The Legends of Vandor: Anthology Volume 1 (The Legends of Vandor Anthologies)

by DJ Morand

  The venom continued to eat through Waldo’s armor, and he began to scream as it burned through to his flesh. The stench of burned skin rose from him like a roast on a spit. Triton was forced to cover his nose and mouth. Waldo reached up, something gripped in his hand. Triton knelt barely able to contain his disgust for what was happening to the High Magistrate. He took the dying man’s hand. Waldo pushed with his last effort forcing the medallion into Triton’s hand.

  “For ... Dansen,” he said through rushed gasps of pain.

  “I shall make sure he gets it,” Triton said, but Waldo was already gone. A gaping hole in his chest where the venom had eaten through the armor and to his heart. The smell of blood and stench of death hung about Waldo like a cloud. “Fall back!” Triton said, raising his voice. “The High Magistrate is fallen, fall back!”

  Triton gripped the medallion he’d taken from Waldo and began to fall back with his men. The demons continued their advance, including the weird regenerating one he’d felled twice. It moved slower after he had cut into its side, but he was sure it was no less dangerous.

  “Fall back!” Triton bellowed above the cacophony of combat.

  * * *

  Haverfjord: Year 1507 AO

  26 Sepfer: Sival - 1st Hour of Eralda

  City Center: Bale Warehouse

  The sun was beginning to rise as Triton finished telling the tale.

  “That was the last I saw of your father,” Triton said. “I am certain he was slain. You are the High Magistrate.”” He reached into his pack and withdrew the medallion and handed it to Dansen.

  The younger man took the medallion and looked at it. Inlaid with silver was an ancient sigil. