LEGENDS: Fifteen Tales of Sword and Sorcery

by Colt, K. J.

  Talon’s apprehension grew with the storm. If this kept up or got worse as the elders foretold, it was going to make the escape that much harder. He was confident about his and Jahsin’s sailing skills, but they had never sailed in this kind of weather. They reached the docks and Talon’s heart dropped. Six-foot waves crashed into the shore and had dislodged one of the long piers. No boats were out, for the ocean heaved and crashed with such force that none could withstand the barrage.

  “We aren’t going to be able to leave,” said Talon as they stared at the harbor.

  “The storm will die down; you watch!” Jahsin yelled over the howling wind.

  Vaka Bjorn walked to them from the dock through a curtain of rain. He stood before them, hunched as they were from the biting downpour. They shared a nod of conspiratorial brotherhood and he motioned for them to follow him. Talon looked out over the churning ocean once more and his heart sank. Those waves would tear them apart.

  Bjorn led them back up the small incline and southeast toward his Hus overlooking the harbor. The three of them scrambled through the sheets of rain and into the shelter. With much effort, the door was swung shut against the tempest and sound returned to the world. Talon’s ears hurt from the buffeting they received due to the constant wind.

  “Drink?” Vaka Bjorn asked and they both nodded. He motioned toward the small table by the fire, and they took a seat despite their soaked clothes. There was no point in drying them; they would be going back out shortly. Talon noticed again the way Jahsin eyed Vaka Bjorn’s hook hand. Jahsin coveted such a replacement, but the Skomm were not allowed such things.

  The inside of Bjorn’s hut seemed relatively dry, given its proximity to the ocean. At the center of the main room a low fire burned. The wind, blowing through every crack, filled the Hus with a white haze. The table sat close to the fire, and the warmth did well to warm their soggy bones.

  Bjorn poured three drinks and raised his glass. Talon guessed the amber liquid to be rum. The big Vaka offered no cheers, but rather shot his drink back and poured another. Talon and Jahsin drank as well. The spirits hit Talon’s belly like fuel to a fire and sent waves of warmth through his bones. Too many drinks and he would not mind the rain at all, or dancing in it.

  Talon watched Bjorn, trying to determine his mind on their leaving in such weather, but he gave nothing away in his tattooed face. Jahsin was the first to broach the subject.

  “We goin’ to be able to leave in this weather?”

  “What do you think?” said Bjorn with a lazy blink.

  “We’re never going to get off this feikin island,” Talon mumbled to himself. His spirits sank as the storm grew more violent.

  “You may; there is a window, albeit a small one,” said Bjorn.

  “What window?” Jahsin asked.

  Bjorn ran his hand through his wet hair and took another drink. He leaned in as if telling a secret of dire import. A light came to his eyes then—one that grabbed their attention and refused to let go.

  “The storm comin’, ain’t been one like it in a long time. They call this kind of storm Thodin’s Eye. I seen one long before either of you was born. The villages were ravaged and many died. The stormed raged much worse than now. Many got pulled into the churning eye, never to be found. It destroyed the harbor and most of the boats. I was yet a lad then, and took shelter with the others in the commons. We waited it out, huddled with the pigs and dogs and other livestock. The storm stopped as suddenly as a cryin’ babe given a nipple. We hurried outside and found time had stopped. All around us was the raging storm, but no sound and no wind found us. I knew that we stood at the center of Thodin’s eye. The peace lasted no more than five minutes, and the other side of the storm covered us once more.”

  A spark of hope found Talon; a chance remained.

  “Five minutes?” he asked Bjorn.

  “Less or more,” said Bjorn.

  Jahsin shook his head and his waving hand said, “Wait a minute!” He spoke: “You’re sayin’ the waters will be calm in the Eye of Thodin?”

  “Calm as a suckling babe,” said Bjorn.

  “What’s with you and breastfeeding?” Jahsin laughed. Bjorn scowled at him and waited.

  “So we get out on the ocean and away from Volnoss…but then the storm passes over us again, at sea?” asked Jahsin.

  “More or less,” said Bjorn.

  “Well, it’s something,” Talon reminded his friend. “I would rather deal with those waters than stay on this island another minute.”

