LEGENDS: Fifteen Tales of Sword and Sorcery

by Colt, K. J.

  “Dost thou think there are others like him?” Atrion asked.

  “Mother or Father durmorth dwell somewhere in this world, though he would reveal nothing of himself—not a name, not his origin. I know only that his parentage was mixed and that he had a brother, now departed. He also hinted at a previous, higher societal standing. His current status as a vagabond thief betrays him as an outcast or a runaway.” Eraekryst tapped the rim of his cup with his fingers as he continued. “He speaks with a most annoying southern accent, though he claims he is not southern. If you were to say, ‘The man’s home is a castle,’ his translation would be, ‘The bloke’s ‘ome is a bloody monster.’”

  Atrion stifled his laughter. “Thou art quite colorful in thy description, brother, but it says nothing of thine escape.”

  Eraekryst regarded him and sighed. “Now that I consider it, the escape is not the most ensnaring fragment of my tale. How many methods of escape can one employ from a mountain? The durmorth manipulates the shadows and holds sway over the elements. This magic he utilized to free me and lead a thrilling flight to the ocean. We were, of course, pursued by perturbed Jornoan stewards, and the ship’s crew were fickle, self-serving scoundrels. The mermaids induced a formidable storm, the durmorth’s wizard employer betrayed him, and inevitably my value as a ‘token’ of prophecy was discovered.” He paused to take a breath, his eyes bright. “I reveled in this treachery, Atrion. Of everyone, the durmorth would have nothing to do with me.”

  “Understandable, since thou art of the Ilán, and he of the Durós.”

  “This is true, though I may have instigated some ill feelings on account of my behavior.”

  Atrion smiled to himself. “Forgive me if I am not entirely surprised.”

  “He was not without his own vices,” Eraekryst added in his own defense. “He is an ornery, violent, antisocial creature who fears the public eye. He cannot keep conversation, and his emotional dynamics are all but stable. I would have you know that he struck me hard enough to break my nose.”

  Atrion’s custom placid expression shattered in surprise.

  Eraekryst gave a wave of his hand. “I did deserve it somehow. ’Tis part of the lesson I must learn.”

  “I can see why you have parted ways,” Atrion said.

  Eraekryst gazed at his drink thoughtfully. “Inevitably, though not before evading the scoundrels from the ship and journeying to Mystland.”

  “Mystland?”

  “For the sake of brevity, Atrion, the durmorth was afflicted with a malady of Shadow. Do not ask me how this is possible, but I saw for myself the fatality of his illness. He sought the help of the medori—two witches who, instead, usurped him and tore from him the Durós inherent in his being.”

  “He did not die?”

  “Death had been watching, but he did survive. The demon is gone; for all appearances, he walks as a Human boy.”

  Atrion was quiet a moment, then leaned forward to speak in a low voice. “Is he what she wanted—Seranonde? Thou hast said she hunts demons.”

  All expression left Eraekryst’s face. “Aye, her intentions for him she made clear enough.”

  “Now that his Shadow is gone, he is free of her,” Atrion inferred, hoping to lighten the mood again. Eraekryst, however, only gave him a wary look. “Why would she hunt a powerless demon?”

  Eraekryst tilted his head, staring off into the crowd without seeing them. “He is, to her, yet a challenge. She waits for his chaotic tendencies to surface, and then she will strike.”

  “Then I do not understand,” Atrion said, his brow furrowed. “Powerless he hopes to defend himself against her?”

  “He knows naught of her presence.” Eraekryst’s tone was dark and quiet. “She spoke to me alone; I did not tell him of her.”

  Atrion was incredulous. “Thou sayest this durmorth is the cause of thy liberation, and he hath traveled as thy companion. Yet thou hast abandoned him to an unknown danger?”

  “I did not name him my friend, and I abandoned him because he asked me to do so,” Eraekryst snapped. In the intensity of the moment, the crowd at the bar broke into song, leaving the two Ilangiel in a separate world.

  Finally, it was Eraekryst who turned away. He downed the rest of the beer and kept his eyes upon his empty cup.

