The Legends of Vandor: Anthology Volume 1 (The Legends of Vandor Anthologies)
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His stomach growled and he could feel his already considerable thinness become exasperated by the lack of food the past week. The evening was approaching quickly, and already the cool night air swept over the mountaintops, bringing the chill of death with it. Cortis pulled the cloak around himself and tried to raise his voice in song. His voice came out as a rasping cough. Cortis started to realize just why none of the other men had been waiting for him. If any had pressed on, they were surely dead or discouraged enough to give up this foolish quest. Something nagged at his heart. Whatever it was, pleaded with him to turn back and ... what? He couldn't go back, the king would kill him, or his guards would at least. He could make his way as a traveling bard, but that would mean leaving the princess, not to mention the land and title promised by the king.
How many had the king promised this boon? he thought to himself. How many men gave his daughter a glance and were doomed to this fate?
“I'm not doomed,” Cortis said aloud. His own voice surprised him.
He felt the wind bite against his skin. It was like a living thing, biting and clawing at him. He recognized the storm front. On the southern side of the Veil it would dissipate and break up into light showers, but not before it roared and tore fury through the Veil itself. Cortis searched the area around him as the storm approached. Already the icicles were forming in his eyes and at the edges of his mouth. He shivered with the cold and stumbled more than once trying to gain purchase.
Here, the sound was clear as a bell and it rang out in Cortis' mind. Here, over here.
He tried to turn to voice, but he only saw the face of a cliff before him. In here, the voice called again. Cortis turned again, still he saw nothing. HERE! The voice echoed in his skull and he turned again. He staggered from the shaking sound in his head and felt his vision blur. Before him he saw a globe of darkness. The darkness wavered and shook. Cortis leaned forward and fell into it. The darkness parted and he stumbled into a cave.
Am I beyond the veil? He thought suddenly. I can’t be.
The voice did not answer, it did not speak again. Cortis stepped into the cave and still felt the chill wind billowing in from the cave’s entrance. Cortis wound further back into the cave to avoid the bite of the wind. The echoes of the thunder crashed into the cave moments later and Cortis cried out. Cold, hungry, in the dark, and alone, Cortis felt the despair growing in his chest. Thoughts of the princess and her beautiful smile danced through his mind. The cold grew worse, despite the shelter of the cave. It cut through the air like the feel of death.
Cortis drew upon his courage and a growing ire for King Talmin. He let the ire fuel him and he began to sing. It was a quiet song, filled with angst and remorse. He forced his emotion into it and let himself feel the pain of it. His voice faltered as he sang and came out in a rasping choke. He could not remember the last time he’d eaten and the water he had was so cold it did little to comfort him. Still he unstopped the skin and took a throat clenching draw from it. The icy water splashed against his throat. He felt an involuntary contraction that threatened to expel the water. He forced it down and tried again to sing, if only to warm his throat against the cold.
Flashes of lightning flared, banishing the darkness momentarily. The dark crept back in vengefully after each flash. Cortis shivered and wished he had not been a fool. The king had obviously tricked him. He knew he was kidding himself. Had he chosen not to take the king's offer, Cortis was certain he'd be rotting in a dungeon now.
Is this any better? he asked himself. He did not grace himself with a reply. Instead, he wrapped his arms around himself and huddled against the wall. The cave did little to stave off the cold, but at least it protected him from the wind and sleet. After several more hours of booming thunder and flashing lightning, Cortis began to despair.
He drew out his lute and ran a hand over the smooth bowl at the base of the instrument. He knew what he had to do, but subtle panic gripped him. The instrument was his only livelihood and he had built it from scratch. An expert Luthier, he had called himself. Cortis snorted in wry derision of his own arrogance. He smashed the instrument against the wall. The bowl made a pained cracking sound that echoed through the cave. The bard wept as he gathered the pieces of wood. He set aside the slender neck of the lute and gathered up the pieces of the bowl. He found two fair sized pieces and set them aside. The rest he continued to slam against the wall. He stood and stomped on the pieces to break them up further. After he was sure there was enough kindling, he tied off the lute string to either side of his makeshift bow drill and set to work building a fire.
