LEGENDS: Fifteen Tales of Sword and Sorcery

by Colt, K. J.

  “Volis is but one stronghold,” he said, “one they can afford to turn their backs on. Our victory today, as great as it was, was too small for them to risk rallying all of Escalon.”

  They both fell into silence as they studied the horizon, Kyra pondering his words.

  “Are you scared?” she asked.

  “A good leader must always know fear,” he replied. “Fear sharpens our senses, and helps us to prepare. It is not death I fear, though—it is only not dying well.”

  They stood there, studying the skies, as she realized the truth in his words. A long, comfortable silence fell over them.

  Finally, he turned to her.

  “Where is your dragon now?” he asked, then suddenly turned and walked off, as he sometimes did.

  Kyra, alone, stood there and studied the horizon; strangely enough, she had been wondering the same thing. The skies were empty, thick with rolling clouds, and she kept hoping, in the back of her mind, to hear a screech, to see its wings dip down from the clouds.

  But there was nothing. Nothing but emptiness and silence, and her father’s lingering question:

  Where is your dragon now?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ALEC FELT HIMSELF RUDELY AWAKENED by a kick in the ribs and he opened his eyes, exhausted, disoriented, trying to get his bearings. He pulled hay from his mouth, saw he was lying face-first on the ground, and he remembered: the barracks. He had been up most of the night, watching his and Marco’s back as the night was filled the sounds of boys fighting, creeping in and out of the shadows, calling out to each other threateningly. He had watched more than one boy get dragged out, feet first, dead—but not before boys pounced on his corpse and raided it for anything they could salvage.

  Alec was kicked again, and this time, alert, he rolled over, ready for anything. He looked up, blinking in the blackness, and was surprised to see not another boy but rather two Pandesian soldiers. They were kicking boys all up and down the line, grabbing them, yanking them to their feet. Alec felt rough hands beneath his arms, felt himself yanked up, too, then pushed and prodded out of the barracks.

  “What’s happening? What’s going on?” he mumbled, still unsure if he was awake.

  “Time for duty,” the soldier snapped back. “You’re not here for pleasure, boy.”

  Alec had wondered when he would be sent to patrol The Flames, but it had never occurred to him it would be in the middle of the night, and so soon after such a long ride. He stumbled forward, drunk with exhaustion, wondering how he could survive this. They had given them nothing to eat since he had arrived, and he still felt weak from the long journey.

  Before him a boy collapsed, perhaps from hunger, or from exhaustion, it didn’t matter—the soldiers pounced on him, kicking him viciously until he stopped moving altogether. They left him on the frozen ground, dead, and continued marching.

  Realizing he did not want to end up like that boy, Alec strengthened his resolve and forced himself wide awake. Marco came up beside him.

  “Sleep much?” Marco asked with a wry smile.

  Alec shook his head gloomily.

  “Don’t worry,” Marco said. “We’ll sleep when we’re dead—and we’ll be dead soon enough.”

  They turned a bend and Alec was momentarily blinded by The Flames, hardly fifty yards away, their heat tremendous even from here.

  “If trolls come through, kill them,” an Empire soldier called out. “Otherwise, don’t kill yourselves. At least not until morning. We want this place well-guarded.”

  Alec was given a final shove, and he and the group of boys were left near The Flames, while the soldiers turned and marched off. He wondered why they trusted them to stand guard, not to run—but then he turned and saw the watchtowers everywhere, manned with soldiers with crossbows, fingers on the trigger, all waiting eagerly for a boy to make a run for it.

  Alec stood there, with no armor and no weapons, and wondered how they could expect him to be an effective guard. He looked over and saw some of the other boys had swords.

  “Where did you get that?” Alec called out to a boy nearby.

  “When a boy dies, get it from him,” he called back. “If someone else doesn’t beat you to it.”

  Marco frowned.

  “How do they expect us to stand guard with no weapons?” he asked.

  One of the other boys, face black with soot, snickered.

