This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.
The Legacy of Skur
Volume One
All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © 2015 L.F. Falconer
v2.0
Cover Photo © 2015 L.F. Falconer All rights reserved - used with permission.
This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
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This work is dedicated to my father, who was taken from this world far too soon. I would have liked to have known him better, but the twelve years of memories I am left with are truly cherished—from riding together on the DC-9 bulldozer, or watching “Bonanza” on Sunday night TV, to searching for treasures in the desert.
The most valuable lesson he taught me was this:
“If there is no road to get from here to there, you must make your own.”
I miss you Daddy.
*Author’s note: This work contains mature subject matter and is not recommended for young readers.
Contents
Part One:
The Pathways of Darkness and Light
1. The Power of Gold
2. The Lure of Skur
3. Leaving Avar
4. Larque
5. Jink
6. The Hulg
7. Seret
8. Skur
9. Reunion
10. Ragg’s Lair
11. Shadowland
12. Escape from Skur
Part Two:
The Wizard Stone
1. The Birth
2. Alyn
3. The Road to Avar
4. Home
5. The War of Aarl
6. Alyn’s Burden
7. The Blue Crystal
8. Triumph and Tragedy
9. The Wizard and the Blastie
10. Elva
11. Kael’s Choice
Part Three:
The Dragonslayer
1. The Golden Sword
2. The Hunter’s Home
3. Gwin
4. The Wizard on the Wold
5. The Lessons of Skile
6. Rudne
7. Partings
8. The Warrior
9. The Curse of the Dragon
Part One
The Pathways of Darkness and Light
“There are many paths to choose from.
Some will lead you into light and some will lead you into darkness.”….. Dian
Prologue
The gazing pool shimmered clear as glass and Her eyes were trained upon the figure reflected within. Amid the silent folds of light, Her brother appeared at Her side. He glanced into the pool and began to laugh.
“That is one of mine. What do you want with him?”
“I will not interfere,” She lied, keeping Her gaze upon the pool. The young human reflected within She had studied for years, for he possessed the strong traits necessary to aid in the correction of an error She’d made in the Creation of the competition. Her last two attempts had failed, but this was a match that held all the potential for success. It would be with secret, gentle manipulation that She would guide the young man through the journey he must make. She had great plans for his progeny.
“Someday, my dear sister,” He dipped His hand into the pool and disrupted the vision with a swirl, “you will have to put your arrogant pride aside and admit defeat. This fifth world shall also be mine.” With the hint of a laugh, He backed away and melted into the silvery mist.
A devious thought caused a sly smile to curl Her lip and the whisper slipped through the air. “So it shall, oh brother of mine. So it shall. But I will only concede when it is time.” Her eyes narrowed. “And it is not yet time.”
1
The Power of Gold
With her hooked nose, round eyes, and bristly hair, Hhaak always reminds me of an owl in a pricker bush. Her lips smack as she devours the last shreds of meat from the bones of the latest corpse, by now those remains foul and rotten. Aged to perfection for Hhaak’s tastes. Too far gone for my own.
A deep shudder reassures me that I’ve not yet lost all of my humanity. Shuffling to the edge of the invisible line I cannot cross, my blank stare is drawn into the gray beyond. In a man’s soul, some memories never seem to fade. No longer restless and screaming, I believe I have acquiesced to my misfortune, but how often will I continue to relive the events which led me here, trying to locate the precise moment it all began?
Fith wanted gold. Now there are some things I am and some things I’m not, and one thing I’m often not is quick-witted. Fith wanted gold and it was me who that wily old wizard convinced to get it, making me believe it was my own idea. Clever bastard.
“It is the secret to eternal life,” he told me.
In the gloom of the wizard’s quarters I had to fight to keep my eyes open, the smoke and odors burnt them so badly. Fith, himself, was a perpetual squint-a-pipes, as if looking nine ways at once, and I could only assume it resulted from years of constant exposure to the stench of his magics.
“Gold is power, my boy,” Fith droned on, “and I’m not talking about the power of purchase. I’m referring to the power of life. Gold neither tarnishes nor rusts. Do you know why, Fane?”
I shook my head “no.” I had never given it much thought before.
“Because it contains the power of eternity, that’s why,” Fith said. “You can change its shape but not its essence, for it holds within a tremendous, yet untapped power. Gold endures and contains within, the power of that very endurance. That power can be claimed. The secret is in knowing how.” He tapped his temple with a long, gnarled finger. “Not only can gold preserve the flesh, it is also the key that will open the portal to the inner eternal light, the light of wisdom that lies hidden within ourselves. We all possess the light that we know, but we possess also the light that we cannot yet see. Two lights—one mortal, one immortal. Gold is the metal of the One World, and with its power all the separate parts can unite to transcend this lower world of commonness and be one with eternity. With enough gold a person could live forever.”
Life without an end. It was hard to fathom the concept of eternity. It was too vast and incomplete, but I couldn’t deny he’d aroused my curiosity.