After several minutes with a little smoke, Cortis tore off a few strips from his cloak and placed them around the wood. A few moments later he had a fire started. The warmth it gave off immediately attacked the chill in his bones. At first, it stung, as the cold struggled to hold on to him. With another strip from his cloak, he tied the cloth to the top of the instrument's former neck and lit it.
Armed with a makeshift torch, Cortis began to explore the cave. He chuckled at his foolishness, to do else-wise would cause him despair. He swore he heard whispers and voices, but decided it was the wind. The torch burned steadily and quickly dimmed. Frustrated, Cortis threw the torch. The wood spun and twirled, but the fire remained lit, if a bit dim. Illuminated above the torch's dying flame, Cortis saw a pedestal. Atop the stone work lay an uncut gem. The gem was red with splashes of purple and blue. Black stone wrapped around its base darkening its overall color. Flecks of white dotted the gem's surface and seemed to move through it. Cortis reached up and took hold of the gem. He was unprepared for the spiritual assault that followed. The force of the gem's sentience slammed into him and threatened to drive him to insanity. Cortis screamed. The gem flared with life. A painful warmth began to spread through Cortis, and he screamed again. The fire raged inside of him scouring away the chill, the hunger, and the fatigue. At once he felt whole. The gem pulsed with life in his palm.
“By Bhaskar's balls,” he cursed. “What the hell was that?”
The fire gave way to a warm ache that neither satisfied him or pained him. He simply was. Cortis smiled then; he had recovered VVontar’s Shouel. A new song sprang to his lips as he exited the cave, walking into the heart of the storm. The winter storm swirled around him, but never touched him. He could hear a light soothing whisper, but it was evasive, and he could not understand it. The bard did not care. He lived, and that meant he would marry the princess and become a lord in the king's court. The thought was pleasing to him.
The gem shone with power, keeping winter at bay. It was happy that the bard had found it, for centuries it had lain in the cave lost to the world. Free now, it could force its will upon mortals once more.
* * *
Barvvowind: Year 901 AB
38 Rytfer: Rytal - Dusk
The guards met Cortis at the edge of King Talmin’s boundaries. They stared at the young bard. He was drawn and haggard. His eyes were sunken and thick dark rings encircled his eyes. He looked at them distantly. Cortis had been thin before leaving for the Veil, now he was bone. The childish smirk had gone and replacing it was a grim visage that bespoke the horror he had experienced. His long dark hair hung about his face in damp clumps. Despite the appearance of death, Cortis felt alive. The gem pulsed with power and filled him.
“Oi,” the first guard said. “Who’re you?“
“Me? Why I am the man about to be the princess’ husband,” Cortis said, almost chuckling maniacally. He withdrew the gem and held it before the guards. ““As you can see I have brought back VVontar’s Shouel.”
The guards took a step back, fear sprouting in their eyes, “You’re touching it!” they said in unison. Fear spread over their faces.
Cortis looked down at his hand. The gem glittered and glowed, “Well, so I am.” This time he did chuckle. “How is the princess?”
The guards’ faces screwed up, and the first said, “Married.” He stopped and said no more when he saw the look on Cortis’ face.
“Betrayed?” Cortis asked. “By the king? Or the princess?“
“I do not know sir,” the guard was shaking. “The king arranged the marriage last week. It was a private affair.““
“Pity,” Cortis’ mouth moved, but it was no longer his voice. A witness to his own actions Cortis was horrified at what he did with the gem.
With a thin hand clutched around the gem, Cortis thrust the stone to touch the guard’s temple. The man shook and screamed as his soul tore away from his body. The entire motion took less than a couple of seconds. At Cortis’ feet lay the smoking corpse of the guard. The gem glowed with an unholy light. Before he could stop himself, Cortis pressed the gem against the other guard’s temple. The same power surged into the gem ripping the soul from the guard.
