The Legacy of Skur: Volume One

by L. F. Falconer

  “I am not drunk.”

  “You are well on your way. And drunkards do foolish things. If you refuse to respect yourself, that’s one thing, but to bring disrespect to Father?” Kael shook his head. “You know he won’t stand for it.”

  “I was only taking a little time to relax before I went home.”

  “If it were up to me, Fane, there would be no pubs. Then there would be no drunkards and I wouldn’t have to watch over and protect a village of fools.”

  “You are not in charge of a village of fools, Kael. Perhaps there are a few, but for the most part, Avar is populated with decent, honest folk, and if some of them indulge in a little libation at day’s end, then it’s really none of your concern.”

  Kael stopped midstride and grabbed my shoulder. “It is my concern. Drunkenness breeds lawlessness, and as an enforcer and keeper of the laws, I must see to it that those who break the law pay the penalty.”

  Again, I wrenched free of his hold. “I am not ignorant of what your duty is.” Cursing his damned self-righteousness, I shook my head and walked on.

  “If you got drunk and broke the law,” he called out, “I would have to see to it that you paid the penalty.”

  I did not favor him with a comment.

  “I wouldn’t want to have to do that, Fane. I’m your brother. Don’t ever make me do that.”

  I knew full well that Kael would, indeed, inflict the necessary punishment upon me if I chose to break the law. I didn’t care for that bit of truth, but such was his sense of duty. I couldn’t fault him for that, could I? His dignity commanded him.

  However, it seemed Kael failed to recognize that I, too, was my father’s son, and I, too, was instilled with a sense of dignity just as he was. I had only chosen a different path to walk. Did that make me a lesser man?

  He caught up to me and the sun was sinking beyond the horizon by the time we reached our home where the road crossed the brook. In spite of his station, Father despised pretentiousness. He was a simple man in his needs, and that trait revealed itself most of all in the humble brick and stone structure we called home. When Mother had still been alive, the yard had been bursting with flowers, particularly bluebells, which had been her favorite, and she had kept a small garden of edibles out back, beyond the reach of the shade of the single towering fir. The garden had long since disappeared, but a few bluebells stubbornly remained, despite their neglect.

  The inside of our home was tidy, though not as clean as it had once been kept. Square in shape, one great room served as our cooking and dining area. Along the west side of the room was Father’s bedchamber, while Kael and I each had our own separate bedchambers along the opposite wall. The north wall housed the ingle and a large cedar table sat in the center of the room. There were two small windows on the south wall which permitted fresh air and sunshine when the shutters were hinged back, even in the winter, for Father refused to afford the luxury of glass.

  It was home, but lately, it seemed to be lacking an element of warmth.

  I lingered with Kael as he cared for the needs of his gelding in the barn, then we stepped through the house door where Kael hung his sword belt upon the rack on the wall next to Father’s. He was in the process of removing his leather jerkin when Father strode forth across the room. He screwed up his brow and crinkled his nose and his glare laid me wide open.

  “You’ve been at the pub.”

  Behind me, Kael sucked in his breath.

  I scrambled to explain, “I only stopped for a minute with Jink—”

  “Jink! That bibulous bastard. He’ll die of the barrel fever and take you with him.” Father’s dark eyes blazed fire beneath the golden point of his warden’s coronet. “How many times have I warned you to stay away from Jink?”

  I drew myself up, looking Father straight in the eye, encouraged by the warmth of ale in my blood. “Jink is my friend.”

  “The pub will be the death of Jink and Jink will be the death of you.” Father was standing so close the heat of his breath fanned my face. “You are to stay away from him and that wretched pub!”

  My gut wrenched and my clenched fists were drenched inside, but the ale lured me on, enticing me into defiance. “If I choose to join Jink for a drink, I will do so.” Was I not a man, able to make my own decisions? Apparently not, for the iron fist slammed into my face.

  Sparks shot through my head. I smashed backwards into the table. I think I crashed over a chair before ending up in an aching, sprawled heap against the brick wall of the ingle.

