Legends of the Lurker Box Set

by Richard H. Stephens

  He obviously spoke of her. She shook her head. “I can’t go. I came to talk reason into the high king. To explain to him that what they’re doing is wrong. If I leave, everything I’ve done will be for nothing.”

  “Ya? Well, you only have yourself to blame for that. I told you not to misuse your gift.” Devius appeared on the verge of exploding. “You’ve been training with me for what? Ten days?”

  “A fortnight.”

  “Great! A fortnight. It took you two weeks to break one of my steadfast rules.” He threw his hands in the air and looked away. He turned back just as quickly; a bent finger held in front of her face. “It took J’kwaad months before he was brazen enough to employ his magic to suit his own ends.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Little late for that.”

  The atmosphere in the sunny chamber was anything but cheery. Devius left her by the window and searched through the large pages of a dusty tome sitting on its own table near the southeast facing window.

  Fleabag got up from her bed and stretched, padding to a metal bowl on the floor to lap at the water within.

  Reecah remained by the western window, absently watching the tall ships come and go in the distant harbour at Sea Hold. Even from this distance, the Sea Gate Bridge stood out on the horizon.

  “Come here, girl.”

  Reecah blinked a few times, afraid to move. She glanced at Devius.

  The darkness had left his face. His kind eyes and forced smile served to set her nerves at ease.

  Joining the wizard before the tome’s pedestal, she glanced at the colourful map displayed across the open double-page and tried to appreciate what Devius pointed at.

  “This is where you must go. Into the desert. Search for the Draakvuur Colony. The home of the dragon queen. There you will learn the way your gift was intended to be used.”

  Reecah swallowed. The thought of visiting a dragon colony, especially the home of the queen, scared her more than she cared to admit.

  “If dragonkind has any chance of surviving J’kaar’s purge, it will happen in the Wilds.”

  “The Wilds?”

  “Aye child. The name of the desert along the remote eastern border of the Great Kingdom. Nothing survives out there but hardened souls and magical creatures.”

  Reecah swallowed. “And you want me to go out there?”

  “Now that you’ve exposed your true identity, nowhere else is safe. You must make haste, and do not stray. It’s vital you go straight there. Do you hear me?”

  Reecah nodded, a million questions swirling around her head. “How will I know when I have truly harnessed my dragon magic?”

  He sighed, offering her a patient smile. “That isn’t easily answered. You’ll recognize it when the time comes. When it does, you’ll be surprised at how much you inherently know.”

  “I wish I had found you earlier. I wasted so much time in South Fort training with Anvil.”

  “Tsk, tsk.” Devius raised his eyebrows. “A true Windwalker must be trained in all forms of combat. There will be times when magic cannot save you. The skills the giant dwarf has instilled in you are as important as your gift. Your time with Anvil will serve you well, never doubt that for a moment. If you die, so will the dragons.”

  Reecah tried hard to appreciate his words.

  “I wish we had more time.”

  Reecah bowed her head. The shame of what she had done weighed heavily upon her.

  “We need to find you a mate.”

  Reecah’s head jerked up. “What?”

  “A mate. You know? Somebody to breed with.”

  The wizard’s matter-of-fact way of stating what was on his mind shocked her.

  “We need to get you an heir.”

  “An heir?” Did the old man think she was royalty?

  “Absolutely. Should you die before then, the dragon cause will follow you to your grave.”

  Devius pursed his lips, and placed a crooked finger on his chin, changing the subject again. “Too bad I didn’t have a staff for you to use.”

  Reecah frowned. She was still trying to get over his last comment. She couldn’t imagine who in the world that mate might be. She had never in her life seriously considered that type of relationship with someone else. Let alone having a baby. Just the thought jarred her senses to the core. The only person she would even consider might be—

  Devius’ voice interrupted her thoughts.

  “A staff is a wizard’s best friend, next to their mind of course. A proper staff, enhanced by the right talisman,” his gaze drifted to the dark Eye she held in her hand, “would make you a force to be reckoned with.”

  “Why? What can it do?”

