The Hero of Legend

by Demethius Jackson

  Maebus seemed to contemplate Leoden’s words. He dropped his arms from their crossed position. “You’ve already freed us from certain death at the hands of the Warlord Damian. What more do you think you could possibly do for us?” he asked.

  Leoden gripped the handle of the wood axe attached to his belt. “Whatever I can,” he replied.

  There seemed to be nothing more King Maebus could say in rebuttal. As he’d previously stated to the group, they had no other strategies. Yet, Leoden thought that perhaps with him they did—even if it was simply providing the will to continue fighting.

  “Very well,” Maebus said, with a heavy sigh.

  “Excellent!” Fable exclaimed.

  “What do we do now?” Normandy asked, as Leoden put on his semi-dried shirt.

  Maebus’ expression hardened. “It’s nearly mid morning. We should stay here for the day, perhaps even the night, eat and rest up. Tomorrow, we’ll continue with our original plan and reconnect with the Realmsic Council in the Southern Lands. We’ll also reunite our forces and launch a final attack against the Warlord Damian. This will be our last stand. Either we reclaim our kingdom, or we die.”

  The others nodded in agreement.

  “Leoden, let’s hunt for some breakfast,” Normandy proposed, patting him on his back.

  “Ok,” Leoden agreed.

  • • • • •

  Maebus watched as Normandy and Leoden trailed off together to prepare for their breakfast hunt. Maebus’ heart felt heavy. He whispered softly to himself, wondering if he’d made a good decision, or was once again leading his men to death.

  He walked to the edge of the riverbank, where the waters lapped gently at his feet and took a bit of the sediment with it as it receded. He crunched his toes within his boots, trying to relieve stress. As a small breeze hit his face, he thought back to the mountain lake he and Kelm visited in the Northern Lands, yet peace could not be found within that image. His mind then drifted to the isolated splendor that was Cyperus Village. But that image also did not relieve his anxiety.

  His focus was suddenly broken by the sound of someone approaching from behind him.

  “Maebus,” Kelm said stepping towards him. The bottoms of his robes were damp and dirty from being dragged on the sand.

  “Yes, Kelm,” Maebus replied. But Kelm did not speak until he was standing side-by-side with him.

  In a quiet, yet strong voice, Kelm began. “I can’t hold this in any longer. I understand that you are frustrated, and that you probably blame this entire situation on yourself. But this situation is not yours alone. It is ours, now all of ours.”

  Maebus continued staring over the water into the distance as Kelm’s word filled his ears. “It is selfish for you to think that you carry this burden by yourself. What you said earlier hurt. Hope is not your enemy. Therefore, I hope that by the time this is over, you have learned a lesson in faith.”

  Without allowing Maebus a chance to respond, Kelm turned around and walked away.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  After a brief rest, Normandy led King Maebus and their group southward upon their horses. It was decided not to spend the night at the Northwest River after Normandy advised that Legionaries may be looking for them, and that it would be safer to travel by night. Having escorted King Maebus and Grand Wizard Kelm this far, he felt it appropriate to continue as their guide.

  Bypassing Centre Pointe completely made the journey through the South Woods quicker. Barely a word was spoken by anyone as they moved swiftly toward the Hellish South Plains. Normandy assumed that recent revelations had left them all with little to say but much to contemplate.

  It was mid-morning by the time they reached Maebus and Kelm’s stone cottage. He was told that they personally designed it to secure the council after the fall of the kingdom. Tying their horses a few yards away, they stayed within the woods and quietly inspected the perimeter. Normandy listened to the wind shimmy the leaves of the high tree branches, and the flapping of birds above their head. Aside from the forest’s natural sounds, all seemed extremely still … perhaps a bit too still.

  Normandy squatted behind a birch bush and signaled for the others to also stay low. Pushing the bush branches out of his line of vision, he analyzed the cottage which sat no more than twenty yards away from them.

  “I’m not quite sure where we are, but it doesn’t seem like anyone is home,” Leoden whispered while crawling forward. He laid on his belly next to Normandy.

