LEGENDS: Fifteen Tales of Sword and Sorcery

by Colt, K. J.

  Tanin could remember little of what happened next, only the heat of flames, the bite of an arrow in his thigh, the mad faces dancing around him, hundreds of men come to slay him. Maev flew above, a green dragon roaring fire, pelted with arrows. Mother tried to stop the mob; Zerra clubbed her, knocking her down, and the villagers stomped her, dragged her body through the village behind a horse. And blood. Everywhere the blood of men and dragons. A burning child ran between the huts, screaming as the flames engulfed him.

  “Fly, Tanin!” Jeid called.

  “Tanin, where are you going?” Maev shouted. “Fly!”

  But he would not fly. He ran through the village. The arrow protruded from his thigh, and behind him, he heard his own uncle—Zerra, twin to his father—shouting to kill the creatures. But Tanin kept running, limping now, until he reached her home.

  “Ciana!” he cried, barging into the hut. “Ciana, where are you?”

  She emerged from shadows, dressed in her white gown. A girl of fourteen, she had long, dark hair and large gray eyes that he thought very beautiful.

  “Tanin,” she whispered. A haunted sound. The sound of old ghosts. A sound of old pain. Even then, Tanin knew that the sound—that soft utterance, that whisper of his name—would forever echo through his mind.

  “Flee with me.” He panted and reached out to her. “I must leave now. Flee with me to the mountains. We can marry in the wilderness. We can live together far from this place.” The cries of the mob rose from the fields; they would be here soon. “I love you.”

  Ciana—his beloved, the girl he had kissed upon the hill just last night, the girl he had vowed to marry someday—stared at him silently, and something filled her eyes. Not love. Not fear. Slowly Tanin recognized it.

  Disgust.

  “You are a weredragon.” She took a step back, and her father approached and placed an arm around her. “You . . . you are diseased.” She shuddered. “I kissed you. I let you hold me.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her voice rose to a hoarse cry. “Kill him, Father! Kill the creature!”

  As her father reached for a knife, Tanin fled. He too wept. They waited outside—the mob of townsfolk, waving torches, firing arrows. Beyond them he saw his family: his wise grandfather, Eranor, a white dragon; his father, Jeid, a copper dragon blowing fire; his younger sister, Maev, a slim green dragon. They flew above the fields, arrows whistling around them, calling for him.

  Tanin shifted.

  He too became a dragon.

  Arrows slammed into his scales, and one pierced his wing, and he flew.

  They fled over the forest. They raced across the wilderness until they found a hidden cave and cowered, wounded, afraid, banished. And still Ciana’s words echoed in his mind.

  Tanin.

  You are diseased.

  Kill him, Father!

  “I love you,” he whispered, reaching out to her, seeking her through shadows and light. “I’m not a creature. I love you. I—“

  “Stars above, Tanin! I love you too, but stop grabbing at me like a drunkard.”

  He opened his eyes.

  He blinked.

  His sister sat beside him, wrapped in furs—no longer the young girl from that day but a grown woman, her face a mask of fading bruises, her arms strong and her bottom lip thrust out in her permanent gesture of disdain.

  Tanin looked around him, for a moment confused, but then remembered his location. Of course. They had been flying for three nights since leaving the escarpment, heading south toward the coast. Birches grew around him, their trunks dark in the sunset, their leaves deep red. The sun was only an orange sliver between the boles; soon it would be gone.

  “I was dreaming.” He sat up in his bed of leaves and fur pelts.

  Maev snorted. “I could tell. You kept talking about loving this and loving that.” She rolled her eyes. “What were you dreaming about—being some hero? Saving a damsel in distress?” She shoved him back down. “Quit dreaming and get ready to fly! We’re flying to save a prince, dear brother, not a damsel for you to bed.” She tapped her chin. “Unless you prefer princes. But in that case, you’ll have to fight me for him, because I’m claiming him for myself.”

  He groaned and rose to his feet. The evening was cold, and he shivered and stuffed his hands under his armpits. Since leaving the escarpment, they’d been spending the days sleeping, hiding under leaf and fur, and flying only under cover of darkness. As Tanin hopped around for warmth, he watched the sun disappear below the horizon, and shadows—the best friends of a Vir Requis—fell across the forest.