  “I know what ’tis like to have the Ilán stolen from me,” Atrion said. “So strong a life-force that courses through us, that connects us and defines us. Canst thou imagine it, Eraekryst? ’Tis death without dying, to know such despair.” He reached out and took his brother’s hand. “I know thou hast tasted such sorrow, such abandonment. My pain was thy loss, and now ’tis the wound thou hast hidden. Tell me, brother, didst thou not consider the similarities between thyself and the durmorth? Better than anyone, I believe thou knowest what he suffers.”

  “He asked that I leave,” Eraekryst repeated, almost inaudibly.

  Atrion gave a slight smile. “Since when dost thou listen to anyone? Not me, Chierond, or thy rulers…yet thou hast taken to heart the words of one immersed in his own sorrows?” He withdrew his hand, causing his brother to meet his gaze at last. “For what time has passed, I still know thee best. Never in thy life hast thou been refused. Thou wanted to continue thy journey with the durmorth, but he refused thee. In doing so, he earned thy resentment. Thus thou came to find me.”

  Eraekryst’s fair face was flushed. “If you believe me to be a sulking child, you are wrong. And if you believe you are his replacement, I am wounded by your implication. I have no responsibility toward the durmorth. What happens to him is his own fate, of which I am no longer a part.” He turned as a fiddle joined the merry chorus around them.

  “Thou art wrong.” Atrion’s words sliced through the music. The sympathy gone from his expression, he continued, “Say what thou wilt, but he was thy friend. He rescued thee. Now he is in danger. Dost thou not feel the need to warn him—to at least tell him of the threat to his life? If thou dost not carry this responsibility in thy heart, then I truly know thee not.”

  Eraekryst dismissed the intensity of his brother’s claim as he watched the people begin to dance. “You suggest that we find him and tell him of Seranonde.” He gave a nod. “Perhaps that would be a fitting initial quest.”

  “I suggest that thou findest him.”

  “Atrion, we are but three days into our adventure together. ’Tis but the beginning!” Eraekryst coaxed, trying a smile. “You must make an effort to immerse yourself in this freedom.”

  Atrion started to speak, but two young girls with rosy cheeks and bright smiles appeared at their table.

  “Your pardon, good sirs,” the bolder interrupted, “but my sister and I were hoping to steal a dance.”

  Eraekryst lifted his chin toward his brother. “This is your opportunity, Atrion.” He stood and took the girl’s hand.

  “Forgive me, but I must decline,” Atrion told the other.

  Eraekryst gave him a look of disapproval, which Atrion ignored.

  “Dance, if thou wilt,” Atrion said, nodding toward the crowd. In a moment, Eraekryst was whisked away, immersed in the fast-paced tune that kept his feet in motion. Atrion watched him from his place at the table, lost in thought. As the music pressed on, he pushed his cup next to his brother’s, stood, and made his way toward the door. There he waited until Eraekryst happened to meet his gaze. Atrion nodded toward the outside and quit the tavern. He did not wait long before his brother joined him in the quiet of the descending evening.

  “I do not understand you,” Eraekryst said, frustrated. “Is this not what we set out to do?”

  “’Tis what thou hast envisioned, and this is thy quest, not mine.” Atrion set his eyes on the distant horizon. “I am returning home.”

  “I offended you,” Eraekryst said, all irritation gone from his tone. “It was not my intention to drive you away. I have enjoyed your company. Atrion, I need you at my side.”

  “Thou hast not wronged me.” Atrion met his gaze. “I go because my place is in Ve
loria. Thou hast thy mission, and thou art not ready to return. Let me go, if for no other reason than to ease the elders and hold thy place as prince. Thou dost not need me; save thy friend, and then return to thy people.”

  Eraekryst was clearly upset. “There is always room for you at my side. Let the elders wait. I have waited—waited nigh a century to know this freedom. Share it with me,” he begged.

  Atrion closed his eyes. “It pains my heart to think we should part again, but we must. Thou must continue until thy goal is realized. I know not when that will be, but I await the day thou wilt return to Veloria. ’Til then, I will hold thy place, placate our regents and the elder.” Atrion opened his eyes and gripped his brother’s arm tightly. “But thou must return to us. Promise me, Eraekryst!”