  The roaring, wavering form of my father came lumbering toward me. “You will not talk that way to me, bantling.”

  “Father, stop!” Kael grabbed him by the arms, holding him at bay. “He wasn’t there long enough to have more than a couple swallows of ale. Just enough to taint his breath.”

  It was a lie. I knew it and Kael knew it. It didn’t make any sense. With all his righteous talk on our way home, why would he lie to Father? Why would he lie for me?

  “He shouldn’t have been there in the first place.” Father shook free of Kael’s hold. “If it happens again, he might as well not bother coming home. I will not abide a drunkard in my house.”

  My eye was a pulsing throb. My forearm burned and I glanced down at the bleeding gash torn into the skin. It must have ripped on the edge of the table. Grabbing onto the wound, I struggled back to my feet.

  “I’m going to see Fith.” No one made a move to stop me.

  It was a moonless night and the pestilent darkness coiled around me like woodbine. The only light about was the twittering golden glows that escaped the windows of Avar’s homes—too far away to be of any use in lighting the road, but close enough to provide a small sense of comfort. I hurried for Fith’s, trying to concentrate on my pain in a frail attempt to evade the dark’s unwelcome pressure.

  The darkness pushed me on until the wizard’s oaken door came into view, painted lively with the runes of the Ancients. I carefully stepped over the stones that encircled his quarters and pushed open the door. Fith was still boiling the chalice in the cauldron when I eased my way inside.

  “Are you having any luck with it?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” he answered, his back to me as he rummaged through the bottles, vials, and tins of apothecaries he kept on a shelf against the stone wall. “Perhaps the solution needs more quicksilver.” He pulled a bottle down and turned. “What happened to you?”

  “I fell.” I don’t think he believed me, evident by the look upon his face.

  “It must have been quite a fall. Blackened your eye as well. Here, sit down and let me take a look at that arm.” It had nearly stopped bleeding. “Aha!” he exclaimed as he examined it. “We’ll have this fixed up to where it won’t even leave a scar.” For an old man, he still moved spritely and he dashed across the room, his gray robe swirling around his legs. “Fane, do you remember what I told you today about the power of gold?”

  Did I remember? Aside from the evils of the pub and Selma’s dugs, I had little else on my mind.

  He placed a tray of works upon the table. “I am going to prove to you my words.” White waist-length hair and beard gleamed golden in the firelight as he took hold of my arm. He removed two gold coins from a mercurial tincture and placed them upon my wound. Atop the coins he laid a layer of limp sallow leaves while mumbling a mild enchantment in the tongue of the Ancients (of which I still know very little), then wrapped the concoction tightly with strips of linen.

  “Mark my words, Fane, when we take this bond off in three days, your arm will be as good as new.”

  “Thank you for your help, Fith.” I rose from my seat and pointed at the steaming cauldron, attempting to sound intelligent. “And maybe you might want to add a dash of fecula to that broth.”

  “Fecula? Rubbish. You have a lot yet to learn about alchemy. Go home. Sleep.”

  As I stepped out the door, he was still muttering, “Fecula. Fecula? Hmmm, perhaps a dash of fecula.”

  When I passed the
pub, I noticed Jink still seated beneath the red oak. Selma sat on his lap and they shared a noggin of ale. I briefly considered joining them, but Jink would be getting beneath her skirt before long and he didn’t need my company for that. I didn’t want to go home, but nonetheless, my footsteps continued to take me there, despite my reluctance.

  The house was quiet. Golden lamplight glowed through the cracks of the shuttered windows. My stomach gnarled. Slowly, I pushed open the door to step back inside.

  Kael had apparently retired for the night, but Father sat in the inglenook. In the flickering lamplight, a heavy silence draped over the room.

  Father drew in a deep breath and stood. “Come here, Fane.”

  My feet were slugs, moving me across the floor until my father was directly before me. I flinched when his hand came down upon my shoulder.

