Legends

by Melanie Nilles

  Near the end of the day, they stopped on a hill overlooking the town. The distant clang of a blacksmith’s hammer rang out over the calm, and voices rose from a couple of conversations from those walking through the streets.

  Mud smeared the snow in the streets and splashed up the legs of a pair of horses led through the square, past the inn’s livery door closing off the cold of the outside.

  “I assume you mean for us to enter through the livery?”

  Darius nodded with a hint of a smile. “May scare the socks off Hlynn to see me, but she’ll not turn me away.”

  They hurried to the town, aware of a couple soldiers entering the inn. Dark-oiled beams formed squares and diagonals against an off-white plaster background with a dark door next to a frosted window.

  Instead of using the main door, Darius slid open the large wooden livery door attached to the side of the main building. The sweet scent of hay mixed with the odor of manure.

  Jayson wrinkled his nose. What fond memories.

  Darius turned to him. Here too?

  Jayson shrugged. What could he say? He followed Darius everywhere. Slept when he slept. Ate meals when he could. Guarding the secret had been his only purpose.

  They hurried to the door where a lantern hung, casting a weak glow into the stable, and moved around thick beams supporting the loft overhead.

  Jayson scanned the livery for any signs of men, but saw only three cows looking up at them from their enclosure and a couple of horses dozing in their stalls. None seemed to notice them, or at least none cared.

  Darius took hold of the latch for the door to the pantry. It creaked on old hinges, but made no more sound as they both slipped inside with minimal noise.

  “What’s that?” The door muffled the man’s voice. In seconds, the door to the kitchen opened, spewing light into the pantry. A grizzled face with bags beneath his eyes peered in. The man shrugged and closed the door again.

  “Now whatcha hearin’?” The door muffled the woman’s voice.

  Hlynn.

  Jayson glanced at Darius, afraid he might expose them too soon.

  “Thought’n I heard someone in the pantry.”

  A snort responded. “Thinkin’ you hearin’ too many things lately, dear. Jus’ be watchin’ the soup. I’ll not have it burnin’ to the pan again. Those cheap soldiers look for every excuse t’not pay. Filthy, greedy—”

  “Bite your tongue, woman! They’ve ears too sharp. Too many folk disappear for sayin’ stuff.”

  Things had grown worse since Jayson last set foot in Wynmere. Tyrkam never bothered to threaten the townsfolk. His soldiers caused enough harassment to hush them. Something had changed.

  “Was better under Tyrkam,” Hlynn muttered. From the clarity of her voice, she stood right outside the door. “I’ll check to be sure no one’s in the stable. Cursed weather. Does no good to give free lodgin’ t’strays.”

  The door opened again. Jayson ducked back from the woman’s path through the pantry. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, her lantern casting a gentle glow in the darkened room. Instead of going straight for the livery door, she searched the pantry. Given the narrow space, she should have bumped them with her wide hips.

  When she saw nothing, she let out a sigh. “Just a hope,” she muttered and passed them to the livery.

  She adjusted her green shawl and stepped out into the chill of the livery, the lantern held high before her. Jayson and Darius followed into the cold air and waited at the door as she walked through. She looked in all the pens and climbed the loft. After rustling around above, she came down.

  On her way down the ladder, she muttered about her husband imagining things and the soldiers and Vahrik’s heavy hand.

  At the door to the pantry, Jayson dropped the spell of invisibility. Darius stood next to him with a somber face.

  With her eyes everywhere but forward, Hlynn almost ran over them. She let out a startled yelp and jumped back. Before she could scream out, Darius threw back his hood.

  “Sssh! Hlynn,” he whispered.

  Hlynn blinked. “Darius?” She held the lantern up to his face. Recognition melted away her fright and a smile curved up. “I hoped you’d show.”

  She held the lantern up to Jayson’s face and frowned. “Your girl got ugly; pardon me saying.”