  “I hope you fly faster tonight,” Maev said; he could just make out her frown. “You fly slower than a dove against the wind.”

  “I’m eating breakfast first. Or dinner. Or whatever meal it is now.” He reached into his pack, rummaged around, and found a salted sausage. The meat was cold and damp—the rain had wet his pack overnight—but better than an empty belly.

  It was Maev’s turn to groan. She mimicked him, speaking in a deep whine. “I want breakfast. I want to sleep longer. I want to love.” She rolled her eyes. “Bloody stars, brother! I swear you’re a princess yourself.” She shoved him. “Toughen up and let’s fly.”

  She snatched the rest of the sausage from him, stuffed it into her mouth, and shifted. A green dragon, she crashed through the forest canopy and rose into the sky. Already mourning the loss of his sausage, Tanin grabbed a handful of nuts from his pack.

  “Tanin!” rose the dragon’s cry above. “Shift or I’m going to burn down the damn forest.”

  Grumbling under his breath, Tanin stuffed the nuts into his mouth and shifted too. A red dragon, he rose through the shattered canopy to hover beside Maev.

  “Try to keep up this time.” She slapped him with her tail, then darted off, wings beating. With a sigh, Tanin followed.

  They flew through the night. Clouds hid the stars, and the moon was only a pale wisp behind the veil. It began to rain again, the drops pattering against Tanin’s scales, pooling atop his wings, and entering his nostrils. He could barely see Maev ahead, only brief lights when sparks fled her mouth.

  In the darkness, like in sleep, it was easy to remember.

  “Ciana,” he whispered.

  He had not loved a woman since. He had barely seen women since, aside from his sister, whom Tanin was convinced was half warthog. That had been the day everything had changed: the day Mother died, the day they fled into exile, and the day Tanin made his vow.

  I vowed to find others, he thought as the rain fell. To find people like us—exiled, afraid, alone. I vowed that they will have a home, a place to belong, a place to feel not diseased but blessed.

  Jeid called that home Requiem, naming it after Tanin’s youngest sister whom the villagers had poisoned. Tanin didn’t care what their tribe was called. He only cared for that person out there—a person like him, rejected and scared.

  “If you’re out there, Sena,” he said into the rain, “we’ll find you, my friend. We’ll bring you home.”

  They flew for a long time in the darkness. Maev—damn her hide!—kept flying so far ahead that Tanin nearly lost sight of her. The old wound in his wing—a hole from a hunter’s arrow—ached in the cold, and air whistled through it. His breath was wheezing with a similar sound. Every time he caught up with Maev, she only flashed him a toothy grin, blasted a little fire his way, and darted off again, faster than ever.

  “Maev, in the name of sanity, this isn’t a race.”

  She grinned over her shoulder at him. The flames between her teeth lit her green scales. “Everything is a race, brother. We’re racing to save a prince. We’re racing to forge a tribe. We’re racing to finally find you a female companion, because I swear you’ve been looking funny at sheep this past year.”

  “Very funny, Maev. Now I’m a heavier dragon than you, and you know I have a hole in my left wing, so please slow dow—“

  She cut him off with a blast of smoke, turned back forward, and raced ahead again.

 
; Tanin was grumbling and pounding his wings, trying to catch up, when the shrieks rose ahead.

  His heart seemed to freeze.

  He knew those sounds. He had heard them before when hunting upon the plains.

  “Uncle’s rocs,” he muttered.

  Tanin winced. That day he had fled into exile, his uncle too had left Oldforge. Zerra—disgusted with his twin’s disease—had since dedicate his life to hunting those he called weredragons. Wandering the wilderness with a bronze sword—a sword Jeid himself had forged for him—Zerra had finally joined a wandering tribe of roc riders. The Goldtusk tribe had been but a ragged, near-starved group of barbarians, and Zerra had slain their aging chieftain with a single blow from his blade—a blade such as these ramblers, with their stone-tipped spears, had never seen. Since then, Zerra had swelled their numbers, breeding the rocs from a humble dozen to a hundred beasts, starving and tormenting the great vultures and teaching them hatred of reptiles.

  And now those rocs flew ahead—invisible in the darkness but cawing louder than thunder.

  The rain intensified.