  “Newbies don’t get weapons,” he said. “They expect you to die anyway. If you’re still here after a few nights, you’ll find a way to get one.”

  Alec stared at The Flames, crackling so intensely, the heat warming his face, and he tried not to think about what lay on the other side, waiting to burst through.

  “What do we do in the meantime?” he asked. “If a troll breaks through?”

  One boy laughed.

  “Kill them with your bare hands!” he called out. “You might survive—but then again, you might not. He’ll be on fire, and will probably burn you with him.”

  The other boys turned their backs and dispersed, each spreading out for their own stations, and Alec, weaponless, turned and looked at The Flames with a despairing feeling.

  “We have been set up to die,” he said to Marco.

  Marco, about twenty feet away from him, staring at The Flames, looked disillusioned.

  “Keeping the Flames was once a noble calling,” he said, his voice glum. “Before Pandesia invaded. The Keepers were once honored, well-armed and well-equipped. It was why I volunteered. But now…it seems to be something else entirely. The Pandesians don’t want the trolls coming through—but they don’t use their own men. They want us to guard it—and they leave us to die here.”

  “Perhaps we should let them through then,” Alec said, “and let them kill them all.”

  “We could,” Marco said. “But they’d raid Escalon and kill our families, too.”

  They fell silent, the two of them standing there, staring into The Flames. Alec did not know how much time had passed while he stared, wondering. He could not help but feel as if he were staring into his own death. What was his family doing right now? he wondered. Were they thinking of him? Did they even care?

  Alec found himself getting lost in depressing thoughts and knew he had to change his mood. He forced himself to look away, to glance back over his shoulder and to study the dark woodline. The woods were pitch black, foreboding, the soldiers in the watchtowers not even bothering to watch them. Instead, they kept their eyes fixed on the recruits, on The Flames.

  “They are afraid to stand guard themselves,” Alec observed, looking up at the soldiers. “Yet they don’t want us to leave. Cowardly.”

  Barely had Alec uttered the words when he suddenly felt a tremendous pain in his back, sending him stumbling forward. Before he knew what was happening, he felt a club being jammed into his ribs and found himself landing face-first on the ground.

  He heard a sinister voice in his ear, one he recognized:

  “I told you I’d find you, boy.”

  Before he could react Alec felt rough hands grab him from behind and drag him forward, toward The Flames. There were two of them—the boy from the carriage and his friend—and Alec tried to resist, but it was useless. Their grip was too tight and they carried him closer and closer, until his face felt the intense heat of The Flames.

  Alec heard struggling and he looked over and was surprised to see Marco wrapped up in chains, two other boys grabbing him from behind, holding him in place. They had planned this well. They really wanted them dead.

  Alec struggled, but he could not gain leverage. They dragged him closer and closer to The Flames, hardly ten feet away, the heat of it so intense he could already feel the pain, feel as if his face were going to melt. He knew that with but a few more feet, he would be disfigured for life—if not dead.

  Alec bucked, but they had him in such a tight grip, he could not break free.

  “NO!” he shrieked.

  “Time for payback,” hissed the voic
e in his ear.

  There suddenly came a horrific shriek, and Alec was shocked to realize it was not his own. The grip loosened on his arms and as it did he immediately pulled back from The Flames. At the same moment, he saw a burst of light and he watched, transfixed, as a creature burst forth from The Flames, on fire, and suddenly landed on the boy beside him, pinning him to the ground.

  The troll, still on fire, rolled with the boy on the ground, sinking its fangs into his throat. The boy shrieked as he died instantly.

  The troll turned and looked about, in a frenzy, and its eyes, large and red, met Alec’s. Alec was terrified. Still aflame, it breathed through its mouth, its long fangs covered in blood, and looked ravenous for a kill, like a wild beast.

  Alec stood there, frozen with fear, unable to move even if he wanted to.

