LEGENDS: Fifteen Tales of Sword and Sorcery

by Colt, K. J.

  ~Marcus the Heretic,

  On the Nature of Faith and Magic

  WE WITHDREW BEHIND A MAKESHIFT barricade of fallen tables and broken chairs. To call it a barricade was a bit of a stretch I’ll admit, but it gave us a slight advantage. It hampered the men coming at us, making it easier to kill or wound them as they struggled to get over the tumbled furniture. They drew back for a moment to coordinate their final push and the fighting paused.

  “Genevieve!” I shouted to the Duchess, “I need your help, I have a plan.” She nodded and came quickly to me. She had seen enough to realize that whatever I might do, it was better than the alternative.

  “What can we do?” she asked me.

  “Get burned logs from the fire, I need a line, as straight as you can make it from one side of the room to the other!” I told her. It took a few more words to explain myself, but at last she understood me, and soon she had people running to either side of the room, gathering burnt wood to draw the line.

  Vestrius’ journal had mentioned great wizards of the past using their strength to create huge shields to protect buildings or men during time of war. Often the effort killed them, especially if they did it without proper preparation. My own experiments had already shown me how much more energy was needed to do something without words as opposed to with them. I already knew the words necessary for creating a shield beyond my own body, but there was another method of increasing efficiency, the use of symbols or visibly drawn lines, much like a summoner’s circle. I wasn’t sure how much help a simple line would be, but it couldn’t hurt.

  I had impressed upon Genevieve the need for the line to be as straight as possible, and one of the men helping her was a carpenter by trade. Soon he was using a board from a broken table to help them rule the line as they drew it across the breadth of the hall. I was glad he had thought of it, the line was much better than what I thought would be possible.

  Someone spoke out from among the men who stood on the other side of our barricade. “If you surrender now, I promise we won’t kill the women.” Devon Tremont was standing behind them, using a chair so he could see us over their heads. “My men could use a reward for their efforts after all.”

  I looked at Marc, “Next time I kill him first, and we can discuss whether it was the proper thing to do later,” referring to our earlier argument.

  He agreed with me, and then James Lancaster shouted out, “I would sooner die than hand over my people to you!” He was red faced with anger.

  “I can arrange that for you, my dear Duke,” Devon answered him. He closed his eyes, and I could see a deep glow forming around him. The power he was radiating now was immense; so far beyond the pale that I could hardly believe he was human. Even the people around me could see it now, and fear ran through the defenders. I began working my way along the line of men and women guarding the barricade, giving quiet instructions. Outwardly I remained calm, but the power facing us was so great that I no longer felt the confidence I pretended to.

  “Mal’goroth, come, use me! Show your wrath to these who would defy you!” Devon shouted.

  I looked back at Genevieve, “Is it ready?”

  “Almost, we’re almost there,” she shouted back.

  Looking back at Devon my heart quailed. I had learned enough to realize what he was doing. He had broken the most important rule for a mage; he had opened his mind to one of the Dark Gods and given himself over to it. The power of the evil deity was coursing through him now, and his body seemed to swell larger with it. I knew that if we did not kill him, he would be the doom of the world. Mal’goroth would use his power to open a bridge; a bridge strong enough for the dark god to enter our world.

  Then a voice spoke to me within my own mind. It came from within, but I could sense that it originated with the silver star in my pocket, the symbol of Millicenth, the Evening Star. Let me help you. Together we can stop him before it is too late. In my mind I could see the shining lady speaking to me, and I knew she spoke truly. Without realizing it I drew out the holy symbol, holding it before me in my hand. I almost accepted her offer, but as I wavered, Penny came over and struck the symbol from my hand.

  I looked at her, a question in my eyes, “Father Tonnsdale poisoned your family, and he tried to poison everyone here!” she shouted at me. I nodded, her words raised many questions but there was no time for them now. I turned back and saw our enemies charging at the barricade.