  “Looks can be deceiving,” Normandy warned as Kelm, Maebus, and Fable also inched closer to his hiding place.

  “The council has been in hiding here since the invasion. Perhaps they’re avoiding unwanted attention,” Kelm replied in a low voice.

  Normandy didn’t immediately respond. There was something unusual about the cottage. “No, I don’t think so,” he stated upon figuring it out. “Look!”

  The others followed the direction of his pointed index finger. The front door of the stone cottage appeared to be slightly ajar, with a large dent at the center of it.

  “Looks like someone kicked the door in!” Maebus observed.

  “Grab a weapon, and come on” Normandy commanded. “I sense trouble.”

  The entire group rose to their feet. Both Normandy and Fable picked up large sticks from the ground. Leoden unsheathed his wood axe, Maebus his battle sword. Kelm rolled up the sleeves of his robe.

  “I’ll lead,” Normandy said. “Stay close.”

  Crouching low to the ground, he stepped cautiously into the open. He could hear Maebus and the others following behind. Once making it clear to the front door, Normandy pressed his back flat against the cottage wall. The others lined up with him. Tilting his head ever so slightly, he peeked through the narrow opening, hoping to catch a glimpse of anything or anyone.

  “Blast! It’s too dark to see in there,” he said.

  Holding his stick in a striking position, he inched forward and carefully pushed open the door, which was surprisingly heavier than it looked, composed of solid metal. It would have taken a considerable amount of force to leave such a large footprint in the door.

  Normandy slowly poked his head around the doorway, praying not to have it lopped off. Another quick glance revealed the main living area to be empty. Now creaking the door completely open, he stepped into the room, followed by Maebus, Kelm and the others.

  • • • • •

  Maebus entered the cottage after Normandy. “Kelm, can you give us some light?” he asked as he stumbled into the darkened interior. Instantly, he and the others were shielding their vision from the bright flame Kelm produced within his palm.

  “Oh no!” Maebus exclaimed once his eyes adjusted to the light.

  The interior was in complete disarray. Papers littered the floor, and what little furniture existed had been overturned or broken.

  “It looks as if this place has been raided. General Thane must have tracked down the council first,” Maebus assessed.

  “I agree,” Normandy said, handing Kelm a candle to light. “Thane indeed possesses the physical strength to inflict such damage upon the door.”

  “But where’s the council?” Fable asked, turning in a full circle, scanning the room. “Were they captured, too?”

  “No,” Maebus said. “Neither Damian nor Thane mentioned anything about them being held prisoner, nor did we see them in the castle’s dungeon.”

  “Do you think they were killed?” Leoden asked. He stood over the clutter of overturned items like a scarecrow in a field.

  “Despite this mess, there’s no blood or bodies inside or near this cottage.” Normandy said. “At some point, they must have fled.”

  “Maebus! Where’s the box?” Kelm asked. His mouth hung open as he slowly breathed through it.

  “The what?” he replied.

  “The box we gave to the council to take with them! The one that contained the stones!”

  Maebus’ face tightened as he became aware of what Kelm was referrin
g to. “Search for them quickly!”

  He and the Kelm scoured the cottage for the stones.

  Fearing the worst, Maebus rummaged through the clutter, carelessly tossing objects left and right while Kelm rifled through the shelves and corners of the room.

  “Perhaps the council took them?” Leoden asked.

  “Nope! Found the box right here!” Kelm proclaimed.

  Maebus wiped the sweat from his forehead as Kelm reached over and picked up a metal container from the ground. It had been lying upside down on the floor as if someone had discarded it. He and the others gathered around as Kelm opened the box, revealing three large stones. Both he and Maebus breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief.

  Kelm held the stones within his hand for the others to see. All three fit within his palm. Their smooth, shiny black and green surfaces resembled marble.

  “What are they?” Leoden asked, peeking over Kelm’s shoulder.