  The other boy ran, and the troll, detecting motion, turned and, to Alec’s relief, lunged for him instead. In one bound it tackled him to the ground, still on fire, and sank its fangs into the back of his neck. The boy cried out as it killed him.

  Marco shook off the stunned boys, grabbed their chain and swung it around, smashing one in the face and the other between the legs, dropping them both.

  Bells started to toll in the watchtowers and chaos ensued. Boys came running from up and down The Flames to fight the troll. They jabbed at it with spears, but most, inexperienced, were afraid to get too close. The troll reached out, grabbed a spear and pulled a boy close, hugging him tight and, as the boy shrieked, setting him aflame.

  “Now’s our time,” hissed an urgent voice.

  Alec turned to see Marco running up beside him.

  “They’re all distracted. This may be our only chance.”

  Marco looked out and Alec followed his glance: he looked to the woods. He meant to escape.

  Black and ominous, the woodline was foreboding. Alec knew that even greater dangers likely lurked in there, but he knew Marco was right: this was their chance. And nothing but death awaited them here.

  Alec nodded and without another word they broke into a sprint together, running farther and farther from The Flames, toward the woods.

  Alec’s heart slammed in his chest as he expected at any moment to be shot in the back by a crossbow, and he ran for his very life. But as he glanced back over his shoulder, he saw everyone surrounding the troll, distracted.

  A moment later, they entered the woods, engulfed in blackness, entering, he knew, a world of dangers greater than he could ever imagine. He would probably die here, he knew. But at least, finally, he was free.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  KYRA STOOD OUTSIDE THE GATES of Volis, studying the wintry landscape as the snow fell, the sky streaked with scarlet as if the sun were struggling to break through, and she leaned forward on the emerging wall, breathing hard as she plopped down yet another stone. Kyra had joined the others in gathering these huge stones from the river to erect yet another wall around the perimeter of Volis. As the mason beside her smeared the plaster, she plopped down one stone after the next. Now, arms trembling, she needed a break.

  Kyra was joined by hundreds of her people, lined up all along the wall, all building it higher, deeper, adding rings to the embankments. Others, beyond the wall, worked with shovels, digging fresh ditches, while others still dug graves for the dead. Kyra knew that all of this was futile, that it would not hold back the great Pandesian army when it came, that no matter what they did, they would all die in this place. They all knew it. But they built it anyway. It gave them something to do, some sense of having control while staring death in the face.

  As Kyra took a break, she leaned against the wall, looked out at the landscape, and wondered. All was so still now, the snow muffling all sound, as if the world contained nothing but peace. But she knew differently; she knew the Pandesians were out there somewhere, preparing. She knew they would return, in a deafening rumble, and destroy all that she held precious. What she saw before her was an illusion: it was the calm before the storm. It was hard to understand how the world could be so still, so perfect, one moment—and so filled with destruction and chaos the next.

  Kyra glanced back over her shoulder and saw her people winding down their work for the day, laying down trowels and shovels as night began to fall and filtering back toward their homes. Smoke rose from chimneys, candles were lit in windows, and Volis looked so cozy, so protected, as if it could not be touched by the world. She marveled at the illusion.

  As she stood there, she could not help but hear her father’s words, ringing in her ears, his request that she leave at once. She thought of her uncle, whom she had never met, of the journey it would require, across Escalon, through Whitewood, all the way to the Tower of Ur. She thought of her mother, of the secret being withheld from her. She thought of her uncle training her to become more powerful—and it all thrilled her.

  And yet as she turned and looked at her people, she knew she just could not abandon them in their time of strife, even if it meant saving her life. It was just not who she was.

  Suddenly, a low, soft horn sounded, one signaling the end of the work day.

  “Night falls,” said the mason, standing beside her, laying down his trowel. “There is little we can do in the dark. Our people return for the meal. Come now,” he said, as rows of people turned and headed back across the bridge, through the gates.

  “I will come in a moment,” she said, not yet ready, wanting more time to enjoy the peace, the silence. She was always happiest alone, outdoors.