  “For Lancaster!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, and every man and woman echoed the cry. Then without warning they turned, ducking down and plugging their ears. “Lyet Bierek,” I spoke, and then repeated myself, again and again. The sounds were deafening and it felt as if the castle had come under bombardment from cannonade. The enemy attack faltered as men screamed and fell clutching their eyes, some with bleeding ears, and the men and women of Lancaster took several steps back, crossing the line Genevieve and the carpenter had created.

  I looked at the doors across the room from us, far behind the men we faced, and I spoke the words to create a shield across it, one tight enough to prevent even air from passing. Then I looked down to the line that stood in front of me. Penny watched my face, and I wondered if I would die. It seemed such a shame. She started toward me but I held up my hand, I couldn’t afford any distractions.

  Reaching down into myself, I drew out my power and let it fall from my lips and down my arm as I gestured to the line before me. I could feel it flowing outward, filling the line that had been drawn, and then I raised my hands upwards. A shimmering screen of light rose from the floor to meet the ceiling, seamless and perfect. Some of the enemy had already charged at us, and those who were across the line were cut cleanly in half. Limbs and body parts falling to the floor as they died. Those behind slammed into air that had become solid as stone, I could feel the force of them as they struck my shield.

  Devon laughed where he stood behind them, purple flames coursing over his body, “Fool! You can’t maintain that shield for long! You’ll die of the strain, and I’ll be killing your friends before your body has cooled!”

  I glared at him across the screen that separated us, “You don’t look so good Devon, did someone rearrange your face for you, or were you always that ugly?” Despite the power running through him, his face was swollen from the beating I had given him earlier. “Oh, that’s right I nearly beat you to death with the ugly stick, didn’t I? Maybe I should finish the job. It could only improve your looks!”

  He snarled something at me, and I could feel a dark force pressing against my screen, trying to tear it open. That worried me, the strength to maintain a shield is greater than the strength needed to destroy it and he would rapidly burn through my reserves if he kept pushing at it. I looked across the open room and spoke the words I had been saving, words of fire and power.

  Nothing happened. I could feel myself weakening and realized I had overextended myself. I didn’t have the power left to accomplish my goal. We were going to die. Devon thrust his power against my shield again and I staggered, falling to my knees. Only seconds remained before my strength was gone. I dropped my sword and saw it strike the floor. There at the base of the blade was the maker’s mark, the mark of Royce Eldridge. For a moment I remembered his words as he had given it to me. “I did not make this for your vengeance. I did this to show that even from the ashes of wickedness and tragedy something of beauty can arise. I made this hoping the same for you. Use it for yourself, use it for defending those who cannot protect themselves, as your true father would have. Do not shame either of us.”

  I stood up, driven by nothing but my resolve. “Pyrren nian Aeltos, Pyrren strictos Kaerek!” I spoke again, this time opening my heart, pouring my life into the spell. Loosely translated, the words meant, ‘Let the air burn, turning all to ash,’ and I meant them. The air beyond my screen bloomed into white hot incandescent flames. I had not directed my spell at the men but the air itself.

  Within seconds the flame was out, and I could feel a tugging
at my screen. The air inside had been used up, creating a vacuum that pulled against my screen. The enemy were mostly dead, and those still living were suffocating. Devon was still standing, his own shield had protected him, but his eyes were bulging. He gasped as he tried to draw breath, but there was nothing to breathe, nothing but smoke and ash.

  He began beating at my shield with his mind, using his power like a battering ram, not even bothering with words. He couldn’t speak anyway. The room grew dim as he struggled against me, and my vision narrowed, as if I were standing in a tunnel. I held the shield for a long minute before he finally collapsed, and then I held it for minutes more. I had to make sure he was dead.

  People were yelling, and someone was shaking me, but I ignored them. I would not release my spell till Devon Tremont was dead beyond any doubt. Penny was standing in front of me, and I could see her screaming at me, but I couldn’t understand her words. Finally she slapped me, and the screen collapsed. Smoke and cinders filled the air, and people began coughing.

  I looked at her, “Why did you do that?” I said.