  “I cannot dissuade you from going back,” Eraekryst said quietly.

  “Promise me,” Atrion insisted.

  “I promise,” he said, crestfallen.

  Atrion pulled him into an embrace. “Do not forget us. Know that if I must set out to recover thee, I will also break thy nose. Fare thee well, brother, and try not to offend.”

  Speechless, Eraekryst nodded. He felt Atrion pull away but could not watch as his light disappeared into the night’s darkness.

  “Where were you?” Jodann demanded, her face puckered with anger.

  Arythan fought the urge to laugh at her, though keeping a straight face was almost impossible. “I took a bath,” he said with a shrug.

  “A bath? All day?” She bit her lip and narrowed her dark eyes at him. “You don’t ever leave my sight. I’m your shadow. Your pockets are probably empty, too.”

  “I took m’ share,” he said, producing his own bag. When she reached for it, he stashed it away.

  “I need to count that!”

  “I only took what I ‘ad to. Ol’ Red Glove can count it ‘imself.” He gave her a wink. “Don’ want any mix-ups ‘tween y’ an’ me.” He imagined steam rising from her head and smirked.

  She took a swing at him with her own bag, though he easily avoided her. “This is a joke to you now? He won’t be happy. Hope you won’t miss your fingers.” Jodann grinned. “Maybe if you do well tonight, you’ll just lose your pinky.” She wiggled her little finger in front of his face, but his expression remained unchanged. “Anyway, we’re meeting up with the others. You’re gonna listen, and you’re gonna do what I say. I’m in charge of this play, got it?”

  “Y’re fully responsible, right,” Arythan said quietly.

  She gave him a funny look before leading him to the dining area of the Roost. Five other thieves were already there waiting for them, Big Nose and Scruffy amongst them. Jodann gestured for Arythan to sit in an empty chair; he headed toward the back of the gathering and leaned against the wall. She glared at him and proceeded to address the group. “You all know what tonight is about. This is gonna be big. We’re hitting the Crimson Dragon, and we got to….”

  Arythan’s thoughts drifted from Jodann’s motivational speech. It had been a productive day, from the moment he awoke in the alley and slipped away unseen to when he grudgingly met up with his “shadow.” He had not lied: he really had taken a bath—at the edge of town in a pond not so far from the massive red tent of the Crimson Dragon.

  The setting was impressive—enough to coax his curiosity to dominate his frustrations. Several town buildings could fit beneath the brilliant red canopy, and the tent itself had been painted with the texture of dragon scales. Above the main entrance, a dimensional dragon head smiled down with gleeful menace. Even the nearby carts and covered wagons of the troop had murals of fire-breathing beasts in heated battle with armored knights. Arythan had remained unseen, staring in wide-eyed wonder at the images until something else had won his attention. There was truly only one thing that could entrance him so deeply, and it was that one thing that drew him inside the dragon tent at the risk of being discovered.

  Music. First the high, sweet melody of a flute, and then the accompaniment of a woman’s voice. He could not have stopped his feet if he had wanted, and they carried him to a dark place behind the circumference of benches for the audience. From there he watched her, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, singing the spring birds to shame alongside her flutist. Her eyes were either passionately closed or upon an unseen star in the red tent canopy. Her hands were poised delicately, moving in graceful gestures as the song poured from her. Her pale face and golden hair glowed in the amber light of the torches, reminding him of the immortal Ilangiel and the Light they bore. He had reasoned that she could only be magic, and this was some sort of miracle upon which his senses were enlivened. When she had finished, he found he had held his breath for so long that he had to gasp to satisfy his lungs.

  And then he heard another voice, from behind him. “We’re not in the habit of offering free previews.”

  It was a woman, shorter than him by several inches, stocky but not overweight. She was dressed in a wealthy man’s attire, her arms folded across her chest. He would guess she was in her forties, her face comely but no longer youthful. It bore a stern expression, coupled by the hardness of her pale green eyes, the short-cropped red hair that looked like tongues of flame upon her head. Someone of importance, no doubt.

  He had backed away further into the shadows, forgetting that he could no longer hide among them. She moved in on him. “What’s your business here?”