This time, Cortis felt the power surge into him. His hunger and fatigue faded as they had when he first took up the stone. A sick horror overcame him, and he tried to thrown the stone away. The gem responded and forced his hand into his pocket. Cortis knew he still held the gem, but he did not care. He had come to woo a princess. Whistling a song he was sure he had never learned, Cortis made his way to the island keep. Other guards tried to stop him, but Cortis simply pressed the gem to them. Every other man left him feeling more invigorated. The gem had grown hot to the touch and he could feel the sizzling heat against his skin.
The keep loomed before him as it had nearly a month ago, but it no longer held him in awe. The gem pulsed in his hand and he knew that the gem had seen things far more impressive. Whistling again, he crossed the bridge and the gates opened before him. A dark and ominous song came to his mind, and Cortis hummed the words.
Dance, dance with the dark
Steal, steal, the song of the lark
Dance, dance with the dark
Steal, steal, the song of the lark
Drink, drink in its soul
Breathe, breathe, VVontar’s Sheoul
Drink, drink in its soul
Breathe, breathe, VVontar’s Sheoul
Touch, touch to the skull
Eat, eat, your belly to full
Touch, touch to the skull
Eat, eat, your belly to full
The tunnel that had given him pause with the caravan, loomed before him. Guards waited on either side. Arrows begin to fly from the notches in the walls. Cortis felt his human panic rise up. His emotion was squashed by the force of the gem. The stone grew so hot, Cortis thought he might drop it. The power surged through him and struck out at each of the guards. Panicked cries were snuffed out. Cortis could feel the power snap back into him, he and the gem growing stronger. There was a certain ecstasy to the power that Cortis enjoyed, and he hated himself for it. He stepped through the gates and into the great courtyard. The midday heat felt compounded by the gem’s presence. Cortis sweat beads of pure salt. The summer breeze, hot and dry, sucked the moisture from his sweat, leaving white lines of salt across his brow.
More guards flooded into the courtyard. Cortis did not recognize them, but he saw other huddled behind wagons and carts. He thought he recognized Beregrin with his pan-flute. The little man cowered and hid his face. The guards circled Cortis. He stared at them with pleading eyes.
“Stop right there!“
“I can’t,” Cortis nearly cried.
“I said stop!” the guard bellowed as Cortis took a step forward. The guards were armed with crossbows and bows. Some had long swords or knives belted at their waist.
For all of their protection, Cortis knew it would be pointless. He reached out to the gem and begged it not to kill these men. The gem ignored him. Moments later he ascended the steps to the king’s hall, a trail of blackened burned corpses behind him.
* * *
Barvvowind: Year 901 AB
38 Rytfer: Rytal - Night
Hall of the King
The doors to the great hall burst open. Cortis stood in the middle of the entry way. King Talmis sat upon his throne. His face was mottled with fear and anger. More guards advanced on Cortis and they were vanquished in the blink of an eye. Bloated blackened bodies laid before the gem.
“What do you want?” the king’s voice shook.
“Payment,” Cortis’ voice rippled with power. The words were not his, the gem had full control of him now. “What was promised when you were a youth.”
“No,” the king breathed heavily. His eyes darted to his daughter, Princess Tylene O’Sar’Lin, the vision of beauty that had stolen Cortis’ heart. “You cannot take her!”
“I do not need your permission Tarlin,” the gem said through Cortis. “The deal was made long ago when you placed me in the Veil. You were given power and riches in exchange for a single life, the life of your first born. Too long you have delayed, sending others in your daughter’s stead. She is to become my vessel, and I shall make the world tremble.”
Cortis realized what was happening. Something courageous rose up in him. The king stood and bellowed a battle cry. Cortis’ hand raised and the gem flared to life again. The bard forced his will upon the gem, in opposition to its influence and power. He could feel the artifact turn on him. The bard and the gem locked their wills against one another.