  “Because you were killing yourself, idiot!” she answered me, and then the ground rushed up to meet me. She tried to catch me, but all she managed was to break my fall. I looked up at her; she had never seemed so lovely.

  “Your nose looks like a potato,” I said with a laugh and then passed out. Stupid never dies, I thought as I spiraled into darkness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The biggest factor which makes healing anything beyond simple wounds difficult is a problem of perception. Some wizards manage to heal more complex wounds within their own bodies, but fail when faced with the same problem in other people. Their perception of the inner actions of someone else’s body is hampered by the sensations and perceptions of their own body. The few great mage healers found a way around this problem, enabling them to occasionally achieve miracles that some thought possible only for the gods. A great tragedy lies in the loss of the knowledge detailing how they accomplished this.

  ~Marcus the Heretic,

  On the Nature of Faith and Magic

  I WOKE IN A DARK room. I lay still for a long while, trying to figure out how I had gotten there. Gradually I realized that someone lay next to me, and after a moment I identified it as Penny. The snoring is a dead giveaway, and it was worse than ever now, probably because of her nose. I slid my hand over to her and discovered she had a nightgown on. How disappointing. She stirred, and the snoring stopped, I could feel her eyes on me in the dark, although I was sure she couldn’t see. The room was pitch black.

  “Are you awake?” she asked softly.

  “I’m not sure, this could be heaven,” I replied moving my hand over her shoulder. “I must be awake, because in heaven all the girls are naked.”

  “Idiot, we thought you were dying,” she said, “I thought I would lose you.”

  “I should have written you a letter first, then you would have felt better.” I replied sarcastically. Have I mentioned my unparalleled skills in talking to women?

  For a change she didn’t react angrily, “I couldn’t do it without leaving you something—to explain.” I didn’t like the sound of her voice, it had a thick sound, as if she were about to cry.

  I did my best to divert her, “Exactly why did you try to kill Devon anyway? Are you that interested in getting yourself killed?”

  She explained what had happened; her vision, killing Father Tonnsdale, and her resolve to make the most of things by getting rid of Devon Tremont. I listened quietly, amazed at her nerve. This lovely woman had killed the traitor and hidden the fact without me being any the wiser. Then she had planned a murder and kept me completely unaware. I would have been scared to have her in the bed with me if I weren’t absolutely sure we were on the same team.

  “At least I had a good reason for everything I did. Unlike you... you tried to kill yourself at the end, even after they were all dead,” she finished.

  “Not true, I was making sure they were dead,” I answered.

  “You’re an idiot.” she shot back.

  “You’re a double idiot, potato nose!” I replied wittily. Luckily, this time she saw the humor in my joke and started giggling, and soon we were both laughing. Fatigue washed over me in waves, and I decided I needed more sleep. Before I drifted off, I realized I couldn’t feel her with my mind. I couldn’t feel anything. I was blind, but it wasn’t my eyes that weren’t working.

  I woke early the next morning, amazed at how good I felt. By all rights I should be dead. Instead I was hungry and extremely thirsty. Penny was not in the room so I ordered room service, “Hey! Somebody! I know you’re out there, ya bunch of vultures. I’m not dead! I want food and something to drink!” In point of fact, I had no idea if anyone was outside my door, I couldn’t sense anything beyond what my eyes could see. But I’m smart you see, I knew that whenever the hero slays a dragon the villagers always wait outside to bring him food and drink. There are usually grateful virgins too, but I didn’t think Penny would approve of me asking for those.

  Sure enough Benchley poked his head into the room, “You called, Sir?”

  “Yes, thank you Benchley. Do come in,” he entered the room with his usual aplomb. I ignored his impeccable manners and started placing my order, “I need you to go kill me a cow. Not a small one mind, a big fat one. Have it cooked and brought up straight away.”

  He raised an eyebrow, “Certainly sir.”

  “Wait, nix that. Cooking will take too long, just kill it and bring it on up, I’ll have it rare.”