  Jayson smirked. “I’ll be sure to tell her.” He’d followed Darius and Istaria here in their escape from Vahrik after Tyrkam beat him for letting her escape. Not far outside the town, the white dragon had made his appearance over Istaria and scared off Vahrik’s men.

  “This is Jayson.”

  She looked from Jayson to Darius. “Friend o’ yours? What happened t’yer other friend, the girl with the white hair?”

  With a smile that gave away his pride, he said, “She’s safe.”

  “Never was one for much talk.” She motioned with her chin to Jayson. “What o’ this one? Whatcha bring him for?”

  “We need a place to stay tonight.”

  Hlynn’s eyes narrowed in the shadows from the lantern. “I’ve seen you before.”

  Jayson shrugged.

  Darius turned to him, though the calm expression told Jayson that he knew the answer by now.

  “I suppose I let my cover slip.”

  Her lips crooked up in a partial grin. “Friend o’ Darius? Then yeh both be warned. I’ve no place inside, what with all these men sent by Vahrik. They’ve a mind to takin’ what they want; darkness take them—all o’ them.”

  She shivered and pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

  “You know I’ve always a place for yeh, Darius, but y’ll be sleepin’ with Bella and Sara tonight. I’ll leave a coupla hot plates for yeh come the morn.”

  Darius gave her a simple bow.

  Giving in to a streak of mischief, Jayson bowed low as one would to royalty. “Our most humble thanks, my lady.”

  Hlynn eyed him but the flush of her cheeks in the lamplight betrayed her. “Jus’ make no noise, or the men, they get suspicious.”

  With his grin climbing higher, Jayson watched her pass by them to the door. She knew not how to react to the respectful show, though he had exaggerated a bit.

  After the door thudded closed behind Hlynn, Darius turned to him. “You enjoyed that too much.”

  Of course he did. Knowing nothing else to say, Jayson shrugged.

  They found places in the loft and settled in for the night. As he lay in the straw, Jayson ran over the plan in his mind. The next day they would enter the castle, but Tyrkam was not the one running things. Somehow his son ruled this area. Did Tyrkam grant him his power or had Vahrik rebelled?

  If Tyrkam granted him such power, then the impetuous youth would pose little threat. If Vahrik rebelled, then he had a castle of guards dedicated to him rather than Tyrkam. No less of a bother, but more of an obstacle.

  Had Lusiradrol planned it that way?

  Whatever the answers, he knew Lusiradrol had taken Calli to Wynmere. Whoever ruled the lands here held her inside. Vahrik or Tyrkam mattered not.

  “Get some rest,” whispered Darius. “In a few days, we fight.”

  Jayson glanced aside at Darius. The shuffle of straw and motion of the dark shape told him the man turned over.

  Indeed we fight, he thought and laid back. And Wynmere will likely be no more.

  __________

  Jayson

  Down the hill and across the clearing loomed the castle at the edge of the ravine. Anticipation gnawed at Jayson’s insides. He struggled to restrain himself from racing to it, knowing Calli was trapped inside. Instead, he focused on maintaining their invisibility, although it required little effort.

  Ten horsemen raced past them for the castle. The jingle of metal and thunder of hooves on the frozen ground announced their arrival to those in the castle. The grinding of the gate echoed across the clearing, shattering the still air with its welcome to the riders.

  The lack of activity and smooth snow around the castle sent
a chill through Jayson’s core. From previous experience following Darius on his deliveries of firewood to Tyrkam, he knew the normal routine, and not a trace remained.

  Vahrik had made changes. Where at least some men should have practiced their combat skills and weapons, no one did. Occasional clashes or voices rose from behind the high walls, but from nowhere else. Vahrik kept all his supporters inside, boxed up and, like fish in a barrel, easy picking.

  Jayson looked aside at Darius. Though they used magic to hide from sight, they could see each other in the same spell. Darius had used the same to hide himself and Istaria from Vahrik; but he could not hide himself from Jayson. Few could.