  “I don’t know, Tal. If it’s goin’ to pass over tonight, then the waters should be calm enough by tomorrow morning or afternoon.” He looked to Bjorn hopefully. “High Vaka Moontooth will give us shelter until then, will he not?”

  “I cannot speak for the man,” said Bjorn.

  “Well, damn it man, he spoke for you!” Jahsin snapped.

  “Relax, Jah; it’ll be all right,” said Talon. But Jahsin would not be placated.

  “Relaxin’ ain’t gonna change the fact that there is a big feikin storm out there that’ll tear us to shreds soon as the eye passes.”

  Vaka Bjorn threw back another drink and slammed his glass face down on the table. “The deal says that if you lead Fylkin to the mines and he is killed, High Vaka Moontooth will see that you make it off the island. He’ll hold up his end of the deal. Just mind that you hold up yours and don’t worry about the storm. If the Eye of Thodin wants you dead, you die.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  NIGHT OF DYING

  IS ALL of Val’Kharae against him? Surely the gods see his future; surely they see his stars.

  —Gretzen Spiritbone, 4980

  Talon and Jahsin returned to their hut shortly after. Bjorn had secured their keipr along with the others out of water. He didn’t assure them it would be in one piece when they returned; that, he said, was up to Thodin.

  They prepared for the night of dying as best they could. Jahsin sharpened his stolen axe meticulously and with the care one would give to a baby. He said he wouldn’t hesitate to use the weapon, and Talon didn’t doubt him. The fire of vengeance in his eyes burned brighter with every passing day. Talon covered himself in blubber grease so he would be harder to catch hold of. He hid the long dagger Jahsin got him under his belt. The fireworks Jahsin insisted upon were put in a sack under dry cloth. Talon thought it ridiculous, but he went along. The fireworks wouldn’t slow him down, so he saw no point in arguing. He clutched the ring to his chest and hoped to the gods they all survived.

  Shortly after midday they went to Majhree’s to say good-bye. They found her hunched over a young Skomm man who had been badly beaten. She turned slowly when she heard them coming, as if she didn’t want to acknowledge that the moment had come. Talon offered his hand and she rose from her chair beside the bed.

  “Thank you, Talon; come,” she said quietly.

  They followed Majhree to a quiet corner and she turned suddenly and hugged them both. Her sobs came in quick gasps as she fought them back. She released them and kissed each of their foreheads in turn.

  “My brave, brave lads,” she sniffled. “Has the day come so soon?”

  “Are you sure you won’t come?” Talon asked.

  “Don’t be silly; my place is here, and I am too old. Such wild adventures are for the young.”

  “I’ll come back for you,” Jahsin said, hugging her again. “I’ll come back for all of you.”

  “You crazy enough to try, ain’t you?” she laughed through her sniffles. She looked as though there were a thousand things she wanted to say.

  “Thank you, Majhree, for everything you’ve done for me,” said Talon.

  “You boys take care of each other, and my dear Akkeri.”

  “We will,” they said.

  The hours waiting for sundown dragged. Talon went over the route to the mines again and again in his head. Jahsin continued single-mindedly sharpening his axe and talking to it in a low voice. He promised his weapon glory and blood. Talon had s
een his one-armed friend wield the axe many times. He may have been missing half an arm, but the other arm was thick and muscular. He could cut wood with the best of them.

  The vision of the stacked bodies flashed across Talon’s eyes like lightning and he felt sick. Through the small window, twilight proved hard to determine; in the gloom it would be hard to tell when night actually began. Again the memories of the slaughter he had survived flashed before his eyes and Talon shuddered.

  We are all going to die.

  “Jahsin?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you; thanks for being my friend. I don’t know what’s going to happen tonight, but I want you to know you’ve been the best friend I could have hoped for.”

  Jahsin gave him a brotherly hug.

  “We’re gonna make it, Tal; you wait and see.”

  The screams began sooner than Talon thought they would. The gloom out the window had not changed from its dreary shade of gray, but the wind and the rain died down enough for the sound to carry. Again the screams came and they shot to their feet together.

  “You ready for this, Tal?”

  “No, are you?”

  “No…let’s go.”