Fith plucked a bronze chalice from the shelf and carried it across the room to a black cauldron so large it could probably provide half the village a hearty supper of stew, though currently, its contents did nothing but roil and chuck foul-scented bubbles to pop into the air. With a pair of wooden tongs, he slowly submersed the chalice into the bitter, boiling brew.
“I am close to perfecting the solution.” His voice rose in excitement, gray eyes blazing like candles in the gloom. “Once I can produce gold from ordinary metals, I will have found the way the cheat death. I will achieve timelessness and complete unity of body and spirit!”
The old man’s passion was contagious and I watched the murky contents of the cauldron, hoping to catch a
glimpse of the miracle he was about to perform. Steam dabbled my face like sweat as Fith fished around the cauldron with the tongs.
“Behold!” he cried, bringing the steaming cup out of the liquid, into the light, and I beheld.
Fith screwed up his nose. “Drat.” He plunked the chalice back into the cauldron. “Perhaps it needs to cook a little longer.”
Though every time he pulled the chalice from the pot and it stubbornly remained bronze, by the time I left him that day he had me rapt in the virulent power of gold and vague dreams of eternity.
Wet with steamy sweat, when I left the wizard’s quarters that day, a cool spring breeze kissed my neck. I shrugged it off and headed toward the enormous, stone smithy which belched out smoke and heat all year round as Rook and Jink toiled for long hours, producing all manner of metal works, making it the largest and certainly the noisiest building in all Avar.
After having spent most of the day in the murk of the wizard’s quarters, my eyes had only just begun to readjust to the outdoor light when I stepped into the dingy smithy, causing me a moment of virtual blindness.
“Heigh, Jink,” I called out between the sonorous clangs of hammer against metal.
“Ho there, Fane,” he called back. “Bloody good day.”
“Bloody good day it is,” I answered, wending my way through as my eyes slowly regained their sight. Jink’s face was black with soot, eyes like sapphires in midnight. He was an ox that could swing a hammer for hours without working up a sweat, though sometimes apt to leave manners and decency a little to the left hand, a trait that did not necessarily endear my closest friend to my father’s heart.
Rook had taken Jink in as a child and taught him a trade, and while Rook was a capable smith, Jink had soon surpassed Rook’s capabilities, his metalworks more than just durable goods. They were works of art. The chalice Fith still had boiling in his cauldron was one of Rook’s works, not Jink’s, for it was basic, unadorned, and somewhat oblate. Perhaps Fith would have better luck if he used a better quality chalice.
I didn’t know which was worse—the sooty culm that choked the air of the smithy, or the foul stenches that emanated from Fith’s. Hacking and coughing, I wiped my burning eyes. Jink laughed, his smile a lightning flash across the blackness of his face.
“I’m just finishing here, Sir Croupy,” he said. “Care to risk a quick stop at the pub with me?”
He knew my father disapproved of my being at the pub. Then again, my father disapproved of Jink and my choice to pursue wizardry as well, and I was coming to the age where that very disapproval made the temptations all the more attractive. I returned Jink’s smile. “I think I’ll take that risk.”
I stepped outside to breathe in the fresh air while Jink cleaned himself up. Rook watched me from the doorway and I nodded in acknowledgement. He gave an unctuous nod in return, eyeing me beneath his beetle-brows, the same color as his hair, a dandy gray russet, reminiscent of devil’s cods. He was an odd sort, stumpy, with a bovine face, reserved and not too social, seeming content to devote his life to his work. He had never married and provided for Jink well, but I was thankful that his aloofness hadn’t adhered to Jink at all. I couldn’t recall ever having seen Rook smile and was beginning to grow fidgety and uncomfortable under his wordless scrutiny when Jink finally emerged from the smithy, his hair wet and somewhat clean.
“Will you be back?” Rook asked.
Jink’s response was terse. “Not tonight.”
Rook grunted, shot me a bland glance, and resumed his work.
Clasping my arm, Jink sauntered me across the square where we plopped down upon the plank bench beneath the red oak outside the pub. Selma came, as if by magic, bearing two noggins of warm, frothy ale. It tasted good.
“So, what did you and that gaffer Fith achieve today to cause such a gleam in your eye, Sir Wizard?” Jink asked, froth gracing his golden mustache.
I took another swig of ale and smiled, thinking of gold and eternal life. “We conjured, and I’ll say no more.” To be a wizard’s apprentice may not provide as good a living as a smith, but to harness and control the magics of the world was as fine a calling as any. And we did not reveal our secrets easily. Not that I had many to reveal yet. As I already said, I was still merely an apprentice.
Jink touched his forehead thoughtfully. “Let me guess. You have found a way to transform toads into horses.”
I shook my head and sighed. “No. Only how to turn horses into toads.”