  “A staff, in and of itself, is only as strong as its bearer. It’s used to amplify the magic of the user. Sure, it can provide those without the gift a small arsenal of magic that is enchanted into its fibre, but a staff’s real use is to enhance the power of the truly gifted.”

  “Where can I find such a thing?”

  Devius shrugged. “The last staff of import was lost when Viliyam went into hiding.”

  Reecah grasped Devius’ forearm. Hearing Poppa’s name sent gooseflesh over her skin. She knew Devius meant her great-grandmother’s great-grandfather, but the coincidence that Poppa bore the same name wasn’t lost on her. Someday she meant to discover the connection.

  “Who makes them?”

  Devius frowned. “Who makes them? Why no one, child. They’re the result of an ancient spell being cast during a momentous event.” He looked to the ceiling as if beseeching its help to describe something so intrinsically basic that its explanation was beyond him. “Other factors have to be taken into consideration. Suffice it to say, a true staff of import is more than just a talisman. It is an extension of someone’s spirit.”

  Devius stopped. His hopeful smile fell. “I see you have no idea what I’m talking about.”

  She shook her head.

  “Bah! It’s not important. Perhaps, when this is all over, I’ll assist you in discovering your own staff, hmm?”

  “Um, yes. That would be wonderful.”

  “Good. Good. Now all you have to do is survive long enough to escape from here.”

  Dwarf, Giant Dwarf

  Fleabag padded to the base of the tower steps and awaited Reecah and Devius, the former assisting the latter down the long flight. Staring at the wall where Reecah was certain a door had been, Fleabag’s upper lip lifted in a snarl.

  Devius descended the bottom step. “Easy girl. It won’t do to warn the guards.”

  Reecah’s gaze flicked between the lioness, the wall, and Devius. She hadn’t noted anyone else in the Wizard’s Sanctum all the while she was here. “You have guards?”

  “They aren’t mine, child. But they are there. Waiting.”

  “Waiting for what? Me?”

  “You. Me. Makes little difference. If we’re taken, all will be lost.”

  “What do we do?”

  “Why, we fight. Use our dragon magic.”

  Reecah stared at him in awe.

  “Aye. How did you think I knew all about you?”

  “But…I thought I was the last Windwalker.”

  He graced her with a patient smile. “Don’t become too cocky with your newfound gift. Windwalkers aren’t the only ones capable of coexisting with dragons and their ilk. Remember your roots.”

  ‘The elves,’ Reecah formed the words with her lips without speaking.

  “Precisely. Don’t be thrown by my human ears. People say I look like my father.”

  There was so much Reecah still had to learn about the world. Important facts she believed would prove instrumental if she were to stave off the dragons’ extinction.

  “Are you ready?”

  Other than lighting candles and employing the magic of the scrying bowl, most of her training with Devius had been devoted to learning the magical runes and their various intonations, paying particular attention to how their enunciation affected the casting of
the spell. Devius had been quite succinct about exact cadences, pitches, inflections and timbres. Placing the emphasis on the wrong syllable invited disaster.

  The old wizard patted her sword hilt. “How about I use magic and you stick to what you know best. It’s time you made Anvis proud.”

  Reecah swallowed. It was like the wizard had read her thoughts. She pulled her bow free and strung it. Satisfied, she nodded.

  Devius bowed his head in return, his face losing all expression. A strange word escaped his lips. One that Reecah had learned while in his care.

  “Patefacio.”

  The large stones comprising the wall shimmered, revealing the door.

  Fleabag growled, the hair on her back standing straight up—her muscles tensed in anticipation.

  Devius nodded and the door swung open, blinding them with morning sunlight.

  Reecah held her forearm to her brow, squinting. Though she couldn’t see much, she was aware of Fleabag vaulting through the doorway with a feral growl.

  The sound of a man’s surprise turned into a cry of despair as Fleabag snarled and snapped, rending flesh.

  More shouts went up. The sound of swords being freed of their scabbards rang through the air.

  “Reecah! Down!”

  She shouldered her bow, took a step forward, and squatted on the threshold, her sword in hand.