  “These stones are actually eggs,” Maebus explained. “Each of them contains a single Fire Hawk that will grow to adult size within minutes.”

  “This is how we intended to signal our troops,” Kelm added.

  “Signal them how?” Leoden was curious.

  Maebus grabbed one of the stone eggs and gave it to the young man.

  “Carrier-Hawks are how Realmsic soldiers usually send quick messages to one another. Fire Hawks are similar, however they have recently been enlisted as part of our Crucifer War Wizard unit. Although we haven’t fully implemented them yet, we intended for them to be used for additional air support, or for flying great distances to deliver messages.

  “As part of their uniform, our soldiers will wear bracelets that are magically bonded with the collars of each hawk. By writing a small message on the collar, the words will appear on the bracelets of our troops as the hawks fly over them. Think of it as instant messaging!”

  Leoden’s smile was wider than Maebus had ever seen. Clearly, the young man was impressed. He handed the stone back to Maebus who then placed it back inside the metal box Kelm held.

  “Every soldier was issued a bracelet before Damian’s invasion,” Kelm added. The Wizard then led Maebus and everyone else outside and carefully placed the three stones on the ground in front of the cottage. He waved his hands over them, but suddenly stopped and turned to Maebus.

  “If we proceed, there’s no turning back,” he said.

  Maebus smiled wryly. “Turning back was never an option.”

  With that, the Grand Wizard chanted, “Offn ligg und flygein.” In the ancient Realmsic language, the words meant Of Life and Flight.

  Instantaneously, the eggs began to hatch. They jittered upon the ground as scratching emanated from inside each egg. With a crackle, three tiny, crimson-colored hawks broke the surface of the shell and emerged. Silver collars rested on their necks. Awestruck, the group observed as the hawks squawked and twisted upon the ground, growing exponentially. Within moments. they were fully grown, standing about the height of an adult human.

  Leoden gently caressed the scaly skin of one of the hawks. “I thought they would be made of fire,” he mused.

  “No, no,” Kelm answered. “Fire covers their skin only during battle. Otherwise, they’re extremely gentle creatures.” The Wizard stroked its long silver beak. He turned to Maebus. “Have you thought about a message?”

  After a moment, Maebus answered, “The time has come. Unite at the haven in the South Plains. The kingdom will rise again!”

  By Kelm simply touching the collars of all three hawks, Maebus’ words were transcribed upon them. Kelm then pointed upward and the hawks immediately soared into the sky. Normandy, Leoden, and Fable were almost knocked down by the force of their wings. Together, they all watched the birds trail away in multiple directions.

  “Powerful,” Normandy stated, before wiping dust from his face.

  “Yeah, I literally ate their dust,” Leoden added. He then proceeded to wipe his tongue repeatedly on the back of his sleeve.

  “Indeed,” Kelm chuckled. “And they’ll fly discreetly throughout the entire Realm, alerting our troops.”

  Maebus focused on the hawks, following them until he could no longer see them in the distance. Kelm joined him. “It will take a few days for our troops to gather,” he said.

  “Yes. And now comes the hardest part,” Maebus groaned.

  “What’s that?” Kelm asked.

  “Waiting.” Maebus replied.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  The room was quaint but lavish compared to the sleeping quarters of regular infantry Legionaries. Most soldiers slept nights within designated encampments throughout Centre Pointe. Other than the highest officers, none were permitted to sleep in the Realmsic Castle. But being an old soldier had its perks, and being the Warlord’s personal spy also came with others. However, in order to maintain appearances, Seku hardly ever used the room. He often thought it somewhat cruel to be given something so extravagant that he could never regularly use. But those were the ways of the Warlord, mysterious and inconsiderate. As he relaxed onto the soft, plush bedding, something caught his attention across the room.

  “Seku…” a voice whimpered from one of its dark corners. An unexpected slight movement at the edge of the room brought Seku to his feet. His mind reacted quicker than his old muscles. No one knew this was his room. Had he been followed? Was this an ambush? Seku reached for the dagger he kept tied to his forearm. It rested just under his uniform sleeve. Springing from his bed, he prepared to strike. But to his surprise, it was Igthu who stood only a few feet away.

