LEGENDS: Fifteen Tales of Sword and Sorcery

by Colt, K. J.

  “On the Winter Moon,” he said, his voice frail, “such things are possible.”

  “I saw it,” Kyra insisted. “I saved it.”

  “Saved it?” her father asked, looking at her as if she were mad. “You, saved a dragon?”

  All the men looked back at her as if she had lost her mind.

  “It was the injury,” Vidar said. “It has touched her mind.”

  Kyra blushed, desperately wanting them to believe her.

  “It has not touched my mind,” she insisted. “I do not lie!”

  She searched all their faces, desperate.

  “When have any of you known me to lie?” she demanded.

  They all stared back, unsure.

  “Give the girl a chance,” Vidar called out. “Let’s hear her tale.”

  Her father nodded back at her.

  “Go on,” he prodded.

  Kyra licked her lips, sitting upright.

  “The dragon was wounded,” she recalled. “The Lord’s Men had it cornered. They were going to kill it. I could not let it die—not like that.”

  “What did you do?” Anvin asked, sounding less skeptical than the others.

  “I killed them,” she said, staring into space, seeing it again, her voice heavy, realizing how crazy her story sounded. She barely believed herself. “I killed them all.”

  Another long silence fell over the room, even graver than the first.

  “I know you won’t believe me,” she finally added.

  Her father cleared his throat and squeezed her hand.

  “Kyra,” he said, somber. “We found five dead men near you—Lord’s Men. If what you say is true, do you realize how serious this is? Do you realize what you have done?”

  “I had no choice, Father,” she said. “The sigil of our house—we are forbidden to leave a wounded animal to die.”

  “A dragon is not an animal!” he countered angrily. “A dragon is a….”

  But his voice trailed off, he clearly unsure what to say as he stared off into space.

  “If the Lord’s Men are all dead,” chimed in Arthfael, breaking the silence, rubbing his beard, “what does it matter? Who’s to know the girl killed them? How shall the trail lead back to us?”

  Kyra felt a pit in her stomach, but knew she had to tell them the complete truth.

  “There was one more,” she added, reluctant. “A squire. A boy. He witnessed it. He escaped, on horseback.”

  They stared at her, their faces somber.

  Maltren stepped forward, frowning.

  “And why did you let this one live, then?” he demanded.

  “He was just a boy,” she said. “Unarmed. Riding off, his back to me. Should I have put an arrow in it?”

  “I doubt you put an arrow in any of them,” Maltren snapped. “But if so, is it better to let a boy live and leave us all to die?”

  “No one has left us to die,” her father scolded Maltren, defending her.

  “Hasn’t she?” he asked. “If she is not lying, then the Lord’s Men are dead, Volis is to blame, they have a witness, and we are all finished.”

  Her father turned to her, his face heavier than she had ever seen.

  “This is grave news indeed,” he said, sounding a million years old.

  “I am sorry, Father,” she said. “I did not mean to cause you trouble.”

  “Did not mean to?” Maltren countered. “No, you just accidentally killed five of the Lord’s Men? And all for what?”

  “I told you,” she said. “To save the dragon.”

  “To save an imaginary dragon,” Maltren snickered. “That makes it all worth it. One that, if it existed, would have gladly torn you apart.”

  “It did not tear me apart,” she countered.

  “No more talk of this dragon nonsense,” her father said, his voice rising, agitated. “Tell us now the truth. We are all men here. Whatever happened, tell us. We shall not judge you.”

  She felt like crying inside.

  “I have already told you,” she said.

  “I believe her,” Aidan said, standing by her side. She so appreciated him for that.

  But as she looked back out at the sea of faces, it was clear that no one else did. A long silence fell over the room.

  “It is not possible, Kyra,” her father finally said softly.

  “It is,” suddenly came a dark voice.

  They all turned as the door to the chamber slammed open and in marched several of her father’s men, brushing the snow off their furs and hair. The man who spoke, face still red from cold, looked at Kyra as if awestruck.

