LEGENDS: Fifteen Tales of Sword and Sorcery

by Colt, K. J.

The ripples spread across the top of the lake. Among them was a small, more stable ripple that ran steadily toward them. It grew stronger as it approached. Through the water, something distorted could be seen beneath the ripple. When it had made it to the water’s edge, the disturbance finally emerged. It was a fantastically beautiful woman. She was wearing a shimmering bodice and had long golden hair. Around her neck hung a pendant that contained her gem. Whereas most had been as near to clear as possible, hers was a deep blue. Just visible beneath the water was an exquisite emerald tail, like that of a fish, that was the precise color of her eyes. She was a mermaid. Her voice had such a pristine clarity that she seemed to be singing every word.

  “Deacon! Always a pleasure! And this must be Myranda! I have heard some very impressive things about you, my dear. These next few weeks will be a treat!” she said.

  “I am quite sure that you two will have a fine time together--but remember that Myranda is still unaccustomed to the whimsical attitudes of wizards. Please treat her gently,” Deacon requested.

  “Deacon, I am shocked that you would think that I would treat my guests with anything less than complete and utter civility. Now come on, we’ve so much to do!” Calypso exclaimed.

  With that, she grasped Myranda’s hand and pulled her into the water. Before either she or Myn could object, the helpless girl was dragged swiftly to the bottom of the lake, near the center.

  “There. That is so much better. Out of that hot sun and harsh breeze,” Calypso said, turning to her guest.

  Myranda was floundering and struggling to keep her breath. The trip to the bottom had been so sudden she hadn’t even the time to take a deep breath.

  “Oh. Silly me,” Calypso said, touching her fingers to the amulet.

  Myranda dropped to the lake bed and took a long, wracking breath. Her panic turned to confusion as the cool water filled her lungs and she no longer longed for air. She stood and tentatively took a second “breath,” if such a word could still be applied. Her clothes and hair billowed about her as the slight currents swept past her, while she felt as steady on the pebble-covered ground as if she were on dry land.

  Now that she was able to relax, Myranda looked at her surroundings. The light danced on the ground in the most beautiful way. The slight blue tint of the water seemed to highlight the green of the algae on the rocks. In the distance, what must be Calypso’s quarters stood majestically, a hut just like the others, though a bit larger. It seemed frightfully out of place at the bottom of a lake.

  “What did you do to me?” Myranda asked.

  “Oh, that little spell? I merely swapped the roles of water and air for you. It is rather simple; every mermaid and merman knows it. If we didn’t, we would hardly get any surface visitors at all, and those we did would be holding their breath. Not that I mind, of course. If you want to hold your breath, that is your business, but it really cuts into conversation,” she said.

  Calypso spoke with a speed that was almost disorienting, yet with perfect diction and tremendous expression. Cresh had spoken volumes at a time, but the few words she had understood made the conversations at least manageable, albeit one-sided. The mermaid grinned at the bewildered look on Myranda’s face.

  “I apologize in advance to for my tendency to ramble. You see, I am the one and only water-dweller in the whole of this wonderful little village. As a result, I am seldom blessed with visitors, and when anyone does come down here, it is always strictly business. I suppose that is why you have come here as well, but what I have heard of you tells me that you are very personable. I mean that, of course, in the sense that you have a fine personality, rather than the meaning that you are attractive.

  “Which is not to say that you are not attractive. Quite the opposite. I merely intend to imply that attractiveness is not the quality that I was looking forward to. Deacon told me. He is a dear, and he thinks the world of you. Always raving about you, your mind, your skill. I’ve never seen the boy more excited. It does him good, though. I do hope you feel the same about him,” she said.

  “Oh, I do. I only wish that I could learn a bit of what he has to teach. It seems interesting, but we haven’t had the time,” Myranda said, after her mind had managed to catch up to the question. The brief silence seemed unusually long in light of the torrent of words Calypso produced.