Cortis looked to the princess and forced his own words to his lips, “Beauty, fine, and fair,” he managed to gasp before the power of the gem imploded.
Time froze. In the space between seconds, Cortis watched the gem’s power blast into him. The red, white, black, and blue filaments burst in his vision. The power shuddered around him, sparking and leaping. Cortis screamed. The sound was primal. His voice echoed in the hall. The gem shattered. Shards of ruby colored glass flew in all directions, where the shards hit reality seemed to warp and shift. Several shards struck the king, and his soul tore free from his body.
Cortis tried to contain the power, to stop the shards, but he could not. He was caught in the power’s embrace. He felt it change him, stretching his soul. The shards exploded into smaller pieces. He watched as Princess Tylene was struck a hundred times by the shards.
He raced to her, meeting her eyes. She put a hand on his cheek and wiped away a tear. She smiled at him as the life faded from her. Her hand fell from his face, the subtle chime of beads clicked together. The sound was magical. Cortis looked down, unable to watch her face any longer. The bracelets the princess wore had clicked together. The power subsided, the gem was gone. With gentle movements, Cortis drew the bracelet from Tylene’’s wrist and placed them upon his own.
Stepping from the hall, he found more bodies. In the courtyard, he found even more dead. Cortis Forland Aman-Dexar knelt beside the small body of Beregrin. The pan-flute had been untouched. He took the instrument and placed it upon his belt. With a sad glance at the castle he left. No one came to stop him, no one had been left alive to do so. Cortis wept when he reached the other side of the bridge. Alone, he sang a song, accentuating bits with the pan-flute.
The gem of the Veil
Protected me
From sleet and hail
I couldn’t see
Warm in the cold
The dead
May not grow old
In my head
The gem of the Veil
The gem of the Veil
* * *
Caerlon: Year 1405 AO
45 Ienfer: Calal - 3rd Hour of Feralda
Waywander Tavern
As his tale drew to an end, the tavern was full of tear filled eyes. The bard put down the pan-flute and laid it on his lap. He bowed his head and stood. Taking a deeper bow, the patrons wiped away their tears. Cortland Dex, Master Bard and Expert Luthier, raised his head and looked out over the crowd. Someone caught his eye. She was beautiful, more beautiful than any woman had a right to be. He could not quite make out her features from beneath her hood, but she was lithe and well proportioned. The woman sat towards the back of the tavern, hood drawn to cover her head. She kept her head down, seemingly trying to be either coy or secretive. The bard figured it was likely a little of both.
He began to push through the crowd. Men shook his hand and he shook theirs. Others patted him on the back or congratulated him on a story well told. He smiled and took their praises. He stopped to shake a few of their hands, his opposite hand on their shoulder. They exchanged smiles with him, but the bard had only one person in his view. The woman sitting in the back of the tavern, hood drawn. A pang of recognition struck him and his pulse quickened.
Could it be? He thought. But how could it?
The woman waited. The bard’s heart caught in his throat as he stepped nearer. He could smell her scent, it was a mixture of roses and lilacs. The subtle hint of honey crisscrossed his senses and he could almost taste her scent. He recognized it immediately and his heart skipped another beat. He knew then who it was, but he couldn’’t believe it. The woman stood and turned to leave the tavern. The bard pushed through the crowd hurriedly now.
“Wait!” he called out, but she ignored him.
The woman’s hood slipped from her head as she rushed away from him. Red hair fell in waves around her shoulders. The curls bounced and danced across her back like silk springs. The bard reached out for her, but was short of touching her shoulder. He burst from the back of the tavern into the alley. She was gone, nowhere to be seen. His head spun, and his vision blurred. A wave of dizziness crept over him as he stumbled through the alley.
“Tylene,” he whispered, the breathless sound catching in his throat. “My dearest Tylene.“