LEGENDS: Fifteen Tales of Sword and Sorcery

by Colt, K. J.

  “I should just turn around now; what am I doing here? Am I losing my mind?” he asked himself.

  “Your mind is not lost, my friend; come, sit with me by the fire.”

  The voice came in rippling echoes from inside the cave. The vines behind him parted and the sun shone through. To his right lay a path leading back down into the pine forest at the edge of the mine. Talon realized he had climbed up the side of a tall hill.

  “Or you can go; as you please.”

  Talon thought about running down the path all the way back to the Skomm village; his instincts screamed at him to do so. Nevertheless he remained; if he ran away, he would always wonder what had been in the cave. The thought occurred to him that he could be walking into his death. If indeed it were some sort of spirit or demon, he would be walking right into its trap, like a fly to web and none the wiser. Didn’t such creatures lure the young into their dens in such a way? Before he lost his nerve, he stepped forward into the cave, into the soft glow of orange light—into the unknown.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THE TEST

  THODIN! DO YOU have no mercy for the children of your daughter, Sjofn, Goddess of Love?

  —Gretzen Spiritbone, 4996

  The glow of fire reflected from webs of mineral deposits in the slick walls, creating a thousand points of sparkling light. The entrance of the cave gave way to a winding tunnel leading him along for many paces before opening into a large den. He stopped at the opening and nearly cried out in surprise when he discovered a large bear sleeping by the fire. Across from the beast sat a silhouetted figure holding his hands before the flame.

  “Come, sit with me beside the fire,” said the man. “Beorn will not hurt you.”

  Talon looked to the bear and to the man again.

  You’ve come this far, said a voice in his head. For a terrified moment Talon wondered if indeed it had been his voice.

  He slowly made his way toward the man who extended his arm to indicate the stump between him and the bear. Talon walked behind him and tried to make his appearance in the shadows, but his eyes showed him only nonsense, and he wondered again whether he were going mad. The man had hair of moss and feather and seemed to be clothed in leaves. Bumps that looked like the beginnings of antlers protruded from his forehead. When Talon sat on the stump beside him, he feared to meet the creature’s eyes. He stared forward at the flame instead and noticed the man staring at him from the corner of his eye. His amma said spirits hid in the corner of your eye; Talon believed her. He suddenly wanted to run for his life.

  “I can make my eyes more pleasant for you to look upon if you wish,” said the man, turning away from him. The man’s voice was many; it grumbled like a bear and at the same time purred like a mountain lion.

  Talon summoned his courage and slowly turned his head; the man was not a man at all, but an elf.

  “Feikinstafir,” Talon mumbled to himself and jerked his head and eyes back to the fire.

  “Azzeal,” said the elf.

  “What?” Talon asked.

  The elf turned to regard him with a smile; feline eyes reflected the dancing flames.

  “My name is Azzeal, and that is Beorn. What is this Feikinstafir?”

  “It can m…mean a lot of things, m…mostly bad.”

  Azzeal seemed to ponder the lesson, and Talon stared despite himself. At first he thought the elf simply wore the leaves; however, the harder Talon stared, the more it became apparent that the leaves were attached to him and actually grew from him. The bear groaned and rolled on its side; its big belly shook as it stretched.

  “Your fear makes it hard for him to sleep,” said Azzeal.

  Talon thought he must be going mad. Not only was he talking to an owl who had turned out to be an elf, but worse: the elf was now speaking for a bear.

  “Is this a dream?” he asked.

  “Some believe so; others believe our dreams are reality. I say, what is the difference?”

  “Are you the owl who’s been staring at me all the time?”

  Azzeal grinned. “I am, but that is what owls do. Your kind rarely take notice of me. They walk with heads down. But you see the world, don’t you, Talon Windwalker? You see the world and all its pains—all its beauty.”

  “I guess,” said Talon, thinking the elf quite strange.

  “You aren’t really an owl; are you really an elf?”

  “Yes, indeed, I am an elf. I am Ralliad Azzeal of Elladrindellia. I am here from faraway lands to study your plants and animals.”