  They continued along the road, walking in the jumbled tracks of the horses. Soon they would find themselves in the nest of their enemy.

  Jayson breathed deeply the cool air hinting of an early spring rain. A freezing rain now would make rescue by Sethirngal difficult. They might have to hide in the castle until it passed.

  Every minute of delay put them at risk. He must have been crazy to risk himself and Darius for one person.

  Not just any person. Calli was one of the First Race, if not of full blood, then half by her father at least.

  More than that, he loved her. That reason alone made rescuing her a priority, even if she longed more for her prince than him. He could not bear to leave her.

  At the gates, they paused. The doors slowly closed after admitting the riders, the chains clanging in the cold air. Once inside they could not turn back.

  Darius looked at him, an unspoken question lifting his brow.

  After a moment to confirm his desire to carry out the plan, Jayson gave a nod. Both of them easily slipped through the closing space between the doors.

  Inside the protective wall, soldiers and servants trudged in the mud from one place to another. While the soldiers patrolled the upper walk and the yard, the servants moved among them with stooped shoulders.

  Jayson and Darius hastened across the yard to the more solid footing around the less-traveled side.

  Darius led him to a side door used only by servants. Stone and timbers lay strewn about the base of the keep. The top had been crushed under something heavy, almost as if a dragon had landed on it. Curious, but no time to study it. They had come for Calli, not to speculate about the castle.

  They entered a low-lit passage adjacent to the kitchen. Aware of the muddy tracks they left in their wake, they hurried to find a vacant room where they could clean it from their boots. Other footsteps littered the corridors of those who had passed through before them, although they saw no one now. The mud would never have accumulated under Tyrkam’s critical eye.

  The lack of attention made their job easier. Those who passed them unawares bore the marks of their hard labors in their tattered clothes, unkempt hair, and disconsolate expressions. If they noticed anything, they had no care but to their survival.

  Tyrkam’s son had no compassion for anyone, he recalled. Any misgivings about the dragon tearing down the old castle to reach Calli dissipated. It could only improve matters here.

  They made their way farther inside, the mud on their boots falling off with each step they took. Among the other prints, theirs were lost.

  Voices reached them from somewhere ahead. Jayson glanced back with a question to Darius, who nodded in silent agreement. They followed the voices, nearing what Jayson recognized as the castle’s main hall, and a familiar harsh tone made him cringe.

  Quite the mouth on the little bugger.

  Darius nodded his agreement.

  They paused to listen.

  “Never assume to know my mind!” The words grated with frustration. “Next time report to me. I will decide what price to pay.”

  By listening longer, they learned that Vahrik cursed a servant sent with the guards to trade in Thealon.

  Jayson shrugged and moved on. With others around, Vahrik would give away nothing of the prize left by Lusiradrol, if she had brought Calli there. He might lead them to Calli, but they had no way to know.

  It mattered not. Jayson had been in Wynmere Castle many times in trailing Darius on Tyrkam’s orders to supply firewood. He had used those opportunities to familiarize himself with the layout. They could find Calli come morning.

  In the present they needed a place to sleep. The travel and use of magic tired him, and he had an idea of where they might be safe.

  Faint but familiar stirrings of magic made him smile. It came from the safest place in the castle, but nothing indicated the mage was anywhere near Wynmere.

  Perfect. Makleor should have no problem with them borrowing his room for the night. No one would disturb them there.

  The mage’s tower? Darius asked.

  A smile crooked up one side of Jayson’s lips. Reading minds now?

  Darius shrugged.

  Whether his friend detected the same stirrings or dared to probe his thoughts, Jayson cared not. They both agreed on where to rest. That was enough. After using the invisibility for so long, he grew weary. He needed rest to wash away his fatigue.

  They followed the flow of magic through the corridors. In some corners lay chunks of rock or splinters of wood. Whatever crumbled the top levels crushed down the lower levels. It confirmed his assessment from outside.