  Leo whined and licked his lips.

  “Take Leo with you—he’s hungry.”

  Leo must have understood because he already leapt off after the mason while she was still speaking, and the mason laughed and returned with him for the fort.

  Kyra stood outside the fort, closing her eyes against the noise and becoming lost in her thoughts. Finally, the sound of the hammers had stopped. Finally, she had true peace.

  She looked out and studied the horizon, the darkening woodline, the rolling gray clouds covering up the scarlet, and she wondered. When were they coming? What size force would they bring? What would their army look like?

  As she looked out, she was surprised to detect motion in the distance. Something caught her eye and as she watched, she saw a lone rider materialize, emerging from the wood and taking the main road for their fort. Kyra reached back and gripped her bow unconsciously, bracing herself, wondering if he were a scout, if he were heralding an army.

  But as he neared, she loosened her grip and relaxed as she recognized him: it was one of her father’s men. Maltren. He galloped, and as he did, led a riderless horse beside him by the reins. It was a most curious sight.

  Maltren came to an abrupt stop before her and looked down at her with urgency, appearing scared; she could not understand what was happening.

  “What is it?” she asked, alarmed. “Is Pandesia coming?”

  He sat there, breathing hard, and shook his head.

  “It is your brother,” he said. “Aidan.”

  Kyra’s heart plummeted at the mention of her brother’s name, the person she loved most in the world. She was immediately on edge.

  “What is it?” she demanded. “What’s happened to him?”

  Maltren caught his breath.

  “He’s been badly injured,” he said. “He needs help.”

  Kyra’s heart started pounding. Aidan? Injured? Her mind spun with awful scenarios—but mostly, confusion.

  “How?” she demanded. “What was he doing in the wood? I thought he was in the fort, preparing for the feast?”

  Maltren shook his head.

  “He went out with your brothers,” he said. “Hunting. He took a bad fall from his horse—his legs are broken.”

  Kyra felt a flash of determination rush through her. Filled with adrenaline, not even stopping to think it all through carefully, she rushed forward and mounted the spare horse.

  If she had taken just a moment to turn around, to check the fort, she would have f
ound Aidan, safely inside. But fueled by urgency, she did not stop to question Maltren.

  “Lead me to him,” she said.

  The two of them, an unlikely duo, charged off together, away from Volis and, as night fell, toward the blackening wood.

  Kyra and Maltren galloped down the road, over the rolling hills, toward the wood, she breathing hard as she dug her heels into her horse, anxious to save Aidan. A million nightmares swarmed through her head. How could Aidan have broken his legs? What were her brothers doing hunting out here, close to nightfall, when all of her father’s people had been forbidden to leave the fort? None of it made any sense.

  They reached the edge of the wood, and as Kyra prepared to enter it, she was puzzled to see Maltren suddenly bring his horse to a stop before it. She stopped abruptly beside him and watched as he dismounted. She dismounted, too, both horses breathing hard, and followed him, baffled, as he stopped at the forest’s edge.

  “Why are you stopping?” she asked, breathing hard. “I thought Aidan was in the wood?”

  Kyra looked all around, and as she did, she suddenly had a feeling that something was terribly wrong—when suddenly, out of the woods, she was horrified to see, there stepped the Lord Governor himself, flanked by two dozen men. She heard snow crunching behind her, and she wheeled to see a dozen more men encircle her, all aiming bows at her, one grabbing the reins to her horse. Her blood ran cold as she realized she had walked into a trap.

  She looked at Maltren in fury, realizing he had betrayed her.

  “Why?” she asked, disgusted at the sight of him. “You are my father’s man. Why would you do this?”

  The Lord Governor walked over to Maltren and placed a large sack of gold in his hand, while Maltren looked away guiltily.

  “For enough gold,” the Lord Governor turned and said to her, a haughty smile on his face, “you will find that men will do anything you wish. Maltren here will be rich forever, richer than your father ever was, and he will be spared from your fort’s looming death.”