The Hero of Legend

by Demethius Jackson

  The sunrise drenched his face as Damian stepped onto an elevated platform overlooking his men. Behind him, the dark horizon gave way to a new day. The heavens shined a spotlight upon his body. His metallic armor sparkled. Although modest in appearance, such a suit of metal sent a statement of stature and authority, as only people of wealth could afford its like.

  Standing before an ocean of faces, Damian felt exhilarated. The ranks of his men stretched across the darkened landscape. They had concluded morning chow, packed up camp, and now awaited his word. Birds fluttering in the autumn-colored trees serenaded the first rays of dawn. Damian enjoyed the crisp air. Mornings in Amden usually began with a chill, but the combined body temperatures of a Legion seemed to single-handedly raise the surrounding climate. A sense of pride overwhelmed his soul. This was his accomplishment. He had assembled a Legion of loyal followers who would fight to end Realmsic tyranny; who would fight for him. Upon their chosen field of battle, he and his men breathed as one and existed totally in one accord. Briefly, he thought of his mother, taken from him too soon. He then thought of his father, the man he never knew but competed against most of his life, and would soon surpass.

  “Behold greatness!” Damian said to General Thane, who stood beside him on the platform.

  With other officers also at his side, the Warlord drew in the morning air. His men, who’d been waiting for hours in anticipation, listened as if their souls would be fed by his words.

  “The King has wronged us.” Damian began. “I repeat,” he proclaimed with more force, “the King has wronged us!” A roar of approval rose from the field.

  “For centuries, his kingdom has subjected the non-magical Western Nations, and Laymen throughout the Realm to lives of misery and despair. Repeatedly, they have claimed their laws prevent the misuse of magic against us. They’ve even claimed that their magical technology is only for practical purposes. But Realmsic history is filled with examples contrary to their claims.

  “Because we choose a life separate from magic, separate from them, we are considered villains! Therefore, we fight to defend ourselves from their magic. Their very existence threatens our non-magical way of life. But today, you and I have become a force powerful enough to liberate Laymen everywhere. When we first began our conquest, many within our own non-magical nations doubted us. For that, they were given a full demonstration of our might! The militaries of the disbelievers now swell our ranks. And our fellow Laymen, who chose to live within the kingdom and who would raise their arms against us, will find their arms severed by our blades and hung against the merchant stands of the capital’s avenues. We are now a Legion without fear! And we will march shoulder to shoulder into Centre Pointe. We will capture the source of their magic … and we will destroy it. The Realmsic Kingdom will fall. And all who support us will be safe from magic once and for all!”

  With pride, Damian consumed the screams and cheers of his soldiers. The ground vibrated with their voices, which echoed into the heavens.

  The Legionaries brandished their weapons high above their heads and chanted war cries like frenzied mantras. Above the commotion, Damian ordered, “Officers … the time has come. Take command of your ranks!”

  The officers bellowed orders into the crowd, and the assembled mass instantly fell silent. Such a display of discipline made Damian smile.

  “Forward march!” commanded General Thane from the platform.

  “To victory!” Damian shouted to his men as they stomped into the rising sun.

  Chapter Five

  Leoden’s hands were calloused from the hard living he’d endured during his young existence. Surviving in the wilderness of the northeastern Realm was a daily reminder of the fragility of life. Who needed an endless war when the brutal elements of nature could just as easily kill you? The changing season would soon bring with it an all-too-familiar cold that stung his limbs. Walking purposefully, he ventured into the forest outside his village to collect firewood for the approaching winter.

  It was a few hours walk to his favorite spot in the woods. Although much farther than he’d like to have traveled on this day, it always proved reliable for quality wood. On his back, he carried a satchel that contained food and an extra change of clothes. Holstered on his hip sat a wood axe. Behind him, he dragged the heavy sled that would carry the wood back to Cyperus Village. Leoden never carried a sled this large but he hoped to gather enough wood to burn through the entire cold season.