  “What he has to teach? Oh, yes, you mean his magic. I’m sorry, dear, but I wasn’t concerned about what you thought of him as a magician. Although you are, of course, correct. Quite staggering, the knowledge he has. And there is so much of it in the spells that we elemental wizards use. I tell you, it is a wonder that he isn’t more respected than we. But, then, that is politics for you. No one had ever expected there to be a Master who specialized in gray, and so there is no place for one in the old ways. Antiquated, I say, but still we cling to them. Oh, there I go wandering again. The subject was Deacon. Yes, I was rather more concerned about what you thought of him as a person,” she said.

  “He is a fine person. He is most certainly my very best friend,” Myranda replied.

  “Excellent! It does my heart good to meet someone with a bit of life left in her. I honestly cannot say that I have heard the word ‘friend’ used here since my arrival. It is always ‘colleague’ or ‘associate.’ Lifeless words.

  “Most that come here have already rendered themselves down into little more than a repository of information about this or that. These people can scarcely open their mouths without a statement about magic or battle spilling out. They forget that there is a life to be lived, but not you. And, since you have arrived, not Deacon. Doesn’t spend nearly the time in that dusty old hut keeping those books. You know, before you showed up, he hadn’t come to see me in over two years?

  “I tell you, you have been a tonic for him. As a matter of fact, I would like to see more of the two of you together. After we get the preliminaries out of the way, I say we bring him down here. He can assist me. Better yet, he can distract you enough to keep you down here a bit longer, and I’ll have more company. However, before we can put that plan into action, there is the small matter of giving you the basics of my art. You know the procedure by now. Ears and mind focused, everything else ignored. Didn’t you have a staff when you came here?” Calypso spouted.

  Myranda had become so lost in her words that it took her a moment to realize that she had been addressed.

  “Oh, yes, I did bring my staff. Where has it gone to?” Myranda wondered.

  Myranda looked around her feet. Calypso, more accustomed to the environment, looked in the other direction.

  “Ah, there we are,” she said, spying the staff that was now bobbing on the surface of the water.

  With a speed and grace that made her seem as fluid as the water around her, Calypso darted up and snatched the staff, returning to the waiting student.

  “Hold on to that, or else I’ll let you get it next time,” she said playfully.

  Myranda swiftly entered the focused state of mind.

  “Very good. Now, I suppose I really haven’t much to say, though that is not to say that I will not be saying much. You see, save the specific mystic quality of the element, dealing with water is identical to dealing with air. They are both fluid. Water is thicker and heavier than air, of course. This will require a bit more energy to work with it, but the principles, at least in the beginning, are the same. In a way, Ayna has done my work for me.

  “First, I want you to get a feel for what water ‘looks like’ mystically,” Calypso said.

  Myranda looked through her mind’s eye, reaching out with her spirit into her surroundings. The water around her was something of a cool, feathery feeling in her mind.

  “Once you have it, move it about. I want to feel the current,” Calypso said.

  Myranda did as Ayna had taught to this new element. It was indeed much more difficult to move. She felt as though she were pushing on a wall. Regardless, after a bit of effort, the mass of water around her began to shift.

  �
�Fine. Fine work,” she said. “Now, just for the practice of it, cast the spell.”

  “I am casting it,” Myranda said.

  “Oh, I am sorry. Terminology has never been my strong suit. You see, the word cast, as in ‘cast a spell,’ is used to mean the same as throw or some such. When I use it I think of it as ‘form the spell’ or ‘shape the spell.’ I don’t recall what the word is that we have decided upon to mean what I mean. Set the spell, I suppose. Oh, whatever the others called it,” Calypso said.

  “I am afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Myranda said.

  “Honestly? Well, then the others have been remiss. It is a very useful thing to do. I would wager to say that it effectively doubles the usefulness of a spell. You see, what I want you to do is to allow the spell to continue in the absence of your concentration. It is quite simple. Just increase the amount of force you are using to create the effect, but do not increase the effect. Think of it as, say, clenching your fist about a handful of wet sand. When you relax your hand, it keeps its form. The energy in the water will do the same thing, staying in the excited form you had coaxed it into,” Calypso said.