  “We found prints,” he said. “By the river. Near where the bodies were found. Prints too large for anything that walks this earth. Prints of a dragon.”

  The men all looked back at Kyra, now unsure.

  “And where is this dragon then?” Maltren said.

  “The trail leads to the river,” the man reported.

  “It couldn’t fly,” Kyra said. “It was wounded, like I said. It rolled into the rapids and I saw it no more.”

  The room fell into a long silence, and now, it was clear, they all believed her. They looked at her in awe.

  “You say you saw this dragon?” her father asked.

  She nodded.

  “I came as close to it as you and I are now,” she replied.

  “And how did you survive?” he asked.

  She gulped, unsure herself.

  “It was how I received this wound,” she said, touching her cheek.

  They all looked at her cheek in a new light, all seeming stunned.

  As Kyra ran her fingers along it, she sensed that it would scar, that it would change her appearance forever; yet somehow, strangely, she did not care.

  “But I don’t think it meant to hurt me,” she added.

  They stared at her as if she were mad. She wanted to explain to them the connection she had with the creature, but she did not think they would understand.

  They all stared at her, all these grown men stumped, and finally her father asked: “Why would you risk your life to save a dragon? Why would you endanger us all?”

  It was a good question, one which Kyra did not have the answer to. She wished she did. She could not put into words the feelings, the emotions, the sense of destiny she had when near the beast—and she did not think these men would ever understand. Yet she knew she had endangered them all, and she felt terribly for it.

  All she could do was hang her head and say: “Forgive me, Father.”

  “It is not possible,” Maltren said, agitated. “It is impossible to confront a dragon and live.”

  “Unless,” Anvin said, looking at Kyra strangely, then turned to her father. “Unless your daughter is the—”

  Her father suddenly shot Anvin a look, and Anvin immediately stopped himself.

  Kyra looked back and forth between the two, puzzled, wondering what Anvin was about to say.

  “Unless I am what?” Kyra demanded.

  But Anvin looked away and would say no more. Indeed, the entire room fell silent, and as she searched all the faces she realized that all the men averted their gaze from her, as though they were all in on some secret about her.

  Her father suddenly rose from her bedside and released his grip on her hand. He stood erect, in a way that signaled that the meeting was over.

  “You must rest now,” he said. Then he turned gravely to his men. “An army comes,” he said gravely, his voice filled with authority. “We must prepare.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  KYRA STOOD ALONE IN THE warm, summer field, in awe at the world around her. Everything was in bloom, in dazzling color, the hills so green, so vibrant, dotted with glowing yellow and red flowers. Trees were in bloom everywhere, their foliage so thick, swaying in the wind, heavy with fruit. The hills rolled with vineyards, ripe, and the smell of flowers and grapes hung heavy in the summer air. Kyra wondered where she was, where her people had gone—where winter had gone.

  There came a scre
ech, high in the sky, and Kyra looked up to see Theos circling overhead. He swooped down, landing in the grass but a few feet away, and stared back at her with his intense, glowing yellow eyes. Something unspoken passed between them, their connection so intense, as if no words need be said.

  Theos suddenly reared his head, shrieked, and breathed fire, right for her.

  For some reason, Kyra was unafraid. She did not flinch as the flames approached her, somehow knowing he would never harm her. The fire forked, spreading out to the left and right of her, igniting the landscape all around her yet leaving her unscathed.

  Kyra turned and was horrified to see the flames spread across the countryside, to see all the lush green, all the summer bounty, turn to black. The landscape changed before her eyes, the trees burned to a crisp, the grass replaced with soil.

  The flames rose higher and higher, spread farther, faster, and in the distance, she watched with horror as they consumed Volis—until there was nothing left but rubble and ash.

