.

  Alessandra suddenly heard the sound she had been waiting for: The villagers cheered and whooped as the five adventurers emerged from the mine entrance led by a smiling Ariel. Their armor and clothing were bloodstained, but most if it appeared to be troglodyte blood. Alessandra waved for Siljan to come over to her, and the young woman promptly obeyed.

  Keeping her voice low and expression neutral, Alessandra asked, “Were there any captives?”

  “No,” answered Siljan, exhaling deeply. “Just bones. And … pieces. We burned everything.”

  “As soon as Bianca and the others have returned, we will burn the ones here.”

  Siljan frowned. “Saxloc almost died down there, tangling with a troglodyte cleric that I ended up finishing off. Now he’s depressed, saying he’s going to give up adventuring.”

  “I will speak with him,” said Alessandra, drawing herself up straight.

  “Good, because he’s not listening to me. Or anyone else.”

  “I will deal with the matter. Depending on the caravan schedule, we may not be back for some time. I will speak with Saxloc and anyone else in his household who needs assistance.”

  “When you’re not too drunk to do it,” said Siljan, narrowing her eyes.

  It was typical of the young woman. She spoke her mind. And she had a point. Alessandra did sometimes drink too much. “Bianca will be watching me, and I intend to practice moderation. We are none of us perfect.”

  “I’m certainly not.” Siljan yawned. “Is the plan for tomorrow the same?”

  “As far as who is going where, yes. After you return, I would like for you to contact the nearby villages. T
ell them that Havenbrook is interested in exchanging men for women.”

  “That’s a great idea,” said Siljan, suddenly looking alert. “Most of those villages are short of males, probably because they’re always fighting with each other. And then they try to steal another village’s women and more of them get killed. You’d think they would have bred that out by now.”

  That was insulting, but sadly also true. “Just gauge their interest. We will make the final arrangements after Bianca and I return.”

  “You got it,” said Siljan, making what looked like some kind of salute with her right hand. After glancing around, she said, “We’re going to head back to Havenbrook now. I need to clean up.”

  “I will accompany you.”

  After a word with Brodric, Alessandra walked over to the five of them. As they headed toward the village, she once again found herself lost in thought.

  Morton had slain two of her priestesses but replacements had appeared. Siljan was the first, succeeding against all expectations. Rosalind had a long way to go, but her magical talent was prodigious. Alessandra strongly suspected that Kyran had a hand in bringing the two of them to her.

  Ultimately it was all about Kyran. She had chosen to serve him, and he had accepted her as his priestess. His divine power was there always, enhancing her abilities, guiding her when necessary, but not changing who she fundamentally was. No matter what occurred, she would continue to serve him faithfully, because that was the life that she had chosen.

  Aliva’s friendly smile faded as she exited Sunrise Bakery. She needed to find some use for the four round loaves of dark bread that she had just reluctantly purchased. It wasn’t even a type of bread that she particularly liked. But when the goddess you serve tells you to do something, you do it.