  Myranda tried, but it was not immediately apparent how to do so. Refreshingly, Calypso watched and coached her as she went. This was something that, owing to Ayna’s attitude and Cresh’s language, hadn’t happened properly since Solomon had taught her. It took several tries, but finally she loosened her mind and, lo and behold, the current she had conjured did not weaken for nearly a minute.

  “Remarkable,” Myranda said, feeling the fruits of her labor without the veil of concentration for the first time.

  “I agree. And there is so much more to show you,” Calypso said.

  As the light filtering through the water waned, Myranda learned how to draw air from the water, eventually creating a bubble the size of her head. Calypso assured her that in no time she would be able to create one large enough to stand in, and after a bit more education, large enough to ride in.

  All too soon it was time for her to leave.

  “Well, I will see you tomorrow,” Calypso said, holding her hand as she whisked the girl back to the water’s edge.

  “I look forward to it,” Myranda said.

  She walked a few more steps, emerging from the water. There was an odd sensation of heaviness. Myn, who had been watching anxiously and waiting for hours, sprang to her feet and tried to usher her away from the water.

  “It is all right, Myn. There is nothing to be scared of,” Myranda said, or tried to at least. Instead water poured from her mouth. She took a breath of air, and found it worthless to her. Realizing what was happening, she turned and plunged her head back into the water. After a long breath, she opened her eyes. There before her was Calypso. She was lying on the floor of the bank, just below the surface of the water, smiling. Her face was so close their noses were practically touching.

  “Something wrong, dear?” she asked innocently.

  “I can’t breathe up here,” Myranda said.

  “Is that so?” Calypso asked.

  “And I can barely move,” she said.

  “I suppose you would like me to undo that little spell I cast,” she said.

  “I would appreciate it,” Myranda answered.

  “You know, you could stay down here, if you like,” Calypso offered.

  “I would love to, but I have another trainer to see,” Myranda explained.

  “Who?” Calypso asked.

  “Lain. Do you suppose you could undo the spell and finish this conversation on the surface? I feel a bit odd with my face plunged down in the water,” Myranda said.

  “Lain? I cannot picture him . . . never mind, bring him down, too! The more the merrier,” she said, hopefully.

  “Ouch!” Myranda exclaimed.

  “What is it?” Calypso asked.

  “Myn is trying to pull me out of the water. She is terrified of it,” Myranda said.

  “Well, well. We are just full of excuses, aren’t we? Very well. I shall see you tomorrow, bright and early. And do bring Deacon!” she said, touching her fingers to her pendant.

  In a typically playful fashion, the mermaid neglected to allow time for Myranda to withdraw her head from the water before undoing the spell. The result was a fit of coughing and sputtering as she hoisted her head up and took her first real breath of air since she’d gone below. She was soaked to the bone, and though it was far warmer here than it should have been for winter, she was beginning to shiver. As she began to walk away, she heard her teacher surface.

  “Here, just to show that I am not all bad,” she called out.

  Myranda heard her snap her fingers sharply and instantly the water fell away from her like a sheet, a good deal of it splashing on Myn. With the water gone, she immediately felt more comfortable.

  “I will be sure to teach you that one. It tends to be rather handy,” she said, leaping up and splashing down gracefully in the water.

  Myn shook off the water and looked scornfully at the lake.

  “Don’t be too hard on her, Myn. She is just lonely. It makes people do strange things. I can vouch for that,” Myranda said as she headed to the dining hall.

  Deacon had apparently retired to continue his scribing, as he was not about. She enjoyed a meal, and headed to Lain. In keeping with the recent trend, he seemed to be fighting faster and harder than any day before. It was a struggle to keep up with him, and as his attacks landed more and more frequently, Myranda slowly began to treat their encounters as real battles. She found herself fighting not to learn, but to win.