  Somehow Arythan had found his voice. “Sorry, I…” Then he remembered his purpose. He straightened and pulled away his scarf and shirt to show her the mark between his neck and shoulder.

  “I don’t understand,” the woman said, tapping her foot impatiently.

  He regarded her grimly from beneath his hat, noticing that a couple burly men stood watching them at a distance. “There’s something y’ought to know….”

  Arythan felt a set of fingernails digging into his arm, and he flung his offender away. He glared at Jodann, and she glared back. The other thieves were watching them. “Did you hear a word I said, or is there gold on the ground?”

  Don’t ever touch me again, he thought, though he knew her ire was partly attributed to the role she was about to undertake. If something went wrong, she would have to answer to the Red-Handed. It was, for him, a comforting thought, nestled in the vengeance that made his mouth water. “I ‘eard y’,” he said. “I ‘ave to watch y’r back.”

  “Just make sure you do,” she said tightly.

  Arythan almost smiled. Yes, it had been a productive day, but there was so much more to come. He trailed the other thieves out into the descending evening and down the road to the Crimson Dragon.

  “Is the ‘ole village ‘ere?” Arythan murmured, astounded by the number of people amassed outside the red tent. Young and old, rich and poor, their chatter seemed enough to fill the spaces between the stars.

  “Quiet,” Jodann snapped. “I don’t want to hear your stupid southie voice unless it’s something important.” They were at the edge of the crowd, and she held up a hand to stop him while she motioned to the other thieves to proceed. Once they were gone, she faced him. “Now listen. We’re gonna do a sweep to make sure everyone’s in place. Once the people are inside, we’re gonna watch and see where they take the money. Probably one of the wagons. That’s when you follow me and—”

  “Y’already told me,” he said, glancing up to gaze at the dragon head. “Don’t need to ‘ear it again.” He fanned his face with his hat and replaced it atop his head.

  “It’s important!”

  Arythan sighed and listened as she repeated the plan. When she was done, she scanned the crowd. “Alright. Follow me.”

  For once, his thoughts did not dwell on his proximity to people. He kept his eyes on the back of Jodann’s head as she twisted and maneuvered her way through to the working thieves. They came upon Big Nose, and she gave them a nod. Arythan patted her on the back. “Good work, Luv,” he said, and he and Jodann moved on. Scruffy was next, subtly lifting his purse to show that all was wel
l. Arythan put a hand on his shoulder. “Bonzer, mate.”

  “What are you doing?” Jodann snapped.

  “Reassurance,” Arythan replied.

  “Well, stop it.”

  The mage shrugged, and they located the remaining three thieves. Arythan kept his comments to himself, but he still managed a friendly poke or encouraging pat for each of his teammates. The crowd filtered into the tent, and he and Jodann slipped behind a wagon to watch the attendant at the entrance. At long last, the man closed the flap and carted away his money chest. They watched him lug the chest inside one of the wagons and shut the door. A lantern light flickered through the window, and they waited in silence as the minutes passed. Presently, the light was extinguished, and the door opened again. The man stepped outside without his weighty burden, locked the door, and disappeared inside the dragon tent.

  Jodann gave Arythan a nod, and they quit their haven, creeping their way along the shadows until they reached the right wagon. Jodann pulled a pick from her boot and set to work on the lock. Arythan stared at the tent, waiting to see if the man would return. All was yet clear when the lock came free in her hands, and she slipped inside the dark space, Arythan on her heels.

  “Need a light?” he whispered after hearing her stumble and curse.

  “No! It’s too dangerous. We’ll be seen,” she said.

  “’Ow are y’ going to find the money?”

  “Quiet, or I’ll cut your tongue out! I know what I’m doing.” She felt around for the chest, pick inhand. There was a sound, and she froze. “That you?”

  “No. Y’re the one making the noise.”

  “It wasn’t me,” Jodann whispered.

  “Rats,” said Arythan.

  “Yes, rats,” came a new voice. A lantern was uncovered in the darkness, and it revealed two other occupants in the wagon. One was a petite, stocky woman with short hair; the other was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a thick beard. Both of them were watching the thieves with grim expressions.