  Lightning flashed and Tanin saw them: dozens of the rotted vultures, not even a mark away, hunters upon their backs.

  He beat his wings, reached Maev, and tapped her with his wing. “They might not have seen us,” he whispered. “Swallow your fire. We descend. We land in the forest and hide.”

  But Maev—damn warthog of a sister!—howled in rage. Instead of swallowing her fire, she blasted out a great pillar.

  “Uncle!” she roared, eyes red, wings beating. “Uncle, come face me. I will burn you!”

  The rocs shrieked. The hunters upon them shouted battle cries. Maev tried to fly toward them, to challenge them all, but Tanin grabbed her tail, holding her back.

  “Maev, no! We can’t fight them all.”

  Panting, her wings beating, she turned toward him in the sky. Her face was a mask of rage. “He killed Mother, Tanin.” Smoke blasted out of her nostrils. “He’s probably the one who poisoned Requiem. Now I kill him.”

  She wrenched free from his grasp and shot toward the hundred rocs. Her fire blazed across the sky. The rocs flew nearer, eyes bright yellow, their oily wings blazing white with every bolt of lightning.

  Tanin cursed as he followed his sister. He sucked in air, filled his belly with crackling fire, and blasted out a flaming jet.

  The stream spun, crackling, and crashed into a roc. The beast burst into flames, stinking and blasting out smoke, but still it flew toward him. The rider upon its back screamed, a living torch, skin peeling and flesh melting. Feathers tore free and glided through the sky, still burning. The flaming bird kept flapping its wings. It crashed into Tanin, biting and clawing.

  Tanin screamed as the beak drove into his shoulder, chipping his scales. Claws slashed at his belly, tearing through skin. The fire engulfed him, so hot he closed his eyes for fear of them melting. Blindly, he clawed and bit. His teeth sank into flesh, and he was horrified to find that it tasted like delicious, savory fowl. He spat out a chunk, whipped his tail, and clubbed the beast. The flaming roc tumbled down like a comet, leaving a trail of fire.

  “Maev!” Tanin shouted, mouth full of the animal’s blood. His own blood dripped from his belly. “Get out of here!”

  He spotted her fighting ahead, blowing fire in a ring around her. A dozen rocs surrounded her, daring not approach. Their riders shot arrows. Most shattered against her scales, but one drove into her back, and she bucked and roared.

  “Hello, nephew and niece!” The cry rose above, high-pitched and raspy and thick with mirth, a banshee cry. “Fly to me. Fly to your favorite uncle.”

  Tanin looked up and growled.

  Zerra.

  His uncle flew there upon a massive roc larger than any dragon. The chieftain wore a cloak of buffalo hide and bore a long, scrimshawed bow. Yet he no longer looked like Jeid, his twin. Years in the wilderness had weathered the chieftain, turning him into a lanky strip of a man. Half his head looked like melted wax, hairless and grooved and sagging. His left ear was gone and his eye drooped, peering out of the scars, blazing with hatred.

  Dragonfire did that, Tanin thought, and hope sprang through his fear. There are other dragons.

  “You die now, traitor!” Maev shouted. She blasted fire and soared, knocking past two rocs. She seemed to barely feel their talons, even as those talons tore into her legs. “You betrayed your own family. Now I will burn the rest of you.”

  She blasted out a jet of flame.

  Zerra kneed his roc and the bird banked, dodging the inferno. He soared and aimed his bow. His arrow flew, capped with metal, and sank into Maev’s back.

  She cried out.

  Suddenly she sounded very young—no longer the gruff warrior but the frightened girl fleeing her town.

  “Maev!” Tanin cried out.

  He flew toward her through a rain of arrows. He howled as one scraped along his head. He blasted fire, aiming at Zerra, but his uncle banked again. Tanin swung his tail, driving its spikes into Zerra’s roc. The oily bird screeched, its stench overwhelming, and fell back.

  Tanin grabbed his sister. “Fly, damn you! Show me your speed.”

  She panted and growled. “I will kill him.”

  “Not tonight! Not like this. Tonight we flee.” More rocs flew toward them, and more arrows whistled. “I have a plan. A plan to trap him. See if you can fly faster!”

  He turned and darted forward, motioning her to follow. She blasted flame, scattering rocs, and dashed after him.