  “I understand the lure of the pub, and if you choose to befriend someone like Jink, I know I cannot prevent it. I sometimes forget you are of the age to choose your own paths in life, my son. Just be aware that there are many paths to choose from. Some will lead you into light and some will lead you into darkness.”

  I lowered my head in filial obedience. “I’m sorry if I dishonored you.” I was still angry and my apology was false, but tried to appease him.

  His hand moved to the top of my head and it was all I could do to keep from pushing it away as he gave me a gentle rub. “You are my son. A part of me lives in you, and I would prefer that part not be led into darkness. Promise me you’ll stay away from the pub, Fane. There is nothing to be gained there. Nothing.”

  I recalled the music, the laughter, the dancing, the camaraderie of the patrons, and my thrilling fancies of the beer-maid. I thought of her and Jink, and how I would have liked it to have been me who would be getting beneath her skirt tonight. I knew I would return there. I would return and imbibe in the pleasures of common men, despite my father’s objections. Despite my damned heritage.

  With as much bravado as I could muster, I looked him in the eye. “I cannot make that promise, Father.”

  My muscles tensed in anticipation of his reproach. Instead, he stepped back with a sigh. “We will speak further on this at another time, Fane. But at least you have not made me a promise you cannot keep.”

  He retired to his bedchamber and said no more. I lowered the bar to lock the door, snuffed out the lamp, and retired to my own chamber, knowing not when I’d possess the will to break free from the restrictive house of my father’s rule. A house I now wish nothing more than to set foot into once again.

  2

  The Lure of Skur

  In the passage of three days, I watched in silent anticipation as Fith began a slow unwinding of the linen bandages from my forearm. He peeled away the wilted, discolored sallow leaves and pried the gold coins from my skin, encrusted with dark, dried blood. Two red, blotchy circles indented the flesh where the coins had been.

  “It does not look as good as new,” I said.

  “Be patient, Fane.” Fith scooped warm water from the pot beside the fire and gently cleansed the arm. “Good magic rarely comes instantaneously.”

  When the blood was washed away, I gasped. “Fith, look! You can barely see where I was cut.”

  The wizard stood back and beamed, gray eyes glinting. “I told you so. You see! The power of gold. Just imagine the possibilities.”

  I kept staring at my arm in disbelief. “Eternal life from gold. But you’ve had no success in making it.”

  “It will happen,” Fith said. “One day it will happen. I began tinkering with alchemy when I was your age, Fane, and I know I must be getting close to success. When we do succeed, you and I will be the most powerful wizards in the land. Imagine it, my boy. Others will give us anything we desire if we can provide the gold that will preserve them and allow them passage to eternity.”

  I began to feel dizzy, fancying the power Fith described. Even Father would not scoff at such power. Nay, such power would bring respect, admiration, even envy. Fane, the great wizard, sought out by princes and paupers, buxom wenches and kings. I could picture my father begging me for gold. Gold and life, and I couldn’t deny the pleasure I took in such a fantasy.

  Fith looked troubled then, breaking my reverie.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  He shook his head and came to sit beside me. “You are a good boy and you have insight. That’s why I chose you as my apprentice. A lot of young men over the years have asked me to share my knowledge with them, but none were worthy. Magic can only be achieved with great internal passion, and you possess that kind of passion. Not until you have I had anyone to pass my secrets to and you were very late in coming.”

  He gazed at me with those deep gray eyes and I felt compelled to listen in silence.

  “You have a good heart. You’re strong and wise, and will not abuse the responsibility that comes with the power of magic. But I fear my time is running out. There’s still so much to teach you, but no matter how fast you learn, and no matter how strong your natural talent, I cannot teach it all to you. There just isn’t time.”

  He stood and crossed the room, clasping his hands. “I’m an old man, Fane. I’ve done my best to prolong my life, but I fear I need gold if I’m to live much longer.”

  “How much gold?” I had a little of my own I would give him if it would help.

  “Much more than what is in all of Avar.” He went to the door and stared at the mountains to the north across the valley. “But I would guess that all the gold in the treasure atop Skur would be enough for three, maybe four men. But alas, it is out of my reach and my death is imminent. I need more time to perfect my formula, but time is running out.”