  “Son!” Seku exclaimed. The young man looked injured. His eye was blackened and half shut. His face, too, was severely swollen with purplish bruises. His clothing was tattered, and he appeared to be supporting his left leg with a crutch. Had he been in a fight? Seku thought.

  Limping forward, he stumbled. Seku reached out to help him, but Igthu threw up a hand. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he insisted.

  “Igthu, what happened to you?” Seku asked. “Were you injured during the recent breakout? I thought you were reassigned to a different part of the castle?”

  “I was, but it didn’t matter,” Igthu responded, trying to keep his balance.

  “What do you mean, it didn’t matter?” Seku inquired, dragging over a chair for Igthu to sit on. “I don’t understand Igthu.”

  The young soldier didn’t speak at first. He glanced around as if double-checking that they were alone in the room.

  “Shut the door,” Igthu finally said.

  Seku obliged, shutting the door and sliding the deadbolt into place. “Now explain to me what’s going on,” he demanded.

  Igthu hobbled to the chair and took a seat. It pained Seku to see one so strong and eager, now looking so broken and pitiful.

  “Speak, Igthu!” Seku shouted, his pointy nose flared with anger.

  The young man took a quick breath. “When the King was imprisoned in the dungeon, our entire patrol got reassigned to other locations in the castle. We were told that General Thane’s men would personally keep watch over the royal prisoners, and we were to keep out of their way. But after the escape, his men blamed us! They claimed that despite being reassigned, the dungeon was still our responsibility, and it was our fault that the area had not been secured.”

  Seku shook his head. “Igthu, that doesn’t make sense.”

  “Well, regardless, we got reprimanded for it.”

  “Reprimanded…” Seku repeated. “You mean beaten?”

  “Same difference,” Igthu replied. “They’re certainly not going to punish themselves, so they punished us.”

  “And the Warlord allowed this?”

  “Of course!” Igthu hollered.

  Seku clenched his fist in anger and slammed it hard against the wall. Too many times he’d seen his comrades endure physical abuse for trivial offenses. And now Igthu had fallen victim to the same treachery. Seku had had enough. He opened one of the drawers of a nearby dresser and removed a crumbled d
uffle bag. He threw it at Igthu.

  “Pack your things … only the most essential items. We’re leaving!”

  Igthu laughed, holding the duffle bag. “You’re joking, right?”

  “Have you ever known me to joke?” Seku asked. The creases of his face deepened.

  “And where would we go?”

  “I don’t know,” Seku replied. “Somewhere far away from here.” He drifted a few paces away from where Igthu was sitting. He tried to clear his mind, but too many thoughts were filling his head. Too many emotions were pulling his heart in multiple directions.

  “The Warlord is not who he claims to be,” Seku finally admitted. “Many amongst our ranks have seen it, but the slightest suspicion is met with unreasonable brutality.”

  He raked his fingers through his long hair. “I, too, was a believer in the Warlord and his cause. Because of that belief, I have caused the suffering of many, both friend and foe. It took me a while to understand it, to see it. And all the time it was right there in front of my old, stupid face. We’ve all been deceived. This campaign was never about freedom, or the abolition of magic. It was all about Damian and his desire for power. We are no freer now than when we first strapped on his armor and proclaimed ourselves his Legion. So now, we must flee. Or the next time you find yourself the scapegoat, or ask of your comrades an innocent question, a beating may seem minimal.”

  Igthu shook his head. “This is crazy,” he exclaimed.

  “Is it really?” Seku retorted.

  Igthu rose from the chair but groaned in pain and sank back into the seat.

  “Does your pain feel crazy, Igthu? Were you and your men deserving of such brutality? Or is it crazy that such a thing would even occur?”

  Igthu sat glowering at Seku, but said nothing. Seku simply stared back at him. Neither averted their eyes from the other until the silence grew uncomfortable between them.