  An overcast sky darkened the forest more than usual. Leoden smelled rain in the air. He strode without fear amidst the gloom of the desolate surroundings. He was one of the Cyperus Clan, nomadic warriors who prided themselves on the ability to thrive in any environment. Walking though the forest reminded Leoden of when he was a young boy. He learned the ways of the warrior from his elders within these very same towering canopies. Day after day, he practiced with them, enhancing his survival and combat skills.

  After hours of travel, Leoden halted. His awareness tingled with the familiarity of his surroundings. Finally, this is the spot!

  Relieved, he released the shoulder strap of his satchel and dumped it to the ground. Approaching a medium-sized birch tree, he pressed his hands against the ruggedness of its bark. From their outward appearance, the trees in this location seemed no different than the others throughout the forest. But inside, the wood was rich with sap, which would cause it to burn slowly in his campfire. He removed his axe from its holster. Gripping it tightly, he swung it into the tree.

  Although he favored no particular battle weapon, Leoden became quite fond of the simple wood axe. Its weight felt good in his hands. When striking trees with its iron blade, he loved the chomping sound, and the way the wooden handle vibrated his palms. By his current age of sixteen, he’d developed the swing of a master woodsman.

  Each whack against the birch tree echoed through the forest. The blade drove deeper into the trunk with each strike, but he was startled from the rhythm of his work by the flicker of movement in his peripheral vision.

  Lowering his axe, he paused, listening to the sounds of the forest for the slightest trace of anything out of the ordinary. Birds chirped in the distance. Wind rusted the leaves of the towering tree branches. Squirrels scampered through the grass in search for food. Nothing seemed unusual. Leoden laughed. What did he really expect? It wasn’t likely that anyone else would be this far into the wilderness. Leoden hefted the axe and continued chopping. Several hours later, he’d collected enough firewood to pack the sled and return home.

  It wasn’t so much the chopping of wood that tired him out, but more so the long trek back to his village. His muscles were sore and his feet hurt severely. By the time he arrived back to his village that afternoon, he longed for a good night’s rest, but was doubtful he’d get one. Lately, he hadn’t been sleeping well for reasons he couldn’t explain. His mind wandered as he lugged the heavy sled towards his hut. Ever since that weird incident in the forest, he’d felt uneasy about something. He focused upon the distant western mountains that sat ominously under the gray clouds. Out of nowhere, an elderly man startled Leoden with a brisk pat upon his sore back.

  “Leoden, you look troubled,” the Elder said. “Is something wrong?”

  Leoden peered deep into the western sky. Something about it surely bothered him.

  “I feel a storm—or something—is coming,” he replied.

  • • • • •

  Damian’s Legion had successfully pushed through most of the Western Nations by late afternoon. The Realmsic border was in their sights. With each step closer, Damian breathed with excitement. Although a full day away from Centre Pointe, he felt minute traces of the Realm’s magical energy teasing the edge of his senses.

  By the thousands, the Legionarie ranks marched behind Damian, who led them upon the back of a fully-grown silver panther. The snarling beast was twice as large and savage as his most brawny Legionaries. Damian petted the side of the panther’s silky head. Years ago, he found the abandoned cu
b in the woods and nurtured it. Now the animal was obedient only to Damian, and was yet another symbol of his dominance.

  General Thane accompanied Damian on horseback.

  Damian turned in his saddle to survey the unending uniform line, stretching back across the landscape’s patchwork of crops, fallow fields, and forested groves. This part of the region was once loosely populated, but now it was abandoned. The few who lived off the western frontier had already fled the Warlord’s approach.

  Damian quizzically watched Thane maneuver off the path and peer into the distance. “Is there a problem, General?” he called out.

  “My Lord,” Thane shouted across the path, pointing beyond the troops. “Our men move swiftly. But the Sacred Forest lies at the Realmsic border up ahead. Its depth obstructs our path.”

  “And?” the Warlord replied, crossing over the path to Thane.

