The Hero of Legend

by Demethius Jackson

  Fable wrenched her shoulders back and forth and broke free of her captors.

  “What are you doing!?!” she shouted hysterically, her voice shaking. Her thin frame fought against the magical brace that held her, but her arms could not move, and it only brought her more pain as the embrace tightened.

  “The knowledge contained within these books would make one even more powerful than the Warlord himself. I cannot allow that,” Thane said to her.

  Grabbing a candle off the surface of a nearby table, Thane dropped it on the floor. The books at his feet instantly ignited. The flames slowly crawled in every direction, increasing in intensity. The orange firelight flickered in the stunned faces of his captives.

  “Noooooo!!” Fable cried, tears streaming down her face while she watched her home and all of its history catching ablaze. Dark smoke began filling the room, carrying with it the overpowering smell of burnt wood and paper.

  Thane inhaled as deeply as he could, taking in the aroma of victory. All the while. flames continued to incinerate the toppled books and shelves, the hanging maps, the ancient relics and artifacts. Their ashes blew through the air, lightly covering the objects within the interior like fallen snow.

  “Lets go before we all burn,” Thane said to his men. “Take them outside. The prison carriage should be arriving shortly.”

  The Legionaries quickly unsheathed their weapons and forced the prisoners toward the exit.

  “You ignorant heathen,” Maebus said furiously, fighting against his captor.

  “Stop!” Thane commanded. Sweat beaded his forehead from the intense flames flickering behind him. His massive hand cupped the back of Maebus’ neck, pulling his face closer to his own. “You caused this to happen by not surrendering your kingdom,” he said to the King.

  Maebus’ eyes grew wide with rage as Thane released his grip.

  As his captives were forced upstairs, Thane followed closely behind. He reached into a pouch hanging at his waist and retrieved his mobile device.

  “My Lord,” he called into it while walking up the stairs of the temple. It took but a moment for Damian’s face to appear.

  “General?” he asked.

  “I have the Realmsic Crystal!” he said as he held it towards the mirror to show Damian.

  Damian eyes expressed the joy his face wouldn’t allow. “And the Realmsic King and Advisor?” Damian asked.

  “They are my prisoners of war,” Thane replied.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Leoden jerked awake. He sat up, fully alert as if anticipating an ambush, but soon realized he’d been having another nightmare. Although he couldn’t remember the dream, the fear it induced lingered in his mind. He felt uneasy, but the night air was cold as usual, and his low burning campfire produced its familiar warmth. It felt like just another comfortable night back in his village. Instead, he was completely lost somewhere in the middle of the Realm. For days, he’d been riding aimlessly, with no particular destination in mind. He simply headed south for as far as his horse would carry him.

  Lying flat upon the ground, Leoden tried to clear his mind of all the clutter. Gazing up at the stars, he felt conflicted. Impulsively leaving his village truly seemed like the right thing to do. But he possessed no real reason for why he was doing this. Where am I going?

  A nagging feeling tugged at his brain, but he pushed it deeper inside his mind. Leoden was not known for acting impulsively and, although his current situation seemed discouraging, not once did he feel the desire to go back home.

  He tried to remember the details of his latest dream. It took a few moments for the vague images to return—a string of pictures forming random scenes. Leoden couldn’t piece the images into a story. It frustrated him.

  Rubbing his hands together to warm them, he experienced a flash of uncontrollable rage. The anger came out nowhere. He felt as if his body was being bound by a brace, but there was nothing restricting his arms. His blood boiled as he lashed out, fighting against the invisible force, but his arms would no longer move. He struggled against the feeling of bondage. His heart pounded. He needed to break free. But soon, his anger transformed into helplessness. He was filled with a depth of despair that brought tears to his eyes. Leoden felt as if a very important item was taken from his possession, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  But I’m not carrying any valuables.

  This isn’t making sense.

  Why am I feeling this way?