  A dozen of the rank birds flew toward them, eyes blazing and talons gleaming. Twin blasts of flame sent them scattering. Tanin and Maev shot forward, claws lashing, teeth biting, tails clubbing the vultures aside. Talons drove into Tanin’s flank, and he howled as his scales cracked. He torched a roc, cursed as an arrow hit his left horn, and kept flying.

  They broke past the last defenders and entered open sky. They beat their wings madly, flying faster than ever. Tanin’s wounds ached and sticky, black roc blood still filled his mouth. When he looked over his shoulders, he saw the horde following. Zerra led them, sneering as he drew another arrow. Tanin ducked and the projectile whistled over his head. He answered with a blaze of fire, turned back forward, and kept fleeing.

  “What is your damn plan?” Maev shouted at his side. Her fangs were bared, her eyes narrowed. Blood seeped from the wound on her back; the arrow still thrust out of her flesh.

  “Save your breath and keep flying!” he shouted.

  In truth, he had no plan—that is, other than hoping they were faster than rocs. Fighting these creatures meant death. Running through the forest would offer no sanctuary; the beasts’ sense of smell could pick out a hare in its burrow a mark away. All Tanin could hope for was to outfly them.

  He rose higher, so high his ears ached and he could barely breathe. He entered the cover of clouds. Maev joined him and they flew through the vapor, blind. Behind him, Tanin heard shrieks and knew the rocs were following. The wind gusted and he spun, nearly lost his balance, but managed to right himself and keep flying. Lightning pierced the clouds. Behind him a roc screeched, and Tanin glanced over his shoulder to see the animal burning. It tumbled down and vanished.

  Another lightning bolt flared. The stench of seared meat rose. The wind gusted again, and Maev spun and knocked into him. Tanin tried to keep flying forward, but he could barely tell left from right, up from down. He could see only several feet ahead, and more lightning blasted. Rain slammed into him, and the wind beat his wings like a man beating dusty rugs.

  “Damn it!”

  A roc rose ahead of him, then another, their eyes yellow, their beaks opened wide. Tanin blasted fire. He burned one, and another barreled into him, talons scratching. Lightning flashed again, searing the bird, and Tanin screamed; the energy passed through the roc into him. His scales crackled, his teeth rattled, and his ears buzzed.

  He dropped from the sky.

  He tried to beat his wings but they were too stiff, t
oo hurt. He tumbled.

  “Damn you Tanin!” Maev shouted above. “Fly!”

  He could not. He fell. He managed to stretch out his wings, to catch an air current, to glide, but the rocs surrounded him again, and arrows flew, and somewhere his sister screamed.

  Is this the end? Tanin thought. Do we die here, far from home, two more weredragons for them to hunt?

  He tried to summon fire, but only sparks left his maw. He was too weak, too weary. He dipped again in the sky.

  And then he saw it.

  “There!” Tanin shouted, pointing his claws. “On the mountain below!”

  A cave. It looked too small for rocs. Summoning the last of his strength, he narrowed his eyes and swooped.

  The wind roared around him. He pulled his wings close to his body, his head pounding at the descent. Maev dived at his side, blasting out a wake of smoke. The mountain rose below, a shard of stone piercing the night sky. Tanin clenched his jaw as the wind shrieked and the plunge hammered at his skull. He leveled off and shot toward the cave. The entrance was no larger than a doorway.

  An instant before he would slam into the mountainside, Tanin released his magic.

  He tumbled into the cave in human form. His knees banged against the craggy stone floor, and his teeth knocked together. Behind him, Maev shouted as she shifted back into a human. She too entered the cave, slamming against his back with a curse.

  “Run deeper!” Tanin said. He pushed himself up and raced down the tunnel.

  He could see nothing. Somewhere in his pack he had a tinderbox and an oil lamp, but he had no time to rummage for them. He moved as fast as he could, holding the walls for support. The tunnel was just wide enough for him to walk.

  Maev moved behind him, holding his shoulder. “You’re leading us to a dead end!”

  Behind them, Tanin heard the rocs shriek. When he spun around, a flash of lightning illuminated the cave entrance. The great vultures were clawing at the stone, trying to enter, but were too large. A second bolt revealed the riders dismounting and climbing into the darkness.