  “To push through the forest will significantly slow our progress. Yet, to circumnavigate it may also delay us several days.”

  “Then burn the forest.”

  Thane’s head jolted upwards as if shocked by Damian’s words. “My Lord?” he asked, reining in his horse. Damian also slowed to a stop and glowered into the distance as though he would burn the forest with a look. “If we cannot go through the forest, and if we cannot go around it, General, then burn it down.”

  Thane stared at Damian. Anxiety tightened his voice. “It’s the Sacred Forest, sire. The animals within it have been cherished and protected for a thousand years. It’s the only place that remains untouched by war.”

  “Remained.” Damian corrected, without any trace of regret.

  Focusing on the small traces of magic already within his body, his eyes began to glow. He shot a massive fireball from his hand. It sailed from their short distance and hit the forest with a devastating impact. The trees of the Sacred Forest instantly caught fire. Yards away, he could see the animals scurrying from the flames. His eyes squinted from the distant firelight, yet his gaze flared with the same intensity.

  “If you ever hesitate to execute my orders again, General…” Damian pointed a finger at Thane. “Keep our Legion moving. At whatever cost!”

  • • • • •

  A nearby explosion startled Corporal Rikker’s horse. He pulled on his reins to regain control of it while scanning the area surrounding them. “Jeren, what was that?” he asked his comrade. The two Realmsic soldiers had been patrolling the western border for most of the day.

  Private Jeren spun his horse around and immediately gasped. “It came from there!” he pointed. A plume of smoke rose above the Sacred Forest.

  “Dammit! Just when I thought we’d actually have an easy patrol. Come on!” Rikker commanded. At top speed, the two galloped towards the border, which was less than a mile from their location.

  “Whooooaaaa, girl,” Rikker halted when the Sacred Forest came into full view, followed by Jeren. Rikker saw the flames engulfing the trees.

  “What the—” Rikker exclaimed. His heart pounded heavily and his adrenaline pumped stronger than if he had been in battle.

  Suddenly, a small rank of foot soldiers emerged from the burning forest.

  Rikker immediately recognized their spear-shaped helmets and midnight-black body armor. “Legionaries!” he shouted.

  Hacking away through the outer ridge of the forest, they chopped at burnt branches and debris, as if clearing a path for a much larger force.

  “Jeren!” Rikker yelled. “Get out of here! Send word to Centre Pointe immediately!”

  Chapter Six

  The council meeting had officially ended hours ago after Commander Khroy’s departure from the Great Hall. Yet, Maebus remained in court with Grand Wizard Kelm to further discuss the council’s reaction to their strategy.

  “There’s no turning back now,” Maebus expelled, slouching as far as his stiff throne seat would allow him.

  Kelm leaned forward upon the council table, interlocking his fingers, and concentrating upon Maebus. “Not as bad as your first official council meeting could have been.”

  Maebus shook his head. “Let’s be honest, Kelm. Regardless of what we’ve planned, our military is ill-equipped to deal with a force the size of Damian’s. We are literally forced into a position of mitigating our losses.”

  Maebus suddenly felt a hollow achiness behind his right eye. He knew immediately it came from hunger and stress. Earlier, Kelm tried to convince him to eat some of vegetable soup brought in by the kitchen staff. But he had no appetite. He was too preoccupied with mentally replaying the events of the council meeting.

  “Are you not satisfied with our strategy?” Kelm asked.

  Maebus sighed. “As you’ve said before, Kelm, it’s the only one we have. What I find unsettling is that it’s the first time in Realmsic history anything like this has ever been done.”

  “Exactly!” Kelm interjected. “How would the enemy anticipate something he’s never seen? Though, to speak objectively, a plan such as this, with so many moving parts, provides more opportunities for things to go wrong. Yet, with so many people not aware of what the others are doing, it also prevents anyone from seeing the full picture.”