  There was a feeling. It wasn’t fear, or anger, or hate. It was something deeper. It stirred her to swing harder and move faster. She felt it more strongly every time she landed a hit, and found herself longing for more when the training was done. At the end of the day, she retired to her bed, hardly aware of any blows she had taken. By morning, there would be no sign of a bruise, as that which Deacon had spoken of was beginning to happen. Her mind began to work at a healing spell instinctively after an attack, and continued to work in some small way even while she slept.

  Trigorah stood in the throne room, her eyes scanning tapestries and portraits. Her elfish lineage had afforded her a very long life. She turned her eyes to the portrait of King Erdrick II. It was under his rule that she had begun her military career. He had blessed the creation of the Elites. He had even been the one to promote her to the level of general. He had been a great man. Trigorah had seen his son grow, and was present at the coronation. That was many years ago.

  There were footsteps behind her. Trigorah turned, and swiftly dropped to one knee, head bowed.

  “Your Imperial and Royal Majesty,” she uttered.

  “Rise, and dispense with the titles,” the king replied wearily.

  General Teloran stood. There was a time when it would have been unthinkable to be surprised by the appearance of a king. He should have been preceded by fanfare, by a royal procession. In the beginning, he was. Alas, as the years passed and the war marched on, the king had become less and less a leader. It was as though he shared the plight of his land. The decades of war had steadily drained them both of life and spirit. Now he was a withered husk of a man. When not attending to the affairs his people, King Erdrick III paced the halls of his nearly empty castle. His eyes had a faded, distant quality. The eyes of a man who had done things that could not be undone.

  “Awaiting General Bagu, no doubt?” the king asked as he settled down into the throne.

  “I am,” the general replied.

  The king nodded.

  “He has this conflict firmly in hand, it would appear,” he said.

  “Not as firmly as he might, but surely you are aware,” Trigorah answered.

  “Bagu has not seen fit to involve me in his actions in some time. Even my seal and signature, which he had so meticulously seen applied to each order and dispatch, has not been requested in months,” he explained. “It was my hope that perhaps his--“

  T
he door to Bagu’s chamber opened and his voice issued forth.

  “General Teloran, step inside, please,” Bagu requested.

  “General, the king was speaking,” Trigorah stated.

  “Your Majesty, the matter is of great importance,” said Bagu.

  “Go. The war comes first. Always, the war comes first,” the king said.

  Trigorah reluctantly stepped through the door and closed it behind her. Bagu was seated at his desk. His normally calm and collected expression was tempered with the tiniest hint of impatience and concern.

  “I must object to your behavior in the presence of the king,” said Trigorah. She was in no position to issue a reprimand, but nonetheless her tone carried a sting.

  “Noted. What news have you of the girl?” he demanded.

  “She has not left the cave of the beast, but I am confident that she is still alive,” Trigorah explained.

  “What possible source can you have for such confidence?” Bagu asked.

  “She has shown herself to be resourceful, intelligent, and resilient. Furthermore, the assassin is with her. If he wishes her to be alive, she shall be alive,” Trigorah explained.

  “Epidime has been unable to detect her. He has been known to track targets to their graves and beyond,” Bagu reminded her.

  “Epidime is skilled, there can be no arguing that. However, he is not infallible. With all due respect to him as a fellow general, he is blind of his own shortcomings,” she replied.

  “And the sword?” he asked.

  “The Red Shadow would not have been so foolish as to bring it with him. He knows we seek him, as well as the girl and the sword. The scoundrel is wise enough not to place all of our targets such that they may be gathered in a single stroke,” she reasoned. “No, he would have concealed it. That said, if he does not wish it found, it will not be found.”

  General Bagu steepled his fingers once more and pressed them to his lips.

  “You found the assassin’s go-between once. You shall find him again. When you do, you will secure the sword and bring it to me,” he decreed. “I sincerely doubt that this Myranda still lives, but see to it that your men are vigilant. Important times are at hand and we cannot afford to be caught by surprise.”