  Theos finally stopped, and Kyra turned and stared back at him. Kyra stood there, in the dragon’s shadow, humbled by its massive size and she did not know what to expect. He wanted something from her, but she could not sense what it was.

  Kyra reached out to touch its scales, and suddenly it raised a claw, screeched, and sliced open her cheek.

  Kyra sat up in bed, shrieking, clutching her cheek, the awful pain spreading through her. She flailed, trying to get away from the dragon—but was surprised to feel human hands on her instead, calming her, trying to restrain her.

  Kyra blinked and looked up to see a familiar face standing over her, holding a compress to her cheek.

  “Shh,” said Lyra, consoling her.

  Kyra looked around, disoriented, and finally realized she had been dreaming. She was home, in her father’s fort, still in her chamber.

  “Just a nightmare,” Lyra said.

  Kyra realized she must have fallen back asleep, how long ago, she did not know. She checked the window and saw the sunlight had been replaced by blackness. She sat bolt upright, alarmed.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “Late in the night, my lady,” Lyra replied. “The moon has already risen and set.”

  “And what of the coming army?” she asked, her heart pounding.

  “No army has come, my lady,” she replied. “The snow is still high, and it was nearly dark when you woke. No army can march in this. Don’t worry—you have only slept for hours. Rest now.”

  Kyra leaned back and exhaled; she felt a wet nose on her hand and she looked over to see Leo, licking her hand.

  “He hasn’t left your bedside, my lady,” Lyra smiled. “And neither has he.”

  She gestured and Kyra looked over and was touched to see Aidan lying there, slumped in a pile of furs beside the fire, a leather-bound book in his hand, fast asleep.

  “He read to you while you slept,” she added.

  Kyra was overwhelmed with love for her younger brother—and it made her all the more alarmed at the trouble to come.

  “I can feel your tension,” Lyra added as she pressed a compress on her cheek. “You dreamt troubled dreams. It is the mark of a dragon.”

  Kyra saw her looking back meaningfully, in awe, and she wondered.

  “I don’t understand what is happening to me,” Kyra said. “I have never dreamt before. Not like this. They feel like more than dreams—it is as if I am really there. As if I am seeing through the dragon’s eye.”

  The nurse looked at her with her soulful eyes, and laid her hands in her lap.

  “Is a very sacred thing to be marked by an animal,” Lyra said. “And this is no ordinary animal. If a creature touches you, then you share a synergy—forever. You might see what it sees, or feel what it feels, or hear what it hears. It may happen tonight—or it may be next year. But one day, it shall happen.”

  Lyra looked at her, searching.

  “Do you understand, Kyra? You are not the same girl you were yesterday, when you set out from here. That is no mere mark on your cheek—it is a sign. You now carry within you the mark of a dragon.”

  Kyra furrowed her brow, trying to understand.

  “But what does that mean?” Kyra asked, trying to make sense of it all.

  Lyra sighed, exhaling a long time.

  “Time will show you.”

  Kyra thought of the Lord’s Men, of the coming war, and she felt a wave of urgency. She threw off her furs and rose to her feet and as she did, she felt wobbly, unlike herself. Lyra rushed over and held her shoulder, steadying her.

  “You must lie down,” Lyra urged. “The fever is not yet past.”

  But Kyra felt a pressing urgency to help and she could stay in bed no longer.

  “I shall be fine,” she replied, grabbing her cloak and draping it over her shoulders to ward off the draft. As she moved to go, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “Drink this, at least,” Lyra urged, handing her a mug.

  Kyra looked down and saw a red liquid inside.

  “What is it?”

  “My own concoction,” she replied with a smile “It will calm the fever, and relieve the pain.”

  Kyra took a long sip, holding it with both hands, and it felt thick as it went down, hard to swallow. She made a face and Lyra smiled.

  “It tastes like earth,” Kyra observed.

  Lyra smiled wider. “It’s not known for its taste.”

  But already Kyra felt better from it, her whole body immediately warmer.