  Suddenly, as abruptly as the hallucination began, he snapped out of it and came back to his senses. He quickly reached for his canteen, and took several huge gulps of water, which were followed by several deep breaths of air. After a moment, a sense of calm returned to his body.

  “What was that about?” he asked himself out loud, still panting.

  More importantly, why were all of these changes happening to him? Not long ago, his only concerns were tending his daily chores around the village. But now, his emotions were in a turmoil and he felt as if he couldn’t function normally. Frustration fed on his anxiety. For all of these feelings were producing even more questions and, unfortunately the answers were slow to come, if they were to come at all.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The castle’s food galley, once a drab dining hall for the Realmsic Council and staff, now served as the Legionaries’ mess hall. Rectangular tables that could accommodate 50 hungry soldiers each lined the room. But with staggered patrol shifts and unpredictable work routines, the galley rarely stayed filled. Seku grabbed his food from the chow line and sat by himself on the far end of the galley.

  Poking at his food with a fork, he tried to identify the contents. The vegetables were grown from the castle’s garden and were always good. Meat, however, was a different story due to the shortage of cattle. It had become customary to season all meats the same, regardless of their source. Identification of the meat was relatively impossible. As he moved the food around on the plate, a Legionarie carrying a tray sat across the table, a few seats opposite Seku. Neither man acknowledged the other, which Seku was fine with. Unless soldiers were friends, they never spoke or sat directly across from one another.

  The young soldier seemed to be equally puzzled by the ingredients in his meal. A large gaping laceration stretched from the man’s right eye to the bottom of his jaw line. Although no longer bleeding, it looked fairly new and painful.

  Seku couldn’t resist. “Does that hurt?” he asked the soldier.

  “Not anymore,” the Legionarie replied, seeming to know exactly what Seku was asking about.

  “That’s quite a battle scar,” Seku said matter-of-factly as the man chewed. It was hard not imagining how painful an injury it must have been. The punctured skin was irritatingly red and swollen near the stitches.

  “It ain’t from battle,” the man responded with a full mouth, neither looking at Seku nor speaking directly to him. Seku could tell he was agitating his comrade.

  “My apologies, young soldier. I meant no offense. Must have been a terrible accident.”

  The soldier slammed his fist on the table. “It ain’t from no accident either,” he growled, this time looking directly at Seku. The man’s face was bright red with anger.

  The Legionarie pointed to his cut. “This is what happens when you ask questions ‘round here.”

  For an instance, Seku couldn’t speak. The man’s torment was obvious by the pain in his voice and the suffering that lined his face.

  “What type of questions would result in such cruelty?” he asked.

  The man looked around before speaking again. Leaning over the table toward Seku, he whispered, “Questions like the ones you’re askin’!” The Legionarie lowered his head and returned to eating his mystery meat.

  But Seku’s inquisitive nature had been piqued. He wanted answers. Clearly, he would be getting none from his comrade unless he pressed him ever so slightly.

  “Ha, ha, ha, you had me going for a moment,” Seku grinned, folding his arms around h
is chest as if suppressing an even greater laugh.

  The soldier looked up, his eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Well, surely you’re joking with me, and that’s just a battle scar. It’s so obviously a battle scar that you felt the need to poke fun at an old soldier for not minding his own business. I don’t believe that there’s a question that could result in such brutality.”

  The Legionarie slammed his eating utensils on his tray, spraying some of his food across the table. “Don’t toy with me, old man!” he scoffed. “If you so eager to know what happened, then you try askin’ questions about the Warlord and see if you don’t end up just like me, or worse!”

  The young soldier stared unflinchingly into Seku’s eyes. Behind their anger, he could sense a hint of sadness. Seku glanced over his shoulder at the other inhabitants of the room. They were engaged in their own doings, paying neither of them any mind.

  Seku leaned in closer. “I need not ask … because I’ve already heard of such things. I just hadn’t believed them to be true.”

  The soldier’s brown eyes softened, just a bit. “Believe ‘em,” he said. “There’s a natural order to things ‘round here, such as doin’ what you’re told...”