  A crackling ‘whoosh’ zipped past her head.

  Her vision adjusted in time to see a burly man clad in boiled leather and shoulder plate take a fist-sized fireball in the face.

  The man dropped his sword and fell to his knees, screaming in agony; frantically wiping at the flames devouring his head.

  An arrow cracked against the doorjamb by her shoulder, showering her with splinters.

  A second arrow thudded behind her, the sickening wet sound all too familiar.

  Devius staggered backward, the flights of a war arrow protruding below his right collarbone.

  Ducking back into the narrow entranceway, Reecah noted at least two archers on a ridge, fronting the base of the tower.

  “The wizard’s down!” A husky voice announced from outside.

  Reecah put her sword on the ground and pulled her bow free. An arrow appeared in her hand as if by magic; the movement so natural, she didn’t have to think about it.

  Rising to her feet, nocking the arrow as she did, she pulled back on the string, stepped into the open doorway long enough to sight one of the archers and let fly. Before the arrow had taken the man in the cheek, she slipped behind the opposite doorjamb—narrowly avoiding two arrows that deflected off the interior wall and ricocheted against the steps.

  On her way across the gap, she identified at least half a dozen men running toward them as well as two more archers. The blurred form of Fleabag streaking up the hillside toward the line of archers made her smile and wince at the same time. The cat couldn’t slay them all before the guards cut her down and converged on the tower.

  She turned to Devius, wincing at the end of the arrow clutched in a blood-covered hand. “Close the door!”

  The wizard lay on the stone floor, his teeth clenched in pain. “We can’t stay here.”

  Reecah barely heard his clipped words. “You’re hurt. We can’t leave yet. What’s the word?”

  Devius grunted something indecipherable.

  Another arrow notched, she dropped to a knee and leaned out. The guards bearing down on them were only steps away. Her arrow pierced the closest man’s stomach. The arrow passed straight through and took the man behind him in the ribs.

  The remaining guards stumbled over their falling brethren.

  Reecah ducked back. An arrow bounced off the edge of the doorway she had vacated and rattled around the confined space.

  Her mind spun with different spell words, desperately searching for the word she should know. Devius had taught her so much in such a short time. She tried to make sense of what he had grunted. It obviously had something to do with shutting a door. Seal? Close?

  That was it! Enclose! Now, if she could only recall the word for enclose. What had Devius said?

  His ashen face stared back at her.

  “What’s the word for enclose?”

  A roar from outside reminded her of two slabs of rock grating together. A cold wave of fear washed over her. Anvil!

  She placed her back against the wall and slid to sit on the cold stone, dejected. She couldn’t hope to defeat four swordsmen, an archer and Anvil.

  A second growl, similar to Anvil’s, disturbed the courtyard outside the tower entrance.

  Screams of pain accompanied metal clanging off metal. Someone had joined the fight.

  Afraid to poke her head around the doorway lest she have it chopped off or skewered, she stared at Devius. Why was the old man smiling?

  Chainmail chinked directly overhead. Her blood ran cold.

  “Well I’ll be a horned owl. What’re ye doing hangin’ around an old dodderer like him?”

  Reecah craned her neck, gazing past a large stomach and a set of powerful arms leaning on the doorjamb, and stared into the eyes of a man she never expected to see again—one eye brown, the other green—framed by an open-faced, flat-topped helm plumed down its middle with what looked like a thin strip of black fur.

  She jumped to her feet, her voice high-pitched with disbelief, “Aramyss? What are you doing here?”

  “Saving me brother from certain harm.”

  Reecah hugged him, her troubled mind reeling. “You mean…?”

  “Aye, lass.” He winked, his blood-splattered, pudgy face sporting bruises that appeared to predate this attack. “His bark be worse ‘n his bite, of that I assure ye.”

  A loud slap announced the arrival of Anvis Chizel, his heavy hand impelling Aramyss into the tower entrance. “I’ll be bitin’ hard if ya don’t be watchin’ yer mouth, runt.”