  “Thank you,” she said. She went over to Aidan, leaned over and kissed his forehead, careful not to wake him. She then turned and hurried from the room, Leo beside her.

  Kyra twisted and turned down Volis’s endless corridors, all dim, lit only by the flickering torches along the walls. Only a few men stood guard at this late hour, the rest of the fort quiet, fast asleep. Kyra ascended the spiral, stone staircase and stopped before her father’s chamber, blocked by a guard. He looked at her, something like reverence in his eyes, and she wondered how far the story had already spread. He nodded to her.

  “My lady,” he said.

  She nodded back.

  “Is my father in his chamber?”

  “He could not sleep. Last I saw he was pacing toward his study.”

  Kyra hurried down the stone corridors, ducking her head beneath a low, tapered archway and down a spiral staircase until finally she made her way to the far end of the fort. The hall ended in the thick, arched wooden door to his library, and she reached out to open them, but found the doors already ajar. She stopped herself as she heard urgent, strained voices coming from inside.

  “I tell you that is not what she saw,” came the angry voice of her father.

  He was heated, and she stopped herself from entering, figuring it would be best to wait. She stood there, waiting for the voices to stop, curious who he was speaking to and what they were talking about. Were they talking about her? she wondered.

  “If she did indeed see a dragon,” came a crackly voice, which Kyra immediately recognized as Thonos, her father’s oldest advisor, “there remains little hope for Volis.”

  Her father muttered something she could not understand, and there followed a long silence, as Thonos sighed.

  “The ancient scrolls,” Thonos replied, his voice labored, “tell of the rise of the dragons. A time we shall all be crushed under their flames. We have no wall to keep them out. We have nothing but hills and sky. And if they have come, they are here for a reason.”

  “But what reason?” her father asked. “What would compel a dragon to cross the world?”

  “Perhaps a better question, Commander,” Thonos replied, “is what could wound it?”

  A long silence followed, punctuated only by the crackling of the fire, until finally Thonos spoke again.

  “I suspect it is not the dragon that troubles you most, is it?” Thonos asked.

  There followed another long silence, and Kyra, though she knew she should not listen i
n, leaned forward, unable to help herself, and peered through the crack. Her heart felt heavy to see her father sitting there, head in his hands, brooding.

  “No,” he said, his voice thick with exhaustion. “It is not,” he admitted.

  Kyra wondered what they could be talking about.

  “You dwell on the prophecies, do you not?” he asked. “The time of her birth?”

  Kyra leaned in, her heart pounding in her ears, sensing they were speaking about her, but not understanding what they meant.

  There came no response.

  “I was there, Commander,” Thonos finally said. “As were you.”

  Her father sighed, but would not raise his head.

  “She is your daughter. Do you not think it fair to tell her? About her birth? Her mother? Does she not have a right to know who she is?”

  Kyra’s heart slammed in her chest; she hated secrets, especially about her. She was dying to know what they meant.

  “The time is not right,” her father finally said.

  “But the time is never right, is it?” the old man said.

  Kyra breathed sharply, feeling stung.

  She suddenly turned and ran off, a heaviness in her chest as her father’s words rang in her ears. They hurt her more than a million knives, more than anything the Lord’s Men could throw at her. She felt betrayed. He was withholding a secret from her, some secret he’d been hiding her entire life. He had been lying to her.

  Does she not have a right to know who she is?

  Her entire life Kyra had felt that people had looked at her differently, as if they knew something about her which she did not, as if she were an outside, and she had never understood why. Now, she understood. She didn’t just feel different than everyone else—she was different. But how?

  Who was she?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  VESUVIUS MARCHED, A HUNDRED TROLLS on his heels, through Great Wood, up the sharply rising terrain, too steep for the horses to follow. He marched with a sense of determination, and for the first time, optimism. He hacked through the thick brush with his blade and knew he could have passed through without cutting them, but he wanted to: he enjoyed killing things.