  “Despite what you see,” Seku concluded.

  The soldier nodded in agreement.

  As Seku rose to his feet, the soldier watched apprehensively while Seku moved to the seat directly across from him.

  “Friend,” Seku whispered. “It appears that disregarding what you see would be a much healthier option. But how do you just ignore the things that don’t make sense?” Seku decided to take a chance pushing the topic further. “For example, we fight to end magic, yet we use it to our own advantage—perhaps have even become dependent upon it.”

  The Legionarie’s eyes became as wide as Realmsic tokens.

  “Makes it awfully difficult to abolish that which you’ve come to need,” Seku finished.

  Perhaps it was the comforting presence of an older comrade that stirred the young soldier’s feelings. He took a deep breath. “Difficult indeed … friend.” The soldier paused briefly. “Hey, I didn’t mean to snap at you earlier.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Seku said as he went back to eating his meal. However, the young soldier could not. “Some weeks ago,” he began, “in the city of Amden, my friends disappeared.” The Legionarie’s words betrayed his emotions.

  Amden. The Legion had blown through a number of places, but Seku specifically remembered that city.

  The soldier continued. “During one of our routine encampments, the three of us were excited about the upcomin’ battle against the kingdom. While we were talkin’, somebody asked about magic. My friend Cail asked me and my other buddy Tam how we felt ‘bout what was goin’ on.”

  “What do you mean?” Seku asked.

  “Like what you just said, why was magic bein’ used despite us tryin’ to get rid of it. Well, someone must have overheard our conversation and ratted us out, ‘cause the next day at roll call, Cail was gone. Later that day, I couldn’t find Tam either. When I got back to my tent, two big guys from the Warlord’s personal guard were waitin’ for me.”

  Seku’s heart beat heavily as his comrade spoke, for he suddenly remembered the names Cail and Tam.

  “They asked if my name was Reeze. I said yeah, what of it? Next thing I know, I was on the ground of my own tent, and General Thane was relievin’ me of a rather large piece of my face.”

  “Noooo,” Seku exclaimed. He flinched backward in his chair.

  “Don’t you see the side of my face? I thought for sure I was dead. But he told me that three soldiers were too many to lose right before a great battle. Needless to say, I got the point … literally. And from one soldier to another, it’s a message you too should listen to.”

  A feeling of dread overwhelmed Seku, yet the warning had nothing to do with it. He remembered that night at the encampment and the three soldiers huddled around their small campfire. The weather had been unusually cold as the three talked about things they should not have been talking about.

  In the shadows, he’d listened to their entire conversation. As his duty demanded, Seku immediately reported it to the Warlord Damian. He was a spy, tasked with gathering intelligence on his comrades under the guise of maintaining order. But now he sat face-to-face with the hideous reality of his actions.

  Soldiers boasted and, in hindsight, those men did nothing that should have cost them so dearly. Seku was no stranger to taking life. But not when it was unwarranted. Had he always been so blind? Seku patted his comrade gently on the forearm, where it rested on the table.

  “Thank you, friend, for warning an old soldier,” Seku said. “At my age, having one less thing to worry about is like gaining one more day above ground.”

  Seku pushed his chair back and stood.

  “Hey,” the young soldier peered up at Seku. “I told you my name was Reeze. What’s yours?”

  “Oh, sorry,” he said, holding out a hand. “I’m Seku.”

  They shook hands. “Good talkin’ to you. You gonna eat that?” He pointed to Seku’s mystery meat.

  Seku chuckled. “Have at it,” he said, plopping it upon his comrade’s tray.

  Chapter Forty

  Overwhelming agony gripped Maebus’ heart as the Realmsic Castle came into view. Seeing it for the first time in weeks, he felt like an outsider looking in. Though he kept his expression stoic, his soul wept. It wept for his kingdom, for his people, for his failure to protect them. His return to Centre Pointe was that of a defeated, broken man. Despite his best efforts, his own kingdom remained in the hands of a monster who would soon have the most powerful entity in all creation. And there was nothing Maebus could do about it.