  Aramyss staggered to the steps beside Devius, a great laugh echoing up the stairwell. Clad in chainmail, with pieces of plate at his shoulders and elbows, his gaze fell on Devius. “Whatcha ya doing lyin’ there?”

  “What do you think I’m doing, you bow-legged ingrate? Having a nap?” Devius grunted through gritted teeth.

  “Always the ungrateful one, eh wizard?” Aramyss squatted at Devius’ side to inspect the arrow. He shook his head.

  Fleabag pushed her way past Anvil and bumped Aramyss to his backside. She nudged Devius with her head and licked his face.

  “Still hangin’ around this useless spellcaster, eh Fleabag?” Aramyss patted the lioness like they were old friends.

  Anvil held a meaty hand out, assisting Reecah to her feet. “That was a nice shot you made.”

  She dusted herself off and looked outside, expecting to see guards surrounding the doorway. She gaped at the gory scene of broken bodies strewn from the entrance to the outer wall, her gaze settling on the archer with an arrow protruding from his cheek.

  A man near the doorway groaned, bleeding profusely from a nasty axe wound. He reached out a blood-covered hand, begging for help.

  Anvil hefted his axe and split the man’s chest, silencing him. Pulling his axe free, he hocked and spat on the man’s corpse. “Worthless lackey. Trained that one meself.”

  “I don’t understand.” Reecah walked into the yard, taking stock of ten dead guards in king’s livery.

  Anvil ignored her and entered the tower to stand over Devius.

  Aramyss scrambled to allow him access to Devius and joined Reecah outside. He searched the grounds and the outer wall. “Walk with me lass. I’ll explain it to ye.”

  Reecah lingered by the doorway, afraid to leave Devius alone with Anvil.

  “Don’t ya be frettin’ o’er mister magic britches. He’s in good hands. Anvis is better than most healers.” He flashed a crooked-toothed smile. “Surely he’s tended to yer training mates afore?”

  She had to admit Anvil had proven himself knowledgeable whenever anyone suffered a serious injury during their rough training sessions.

/>   Aramyss pulled the pieces of a long-stemmed pipe from a leather satchel hanging from his belt and put them together. He gave her a sideways look, making sure to keep the pipe away from her as he stuffed the bowl and sparked its contents with a cleverly crafted flintstone.

  Had she not been so overwhelmed, she would have smiled remembering their first encounter. “I still owe you a pipe.”

  “Och lass. Ye can’t be replacing me ma’am’s heirloom.”

  Though fairly certain he was joking, she couldn’t be sure.

  He winked and waddled toward the gaping outer gate. “Come on. Ye and I need to make sure we ain’t got company.”

  “Take the damned cat with ye!” Anvil’s muted voice bellowed from inside the tower.

  Aramyss removed the pipe from his thick lips and whistled. “Come on, Fleabag. Walk with uncle Aram.”

  “Uncle?”

  “Hah!” Aramyss spat as he slapped his leather leggings and stared at the entranceway. “Come on, kitty.”

  Fleabag bounded from the tower, running headlong for the dwarf.

  Aramyss held out his palms. “Whoa. Whoa! Whoa girl!” He caught her in his embrace, her momentum knocking him backward, but he kept his feet as the cat licked at his scruffy cheeks bulging from the edges of his helm.

  “Alright, alright, alright.” Aramyss separated himself and started toward the yawning gateway.

  Reecah kept pace, careful not to tread on Fleabag sauntering between them.

  “I don’t understand any of this. Anvil is the king’s weapon master.” Her eyes strayed to the dead archers as they passed them. “And you’re the royal blacksmith.”

  “Tis a long story, I’m afraid. One we ain’t got time for at the moment. Perhaps if we live long enough to get away from here, I’ll explain it to ye.”

  “But—”

  Aramyss held up a silencing hand and waited until they reached the shadows of the thick, tunnel gate. Taking care not to expose himself to anyone who might be waiting outside, he spent a long time studying the steep roadway spiralling to the dock at the bottom of the hill. He lifted his head to gaze at Headwater Castle on the far side of the estuary. Withdrawing into the tunnel, he flashed her a smile. “Okay, GG.”