  They peered out the door and cautiously went out into the light rain. The screams had come from the west. Many of the villagers had made for the forests and fields hours, even days before. Others remained in the village and took their chances running with the bigger crowds. Still others took the chance to attack the Vald and try to claim a head. Few of the Skomm did so, but Talon was heartened to know that some did.

  Fylkin came walking through the mist of the light rain, carrying a seven-foot longsword. Villagers scattered before him and peeked meekly around corners in his wake. The sword shone red, the blood of his first victims still dripping from the end. His headdress was adorned with many bones; a timber wolf skull sat at the center. He was naked but for a thin loincloth, his skin had been painted red and black, and his eyes seemed to glow against the dark paint covering his face. Muscles rippled and bulged with his every movement; he looked like a god come to life. Talon only recognized him for his gait and the timber wolf skull upon his head.

  “Plagueborn!” he yelled when he spotted him. He let out a howl and charged.

  Talon and Jahsin turned and ran.

  “I’ll meet you at the docks!” Jahsin said as they ran. Talon nodded to his friend and they shared a hopeful smile.

  Jahsin veered off to the right to circle back behind Fylkin. Talon looked over his shoulder as he weaved through the huts. Fylkin was gaining. He didn’t look like a man who had been poisoned. Talon feared that Akkeri had been found out somehow. He ran behind a pair of huts and snuck a look back once again. Fylkin was still gaining. Something slammed into Talon and he went down in the mud. He glanced back to see the man who had run into him. Talon scrambled to his feet as the man began cussing him out for his stupidity. Fylkin’s sword slammed through the man’s chest, taking his words. Fylkin lifted him high and flung him to the side.

  “I’m going to feed your heart to the wolf,” said Fylkin, stalking him.

  Talon ran for his life.

  When he dared glance back again, Fylkin wasn’t there. He whirled around but he didn’t find him ahead either. Talon ran to the west, past four huts, and spotted the big man standing in the rain less than fifty feet away. He had been waiting for Talon to see him. Fylkin sneered and stalked off in the other direction. In his left hand he held a severed head.

  Talon followed cautiously; Fylkin kept looking back to make sure he was being followed.

  What’s he doing? Talon wondered. It must be a trap. He wants me to follow him. Where is he going?

  The truth hit him like a Vald fist: Majhree!

  As if reading his mind, Fylkin turned back and laughed before charging off in the direction of the house of healing. The chiefson knew she would be there with the villagers too injured to be moved. She had survived many Freistas because of her dealings with the Vaka, but Fylkin cared not for such closed-door deals. He wanted Talon to suffer.

  As he ran after the giant Vald, the strangeness of the act was not lost on him. Fylkin rounded the bend in the road leading to the house of healing and charged for the door like a bull.

  “No!” Talon screamed as he pumped his legs in pursuit.

  The door crashed in under Fylkin’s weight and he disappeared inside. Screams and cries echoed from the house as Talon blindly ran through the door. He skidded to a stop inside the threshold; Fylkin held Mahjree on the tips of her toes by the hair.

  “Leave her alone!” he screamed. He tore the ring from the red ribbon and slid it on his finger.

  A blinding flash of light lit the dreary room and Talon thought for a moment that lightning had crashed through the window. The room was illuminated by a soft blue glow which sparkled in the giant chiefson’s eyes. He dropped Majhree and peered at Talon entranced. Talon realized that the blue glow was coming from the elven ring on his right hand. He stared down at it in amazement. The gem on the ring hummed low and sent light dancing on the walls. A surge of energy coursed through him and Azzeal’s words echoed in his mind. “Kyrr will give you the strength of your enemies.”

  Fylkin charged across the room, his eyes alight with wonder. Talon ran out of the doorway and into the night. Lightning flashed and the sky broke as he turned and sprinted toward the mines. Fylkin growled and charged through the village like a bull, tipping carts and scattering abandoned cookfires. His eyes no longer focused on Talon, but rather on the glowing ring upon his finger.

  The village began to thin as Talon came to the outskirts. The rain poured as hard as ever, and the wind howled like a ghost seeking his murderer. Dozens of Skomm cut across in front of Talon. He came around a long hut and saw what they ran from. A giant Vald with a bear skull on his head hacked to death any Skomm he could get his hands on. Lightning flashed and his huge, axe fell with the rolling of thunder. Talon scrambled through the frantic crowd and headed south once more. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Fylkin slam into a fleeing Skomm, sending him crashing into the back of a wagon.