  He rode inside a prison carriage that rattled north. The wood plank floor creaked incessantly, vibrating from ruts in the dirt road. The carriage’s interior was dark, save for the thin rays of light shining through the cracks of the slatted sides. The openings were just large enough to see the outside world passing by in a hurried blur, yet not large enough to release the stench of sweat and mildew emanating from within.

  Looking outward as far as the cracks would allow, Maebus was devastated at the condition of the kingdom. Damian had allowed his Legion to pillage and decimate the land. Yet, no onlookers could be seen. It appeared as if precautions were made to sneak them into Centre Pointe undetected. Maebus figured the last thing Damian needed was a civil uprising inspired by their captured King.

  Maebus looked away. He sat chained to the floor and leaned the back of his head against the carriage. The rumbling of the carriage wheels against the dirt road jerked him from side to side, thumping his head as violently as the guilt within his body. Normandy, Fable, and Kelm sat chained by his side—the braces preventing any use of magic.

  He had quite likely led them to their doom. Fable’s home and all its precious possessions had been senselessly destroyed. The historic significance of what was lost could never be replaced. Maebus sank deeper into abasement, wishing he’d been killed rather than having to live with the humiliation of his failure.

  • • • • •

  Kelm sat across the carriage from Maebus, observing him peering desperately through the cracks of its slatted sides. Kelm could tell his friend was emotionally depleted. Yet he was dealing with his own internal crisis. But as usual, his own needs would have to wait. He couldn’t allow Maebus to lose hope. If that were to happen, then the Realm truly was defeated.

  Kelm cleared his throat before speaking. He couldn’t afford it cracking or sounding weak. Not right now. Not at this critical moment.

  “All is not lost,” he said sternly.

  No one responded.

  “I’m serious!” he exclaimed. “This is not over! And…”

  “It is, Kelm,” Maebus interrupted.

  Kelm tried to establish eye contact with Maebus through the dark interior. “Look, I know this seems bad,” he paused for a moment, “an
d, in fact, it is. But we have to stay strong. We have to maintain hope. If we lose that, then Damian truly does win. Despite our setbacks, I believe that all we’ve done so far will ultimately help us to prevail.”

  Kelm could see Maebus’ eyes soften for just an instant. Then they hardened. “You’re a fool, Wizard.” His words stung Kelm. “I, too, am a fool. Everything we’ve done has been wasted effort. It was ignorance that gave us hope, and it’s your arrogance that maintains it. I now see reality for what it is, and I believe that Damian has won. It’s all over, Kelm. It’s all utterly over.”

  Kelm’s blood boiled. Never had his friend spoken to him in such a way. The atmosphere in the cramped carriage became suffocating with tension and misery. But it wasn’t Maebus’ temperament that angered Kelm. It was Maebus’ self-pity. Anger percolated in Kelm’s stomach, bursting into his heart and burning his throat. He wanted to yell, You think you’re the only one who hurts? I have nothing! We all have nothing! Yet, you have the nerve to call me arrogant.

  But Kelm didn’t say any of this. It wasn’t in his nature. Even in the direst circumstances, he was conditioned to remain resolute and calm. Therefore, he stayed silent.

  Except for the din of the wheels on the road, the carriage was quiet. Each man seemed lost in his own feelings. When the carriage jerked to an abrupt stop, the prisoners jolted against their chains. A commotion outside the carriage drew their attention. Horses whinnied, chains rattled, and men spoke in muffled voices, punctuated by laughter. Normandy scowled when the sound of footsteps approached the back of the carriage. The doors swung open, and the harsh light of the outside world invaded their darkened space, blinding them all.

  Kelm shielded his eyes from the light. As his vision cleared, blurred objects became full images. The carriage stood outside the main gates of the Realmsic Castle. Solid and uninviting, the entrance loomed above them, oddly familiar and yet strangely foreign. He knew Maebus’ soul was probably filled with dread.