  “Are you magic?”

  “Magic…” Azzeal pondered with furled brow. “Yes, I suppose the word fits.”

  Talon’s imagination went wild. If the elf could turn into an owl, tame a bear, and make vines grow at his command, what else could he do?

  “Can you read my mind?” he asked, suddenly paranoid.

  “I cannot; the practice is forbidden by my people. But you think…loudly. Often your thoughts are hard not to overhear.”

  Talon didn’t understand.

  “Imagine, if you will, the wind: The wind blows often lightly or not at all; still you know it’s there. Some people’s thoughts are a gentle breeze and hardly noticeable, while others’ thoughts are a tempest of powerful emotions.”

  Talon understood. Recently his emotions felt exactly like a storm—one that threatened to tear him apart from the inside.

  “You have weathered the storm thus far, and that is commendable,” said Azzeal.

  Thodin’s beard! He heard my thoughts. He can hear them now—shyte. Talon stared into the flames and tried to clear his mind. The dancing fire reminded him of Akkeri’s hair. The maddening thoughts came rushing back to him then, and he saw again Fylkin’s big hands fondling her lithe form.

  “Are you going to help me; is that why you lured me here?” Talon asked, knowing the elf had overheard those thoughts.

  Azzeal regarded him with a piercing stare, and Talon felt as if his soul was laid bare before him. He was ashamed. Azzeal saw him for what he was: a curse. The elf smiled sympathetically, and Talon thought he saw a tear shimmering in the corner of his feline eye.

  “I would help you to help yourself,” said Azzeal, staring at the fire.

  “Why?” Talon wondered aloud.

  “I have been watching you for a long time, and I have seen in you something rare. You have been hated all your life, yet you are slow to hate. You have been the victim of violence all your life, yet you are slow to violence. You released the lynx at the risk of your own life. And though you were hurt by Brekken, you took no joy in his death. There is greatness in you, Talon Windwalker, if only you could see it in yourself.”

  Azzeal laughed as Talon regarded him with speculation. “But how the righteous are humble.”

  Talon didn’t like hearing of himself in such a way. Azzeal sounded like his amma, and everybody knew she was crazy. He wondered what about him attracted crazy—probably the evil spirits who fed off his misery. He wondered then whether Azzeal was indeed one of them, toying with him for his own amusement. His story of wanting to help him because he was somehow “special” was absurd. The more he thought about it, the more he suspected a trap.

  He can hear my thoughts. I can’t even plot an escape without him knowing.

  Talon turned a suspicious gaze upon Azzeal, but the elf stared at the fire as if he were not privy to Talon’s inner ramblings.

  He was about to ask Azzeal if he could leave when the elf got up and went to the back of the cave beyond a moss bed. Talon glanced at the tunnel out of the cave, knowing this was his only chance to run. For some reason he stayed. What if the elf could really help? His life was likely forfeited anyway; he had to find out.

  Azzeal returned with three glasses of what looked to be wine, each a different color. He set them upon a small table between their two stumps. Then he sat down and curled his long, clawed fingers around the glass full of a light honey liquid and took it as his own. Talon stared at the other two glasses, a voice in his h
ead warning of poison. The glass to his right was white, and the one to his left was red.

  “Each of these drinks contains a powerful spell. The one to your right will give you the ability to transform evil into good. With it you could change the hearts and minds of the Vald and bring harmony to Volnoss. The Skomm would become equals, and your father would call you son. All ills would be forgiven. Your barbarians would thrive.”

  Azzeal let Talon ponder the white wine for a time and finally gestured to the red.

  “This wine—this will give you strength to match your enemy’s and the power to crush them all. With it you would grow ten feet tall. You would look up to no man. You would become chief of all of Volnoss, and all would bow before you. The name Talon Windwalker would go down in history as the greatest barbarian who ever lived. You alone would decide who is named Vald and who is named Skomm.

  “Decide.”