  Talon felt the strength of the ring coursing through him. His lungs took in big gulps of wet air and his legs pumped with a power he had never known. The huts sped by in a blur, and soon he was out of the village. He hit the road to the mine and dug in on the straightaway. On the open ground he felt as though he were flying. The wind pushed at his back, adding to his speed, and he was hard pressed to keep his feet under him. He didn’t have to look behind him to know Fylkin was following closely, he could hear his heavy footfalls and the growling of his voice.

  Lightning flashed again, illuminating the tree line ahead. Soon the road would lead them into the forest, and not far beyond waited the first of the trip lines. Over his shoulder he felt Fylkin gaining. He feared that any minute the longsword would cut across the back of his legs and seal his doom. The rain began to pour so hard that he could hardly see. Fylkin staggered behind him suddenly and nearly fell, as confusion spread across the big man’s face.

  The poison, Talon realized.

  With renewed vigor Talon pushed himself harder. Almost missing the game trail he slowed to make the turn without crashing into the woods. Talon counted his strides: one, two, three, four, and when he reached twelve, he leapt at the marking stone. He jumped over the high trip line and charged on. Behind him, Fylkin crashed through the woods, unable to make the turn as sharply as Talon. He followed the game trail and screamed in rage. Talon glanced back as the big man hit the trip line at full speed. He shot forward headfirst and crashed into the trees to the right of the trail. Talon chuckled despite the dire circumstances. His laughter was short-lived however, as Fylkin tore through the trees and brush like a wild beast, his eyes bent on murder.

  Talon sprinted for the swamp but quickly realized it was much too high. The path meandering through the murky waters was covered. Fylkin growled and came on with renewed vigor. Talon stumbled as he changed direction from the s
wamp back to the road and the chiefson reached for him. He rolled away from groping hands and came up running. His lungs burned and his muscles screamed, but the ring still fed him the strength he needed to keep Fylkin just out of reach.

  Soon the buffalo fields opened up on both sides, and Talon ran to his right looking for the stone marking his hiding hole. Glancing back quickly, he saw that Fylkin’s feet were less sure than before; the poison was taking hold. Talon hoped the worst of the effects had not yet set in. Lightning flashed, and the silhouettes of hundreds of buffalo could be seen huddled in the downpour.

  He wrestled to get the sack on his back turned around as he ran. Finally he freed the paper dragon Jahsin claimed was of elven make. He felt ridiculous running from Fylkin and toying with a paper dragon; nevertheless, he ran straight at the buffalo, held the dragon in front of him, and pulled the tail. To Talon’s surprise, the dragon shot off into the sky, scorching his hands. Fylkin’s sword rang free of its sheath and Talon began to zig and zag through the sitting buffalo. The paper dragon sailed into the air and exploded with a boom, temporarily drowning out the thunder. All at once, the buffalo shot up as the explosion illuminated the night. A giant dragon of sparkling lights and fire swooped down on the herd before fizzling in the rain.

  The buffalo went berserk with fear and began to stampede to the south. Talon dodged the scared beasts, the power of the ring adding to his speed and agility. Behind him, Fylkin came on, but the big man was clipped by passing buffalo and slowed considerably. Talon moved through the buffalo but soon saw he would be overtaken. A tight-packed herd was heading his way. He turned and began running with the herd. He hated to leave them charging at his back, but figured they would avoid him better than he could them.

  Fylkin’s angry cries rang out from far behind and Talon charged on. He paced a long-haired buffalo and leapt, grabbing at its thick coat. His feet dragged on the ground as he clung to the beast. He struggled to get a leg up and finally hooked his foot over the hump. Pulling himself up, he looked behind to see Fylkin climbing on one of the beasts as well. Talon ducked his head as the buffalo herd charged. He tugged the long hair to the west, but the buffalo had a mind of its own. Fylkin’s buffalo was slower under his weight; even now the chiefson was falling behind. Talon ducked down to avoid the lashing rain and moved his body with the beast the way he had seen Vaka do with horses.