  “Prevents them from interfering,” Maebus added. “At times, it’s necessary to protect yourself not only from your enemies, but also from your allies. I fear Damian’s wrath would not compare to that of the council’s if they truly knew what we were doing. By the time they realize it, there will be no way to stop it.”

  The Grand Wizard laughed. “History may not look kindly upon you, brother.”

  “I’m not concerned with how history remembers me. I’m concerned only with saving the Realm,” Maebus replied.

  Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by a frantic rapping upon the chamber doors. Maebus and Kelm rose to their feet.

  Maebus listened to the muffled voice emanating from behind the doors. “That sounds like Khroy,” he said, taking an extra moment to confirm. “Kelm, quickly, let him in!”

  Kelm obliged, swinging them open with a wave of his hand. Commander Khroy bounded toward the council table as if his feet couldn’t carry him fast enough. His eyes reflected a worry that Khroy rarely displayed.

  “King, Advisor,” he began as he approached. “The Legion is upon us.”

  Kelm jerked backwards as if hit by an invisible force. “Already?”

  “Aye, Advisor. I’ve just received word from a western border patrolman via carrier-hawk. At the Legion’s current speed, our man estimates them to be less than a day’s march from the kingdom. They have crossed from the Western Nations and have trespassed into our lands. Also…” Khroy paused, passing his large hand over his chin, grizzled with whiskers. A pang of heartache tightened his features. “They have incinerated the Sacred Forest in their wake.”

  “What!” Maebus gasped, tightly wrapping his arms across his own chest. His gaze shifted to Kelm who was supporting his full weight against the council table. Kelm’s eyes became moist. “I … I can’t believe it! Through all the wars, all the destruction, all the misery, the Sacred Forest has remained untouched. Now…” he released a great sigh. “Now that seed of hope is gone, forever. How could he—”

  Maebus pounded his fist upon the table, outraged.

  “Must all the world be scorched earth?” he shouted.

  Khroy remained silent.

  “I don’t understand Damian’s senseless act,” Maebus’ voice shook with rage.

  Turning to face the council table, Kelm waved his hands over its surface until it vibrated. The smooth stone tabletop staggered jaggedly up and down as objects began rising towards the ceiling. From its surface, the mountain ranges of the northern and southern lands appeared, followed by forests, rivers and lakes. A topographic map of the entire Realm took shape in the middle of the table.

  Peering at its crags and valleys, Kelm said, “A day away gives us less time to prepare than we anticipated.”

  “With respect sir, my men are always prepared,” Khroy interje
cted. “As night falls, we will fortify the castle.”

  Khroy pointed to the map. “Come morning’s light, we will have two defensive perimeters established: One around our castle’s exterior guard wall, and the other further out just beyond the boundary of Centre Pointe. At the first sight of the Warlord, we will be ready to engage.”

  “I have no doubt of that,” Maebus said. Despite the confidence of his tone, he was anxious. An attack was no longer just a discussion. With Damian nipping at their heels, invasion was now real, tangible, and inevitable.

  Maebus pulled his spine even straighter as the necessity of his task filled him with determination. “Go, Commander. Update the Joint Officer Corps. Give them the ambassadorial assignments we spoke of earlier and then have their men rally for battle. By now, the council members will have received their individual instructions and will know that they are to gather here in the Great Hall by morning.”

  With a salute, Khroy pivoted and sprinted towards the chamber exit.

  “Commander!” Maebus shouted. Khroy halted in his tracks.

  “Inform the brothers,” he ordered. “Their time has come.”

  • • • • •

  Within the residence hall of the castle, a small child skillfully opened his room door so that it wouldn’t make a sound. He then peeked his head into the hallway.

  “Come on, it’s all clear.” Hom said to his brother.

  “Hom! I told you to wait for me.” Heegan exclaimed. He yanked Hom by the collar and pulled him back into their room. Kneeling down to be at eye level, Heegan gave his brother a scolding look. “I’m the oldest, so I’m in charge. Do you understand me?”

  “Sure,” Hom replied, a smile stretching across his chubby face.