“Waesucks.” Jink slapped his thigh. “Soon all the warriors in the King’s Service will be hopping about the countryside upon their trusty toads, thanks to Fith and Fane.”
“I do believe the king will be pleased.”
“Undoubtedly,” Jink snickered. “But your father?”
“My father would ride it with pride, suffering no indignity, but I doubt that Kael could.” (I admit I’m often of the opinion that my older brother thinks much too highly of himself.)
“Aye.” Jink raised his cup. “Sluice your gob, Fane, for here’s to you and Fith and your contribution to the glory of the king’s warriors.”
“To the king’s warriors.” The noggin’s warm contents slid down my throat.
As Jink brought his cup back down he fell into a silent stare, an expression unreadable and I shuddered involuntarily, momentarily glimpsing Rook’s bland countenance etched upon his face, but when the beer-maid came then to refill our noggins, animation returned to his features.
“I really shouldn’t have any more,” I said with no conviction whatsoever, holding my cup steady as Selma poured the heady draught into it.
“A bit of libation is good for the soul,” she cooed. Froth oozed over the edge of the cup, dribbling onto my hand and she reached down and wiped the foam off with her finger. “Even for the son of Dian.” She brought that moist finger to her lips and as she licked her finger clean, I stared at the luscious white mounds of her dugs that squeezed above the corset and out the bodice. Trying to suppress the arousal inside my trousers, I continued to eye the inviting flesh as she refilled Jink’s cup. At this time I was still a virgin, much to my regret, but with high hopes of remedying that state soon.
Jink flipped her a copper and the comely wench was off, red skirt swooshing, provoking my arousal and I downed the ale in one swift gulp.
From the bench beside the pub’s doorway, Otam, the cooper, pulled from his pocket a flute and began a low piping, its sweet melody wafting through the motty air. His fellowman, Durg, did likewise, and the lively duet filled the square. A pair of tillers began to sing and the buckish drayman grabbed Selma and spun her into a whirl. Her sultry laughter blended harmoniously with the strains of song. Jink arose and began to clap and stamp his foot. I, and the rest of the patrons, followed Jink’s lead and soon the pub’s square was filled with whoops, shouts, and heedless mirth as Selma spun gaily among us.
Like the crack of a thunderbolt from behind, a voice called my name, breaking through the festivity. I wheeled to face the speaker. Kael stood beside the red oak. When my brother frowned like that he looked just like Father, the dark eyes so narrowed the brows nearly appeared as one long line across his deeply creased forehead.
The music abruptly stopped. All the eyes at the pub were upon me. The heat of a flush crept over my skin in slow prickles. How I despised Kael at that moment, wishing I could slink into the long shadows and just disappear.
“I must go,” I muttered to Jink as I stumped across the square toward Kael.
Jink yelled, “Perhaps tomorrow you can conjure up a spell that turns warriors into toads, Fane.”
I’m sure he was aware the barb was aimed in his direction but Kael held his tongue and simply glared at Jink in contempt while his fingers thrummed against the leather-wrapped hilt of the sheathed sword strapped at his hip. He made no other move until I reached him, then snatched my arm and pulled me aside.
“If Father caught you here he’d whip the skin right off your back.”
I pulled
free of his hold. “A bit of libation is good for the soul.” I couldn’t understand why Father forbade me the kind of pastime most other men indulged in so freely. I was nearly seventeen. What was the harm?
Kael merely shook his head as he walked beside me, leading his horse behind him. “If you want what’s good for your soul, Fane, you would quit dabbling in magic and join the King’s Service. Imagine what a team we could make.”
It seems Kael had never had any other dream except to follow in Father’s footsteps and become a warrior, and the indubitable pride he and Father both took in that fact provoked within me a resentment bordering upon bitterness. My brother was almost two years older than I. By now I had caught up to him in physical size, but all too often I couldn’t help but feel small in his presence, especially around Father. Kael was a dutiful warrior who would one day replace Father as Chief Warden of Avar, while I would simply remain Fane, no matter what I did.
“I have no desire to be a warrior, Kael.”
As if he hadn’t heard me, he continued to speak. “I could teach you to be a warrior. I could teach you how to fight and how to discipline others as well as yourself. There is great power in sword-mastery.”
“There is great power in wizardry as well.”
“Humph.” The fading sunlight highlighted the touches of red in his dark hair and beard. “You are a son of Dian and it’s expected that you become a warrior. It’s in your blood. It’s your heritage.”
Damn my heritage, always thrown into my face like a bucket of hot ash. Did it really matter that I was descended from a long line of warriors—descended from the First King Tilla, himself? Such a waggish notion to think I should want the warrior life just because my father did, and his father before him, but Kael had his mind set and I knew there was no arguing with him. Stubborn as he was, he would never understand my point of view.
“Pursue your wizardry,” Kael said, “if that’s what you want, but you’d do well to stay away from the pub. The world has no use for a drunken wizard.”
The Legacy of Skur: Volume One Page 1