  I gazed out the door at Skur, its peak perpetually cloaked in a veil of mist. The legends said there was gold up there. Gold, emeralds, rubies, diamonds, and silver. But more than that, there was the treasure’s rusty-guts guardian known as Ragg. Ragg and his mongrel minions, whose inimical reign upon that mountain seemed as ageless as Skur itself. A guardian dragon even the bravest of warriors had been unable to defeat.

  No. I shook my head. It was an insane thought. Yet, somewhere deep inside, something had whispered, “Go get the gold.”

  Fith was old. Without gold he would surely die and my teachings had only begun. Would another wizard be willing to take me on? Or would I be left bereft in my knowledge, becoming an impotent wizard, capable only of brewing a few trivial potions?

  “Go get the gold.”

  I needed Fith’s knowledge. All of it. My future as a wizard depended upon it.

  Again, I looked up at the mountain. I needed Fith and Fith needed gold. There was gold on Skur. Plenty of gold. More than enough gold for the both of us. We could live forever and I was hungry for that power he spoke of. In the pit of my stomach I could feel it pulsing, as if it were a separate, living entity. Perhaps … Just perhaps.

  “Go get the gold.”

  In my mind, there was really only one thing to do.

  “I must go find Kael,” I told Fith, abruptly leaving him for the day.

  I roamed the dusty streets of Avar, past the bakehouse, down near the stable, then back up beside the crowds at the marketplace, but saw no sign of Kael. I searched behind the inn, past the stone-mason’s, and beyond the cooper’s, working my way to the square. I saw the warrior Fisk, and the warrior Steph. I even spied my father, attempting to settle a dispute in the marketplace, his deep voice a bass tone beneath the cluck and clatter, yet Kael was nowhere to be found. But just because I had failed to see him didn’t mean he hadn’t seen me, for he was a master at stealth and camouflage. He could meld with the shadows and shrubbery like a phantom and had therefore earned a high reputation as a valuable scout in the King’s Service.

  I worked my way back to the smithy. Rook was polishing bronze pots in the fresh air outside, his russet hair damp with sweat that clung to his bullish head in ribbons.

  “Good day, Rook. Is Jink inside?”

  “Aye, Fane. He�
�s back at the smelter.”

  Through the hot, smoky interior, Jink’s silhouette wavered at the forge before the orange inferno.

  “Heigh, Jink,” I called.

  “Ho, Fane. Bloody good day.” His voice carried over the roar of the flames. “What brings you here this time of day?”

  “I thought you might like to refresh yourself over at the pub with me for a bit.”

  “That sounds bang up, but I’m afraid I can’t leave just yet.”

  “How long?”

  “Give me half an hour. I’ll meet you over there.”

  I took a seat upon the bench outside the pub to await Jink and had no sooner taken my first sip of ale when Kael rode up on his chestnut gelding. He said not a word, merely frowned Father’s frown.

  “Kael!” I leapt to my feet. “I looked all over the village but couldn’t find you, so I had to let you find me and what is the one place I could count on you finding me but here.”

  Apparently he was not amused for he simply continued to frown. “What do you want?”

  “Teach me,” I said. “Teach me to be a warrior.”

  I thought he was going to fall off his horse in shock.

  In the pasture behind the stable where the warriors practiced their skills, Kael began instructing me in the use of a sword. His blade was not too awkward in my hands and I discovered a quickness in my reactions I hadn’t known existed.

  “You’re a natural warrior,” he told me, “because it’s in your blood.” There was pride in his eyes, a pride I hadn’t seen in a long time and it shot me a pang of regret. Was it only a sword that could bring me some respect? Was not my own self good enough? My mother had always encouraged me to chase the callings of my own heart. Why couldn’t my father and brother do the same?

  We finished the lesson shortly before sunset. Refusing to accompany my brother home, I headed back to the village square instead. Jink was at the pub as I suspected he would be.

  “Bloody good day, Jink.” I took my place beside him on the plank bench.