  Talon stared at Azzeal with wide-eyed wonder. In his mind he imagined himself taking up a great sword and storming Timber Wolf Village. He would slay all who stood before him and then seek out Chiefson Fylkin and take the sword to every part of him that ever touched Akkeri. With such power he might free the Skomm and destroy the hated Vald. Volnoss would become a ring of fire as the seven barbarian villages burned to the ground.

  Then he imagined the innocent children of the Vald, and heard their screams. The revolting Skomm would kill them all. Talon imagined himself sitting upon a throne of bones, the flames of war burning brightly behind him.

  He reached for the white wine and drank it down without hesitation. Azzeal grinned and drank his own.

  Talon put down the glass and waited. He looked to his hands and body; he felt nothing. Azzeal pulled a ring from one of his fingers. The band of silver and gold wrapped like vine, set with a single blue stone the size of a pea.

  “If you had chosen the red wine, I would have sent you away. But you did not,” he said with a proud smile that showed his long fangs. He held the ring up ceremoniously.

  “It is named Kyrr, the Ring of Righteous Anger. Kyrr will lend its power only to the righteous of heart. I believe yours is such a heart. You rejected the power of the red wine, and so I shall give it to you. The ring will give you the strength of your enemies…if your actions are righteous. Would if I could give you the power suggested by the white wine, but alas, such a power does not exist. Evil cannot be turned to good so easily, for it is a choice.”

  Azzeal lowered the ring in offering and Talon took it with a shaking hand. He turned it round and round in the firelight, afraid to put it on.

  “Wear the ring when you see fit. But beware. Once it is used, there will be no going back. It will not go unnoticed, and others will covet its power; be prepared.”

  Talon gulped and put the ring in his pocket. “I don’t know how to thank you,” said Talon.

  “I would thank you,” Azzeal grinned. “You are the first in twenty to choose the white wine.”

  Talon left the cave as though emerging from a dream. He fingered the ring in his pocket as he walked back through the vine tunnel and out into the bright sunlight. He had forgotten it was still daylight and had to pause while his vision adjusted. He peered around quickly and lifted the ring to the sky. The blue gem shone with a hypnotic inner light. He pocketed it quickly.

  Would it really give him the strength of his enemies? Had Azzeal even been real?

  He had the ring to prove his sanity, but he was still hard pressed to believe it was anything but a ring. Either way he would have to keep it out of sight. One look at the valuable gem set upon it and the Vaka would take it from him and likely kill him for having it.

  He made his way to the road and headed back toward Skomm Village. His mind was lost on daydreams of redemption, so he did not see Vaka Groegon riding down the road toward him until it was too late.

  “Letta!” Groegon yelled, reining in his horse to slow.

  Talon put his head down and began walking briskly north.

  “Where you headed in such a hurry, Plagueborn?” he sneered and came to ride beside him.

  “Home,” said Talon without stopping.

  “Home?” Vaka Groegon cackled. “You ain’t got no home. You hear, Plagueborn?”

  “Yes, Vaka Groegon.”

  The Vaka kicked him in the back hard and sent him sprawling to the ground. Groegon was off his horse and pulling back his whip in the time it took Talon to get to his feet.

  Crack! The whip sliced his right shoulder as he turned to cover his face.

  “How ’bout a few good ones for ol’ time’s sake?”

  The whip fell across Talon’s back and he turned to run past the horse. Heavy footfalls fell behind him as Talon fumbled in his pocket for Azzeal’s ring. The whip cracked again and wrapped around his ankle as he got his hand around the ring. He was quickly yanked back by the stronger man. He clasped his hand but felt no ring in his palm; having dropped it in the mud. The whip slashed across his back and he cried out desperately as he fumbled in the mud for the ring. The whip struck again and again to the chorus of Vaka Groegon’s hollered obscenities.

  Talon finally found the ring as the whip hit him in the right ear. He cried out in pain, deaf to his own voice. The ringing in his ear was matched only by the pain shooting through his head. He desperately rolled onto his back and tried to put the ring on his finger through blurred vision. Vaka Groegon pulled back the whip with an evil gleam in his eye. His blackened teeth showed behind a hungry snarl as he struck with all his might.