  He nodded and left, cheeky bastard. I had my suspicions that he might not have taken me seriously. Of course I could just as easily have gone down and gotten my own food. My body seemed surprisingly whole, but they didn’t have to know that. Not yet anyway.

  Since I was alone, I took the opportunity to relieve myself. Strictly speaking the chamber pot is for use at night, so you don’t have to make the long walk to the privies, but I was feeling contrary. I also examined my face in the mirror.

  Ugh! I looked like I had a really bad hangover. Too bad I hadn’t actually been drinking. The scar on my cheek was ugly and red, and the skin had obviously been put together a bit sloppily. I can always tell the ladies it’s a dueling scar, I thought. Then I realized it actually was a sword inflicted scar; the events of the previous day seemed almost unreal.

  There was a knock at the door so I hopped back in bed. It wouldn’t do to give away my healthy condition too soon, “Come in!”

  Benchley came in, and as I suspected he had not brought me the cow I had ordered. Instead he had a large tray loaded with roast beef and a variety of fruits and vegetables. “Where’s my cow?” I asked reasonably.

  “I’m afraid the cow was too fast for me sir. I managed to hack this part off before it got away. I do hope it will be satisfactory,” he answered with a deadpan face. I’ll be damned, I thought, he has a sense of humor. I decided to forgive him for cooking it instead of bringing it up raw.

  Benchley left, and Marc came in soon after. “Still playing sick I see,” he remarked.

  He always had known me too well. “After yesterday I think I could use a rest,” I replied.

  “Yesterday? You’ve been abed for almost two days. The attack was three days ago,” he said.

  “Oh,” I replied intelligently.

  Seeing my confusion, he began filling me in on the events after my untimely collapse. Once the enemy had been crisped and starved for air they had searched the bodies. Dorian had taken the extraordinary precaution of hacking Lord Devon’s head from his shoulders. It seems I wasn’t the only paranoid one. They had even burned his corpse, both parts.

  The Duke had rallied the outer garrison and they had swept the castle from top to bottom, rooting out the rest of the assassins. They had actually found another forty men scattered throughout the keep, and some of the fighting had been long and bloody, but in the end the men of Lancaster had won the day. Dorian had gotten more exercise during that, an
d had made quite a reputation for himself. Some of the men were calling him the ‘Demon of Lancaster’ now. He had been less than merciful to the enemy. He had also been wounded.

  It was just a flesh wound, a dagger through his thigh, but Rose had him in her care now, and she was taking no chances. Apparently she was just as protective of him as Penny had been with me. The family physician was probably still off sulking somewhere.

  Father Tonnsdale was found dead in his study, and it was widely circulated that the assassins had killed him first. Genevieve never mentioned seeing Penny with the iron poker and I’m still not sure if she forgot or if she and Penny had come to an agreement. Women are scary, and I’m probably better off not knowing. Timothy’s body had not been found, and knowing Penny’s story, that worried me some, but I didn’t have a clue what to do about it.

  The teleportation circle that Devon had created was found during the search for assassins. Unfortunately, it was destroyed before I had a chance to study it. I would have given a pretty penny to know how it was constructed. I still had hopes that such things might be found further into Vestrius’ journal.

  All told some thirty seven men and women of the Lancaster household lost their lives, and a considerable number were injured, but it could have been much worse. Close to two hundred assassins had been killed, and if Father Tonnsdale’s plan had been successful the people of Lancaster would have been unable to defend themselves. It would have been a repeat of the slaughter at Cameron Castle sixteen years before.

  Of the noble guests who had come to the Lancaster estate, two were dead. Stephen Airedale was killed during the defense of the great hall. The other was Devon Tremont of course, and there were sure to be repercussions for his actions and his death, although it was far from certain what they would be.

  Gregory Pern proved that his father’s military success was no mere accident, for he acquitted himself admirably during both the defense of the hall and the clean-up action after Devon was killed. James Lancaster wrote Admiral Pern a long letter detailing what had happened and commending him on his son’s bravery.