  Dragons, I’d bet, Jayson said as they passed through an empty section of corridor strewn with rubble. Darius said nothing from behind, but Jayson guessed he drew the same conclusion. Why, if the dragons or Lusiradrol’s wyverns attacked the keep, did they leave it standing? Why not destroy it and be done?

  Unease settled into Jayson’s core. Lusiradrol had left him alone to follow him to the Sh’lahmar, where she found her sleeping clan. The true dragons would not attack without cause. That left the Red Clan. If they attacked and left the castle standing and its occupants living, that meant the dragon woman had plans for the castle.

  What were those plans?

  Calli. It had to be. Lusiradrol had sealed her and brought her here, without a doubt, yet there had to be more to it. But what?

  He’d have time to consider it once they reached Makleor’s chambers.

  They found a spiral staircase climbing the inside of an untouched tower. Gray light shadowed the steps before them, washing over the dull stone from the few glass windows along the sides. It had to be a tower. Could Makleor not have settled for a ground-floor room? Towers meant torture, places of imprisonment.

  Apparently Tyrkam had never taken prisoners, or the old mage figured on being left alone.

  At each floor they passed, open doorways welcomed them. They passed them without interest, following the source of the power to the top of the stairs.

  When they reached the landing after more than three floors, Jayson hesitated. The closed door looked as any other. Nothing extraordinary stood out on sight, not that it should from what would once have been a detention tower.

  But here, magic twisted into a web.

  Jayson smirked and glanced back at Darius, who stood with a calm patience.

  This was the lair of Makleor. The last of the Great Magi would guard his dwelling in some form while he was away. No mortal could pass, though the spell was simple enough for anyone with a basic knowledge of magic to break. No one but the guards would have reason to climb to this level, and he doubted they did.

  He reached a finger toward the door with all the care of one afraid of shattering it at the slightest touch.

  His fingertip tingled before contacting the wood. As he expected. Anyone foolish enough to reach for the door without caution would be knocked senseless.

  With a thought, Jayson neutralized the spell for them. The magic would remain but would pass over them without affect.

  Jayson used caution when reaching for the wood afterwards, but felt nothing. Reassured of his success, he put a hand to the door and pushed.

  It opened without incident.

  “Better you than me,” Darius said from behind.

  Jayson stepped into a room of book
s stacked to their chests. The faint light from the spiral stairs defined the edges of the room while the closed shutters blocked the windows. He shivered from a cold draft.

  After closing the door behind them with barely a thump, Darius set to work starting a fire in the fireplace.

  Jayson blew away a coat of dust from the top tome of the nearest stack. The cloud hovered in the still air and descended with reluctance.

  “I always wondered how Makleor lived. What keeps one sane for four thousand years?”

  He reached the table without bumping over any books. Curious about the open tome, he flipped through the pages.

  “How does one tolerate so many lifetimes without company?”

  His eyes settled on what seemed a journal entry from almost two years ago. After a few words, he forgot his question. A few notes were scribbled in the margin, but the entry captured his attention:

  15.3 pc 936

  I write this for those who find my translations. My waiting is almost done. This curse of immortality will soon be lifted. My soul will find rest from my crimes.

  After aiding the death of the white dragon while under Lusiradrol’s spell, I have made my penance. I have done as requested of me to guide the outcome.

  Our Mother, Tahronen, bade me stay with Tyrkam, a foolish mortal, but one who has intentions on Gilthiel’s power. He shall not have it.

  It will come his way, quite sure, though not as he expects. He has plans for the chosen one. I am loathe to watch in silence his cruel methods, but perhaps it will work for the best. Her fate awaits in the forest of Wynmere, which lies at the doorstep of this castle. The spirit of Gilthiel knows this.

  I have left the tale of the white dragon and my righted wrongs in the library of Cavatar for all to read. All children of the Light must understand the past to be ready for the war that will come. In the tome, I described events from three thousand years ago as I saw them. My memories have not faded; my guilt would not allow it.