  “Leave me alone!” Talon screamed in rage as he tried to put the ring on his middle finger.

  A giant brown bear larger than the mightiest Vald, crashed through the wood to the left of the road and attacked Vaka Groegon sending the whip flying. One big clawed paw came down and shredded his face. Groegon howled like a man on fire as the bear smothered him beneath its massive weight and took his head in its huge jaws. The horse bolted down the road and Talon scuttled backward through the mud in shock. He turned from the horrific scene and sprinted down the road from the mines. Behind him the crack and crunch of bones followed the last of Vaka Groegon’s screams.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  HIGH VAKA MOONTOOTH

  HAWKRIDER! WHAT illusions are these? Can such dreams be real?

  —Gretzen Spiritbone, 4978

  Talon ran until his lungs burned and he fell to the road panting. He tore the ring from his pocket and clutched it in his shaking fist. He had run many miles and was nearly to the Skomm village. He had passed Vaka Groegon’s horse, which stood by the side of the road eating small apples.

  He held the ring out before him again in wonder. Had Kyrr somehow summoned the bear to his aid? He thought not. After he had taken off running, he realized the bear was the same one from the cave—Beorn, Azzeal had called him. Had Beorn been looking out for him? If so, why?

  He pondered this and many other questions as he made his way to Majhree’s house of healing. In the heat of the moment he had forgotten about the whipping. Now that the drama had passed, his burning skin reminded him of the flogging he had taken.

  When he arrived at Majhree’s, she gave him the same look she always did when he arrived there beaten and bloody, but she asked no questions. His right ear had been torn in the middle and needed stitches, and a few of the lacerations had bitten deep. She gave him a few swigs of rum for the pain and applied salve where needed.

  Talon lay on his stomach that night, thinking of the ring in his pocket. He had been prepared to use it against Vaka Groegon. To what end, though, he wondered. Azzeal had warned him to use Kyrr wisely. Groegon wouldn’t have killed him there on the road and risk the wrath of Fylkin, who wanted Talon for himself. Talon had almost gotten himself in much more trouble than a whipping at the hands of the hateful Vaka. Even if the ring worked, he would have made its existence known, unless he killed Groegon, which he did not think he could do no matter how much he hated the man. Even if he could, what would he have done with the body? He reminded him
self to be much more careful in the future.

  Jahsin came barging in the door shortly after sundown. He scanned the many beds and found Talon with a sigh of relief.

  “There you are!” he puffed and came to sit beside him.

  “Couldn’t find you anywhere, so I came here,” said Jahsin inspecting the fresh whip marks on his back. “What happened?”

  Talon glanced around the room. Two of the other cots were taken. One held a man with a bandaged head, who Majhree said might not wake up. The other held a woman recovering from a whipping also.

  “Can’t talk here,” Talon whispered.

  Jahsin’s eyes searched his. “They found Vaka Groegon dead on Mine Road; they say he got mauled by a bear. Still some pieces missing.”

  “Ironic,” Talon replied. “He was from Bear Tribe.”

  Jahsin smiled faintly, his eyes asking Talon too many questions.

  “Not here,” said Talon.

  Jahsin nodded. He looked knowingly at Talon’s bandaged ear but didn’t press the subject.

  “Well, here.” Jahsin offered up the dwarven whiskey. “Thought it would help with the pain; only a little but left, but…”

  The door slammed open and two Vaka barged into the house of healing. Jahsin put himself between them and Talon as Majhree shuffled over quickly.

  “We are looking for Talon, Plagueborn of Timber Wolf Village?” said a skinny man nearly as tall as a Vald.

  The other Vaka, this one a short and stocky man, grabbed Jahsin by the shirt and pushed him through the door. “You ain’t hurt, Draugr; get yourself gone ’fore you is.”

  “What’s this about?” Majhree demanded.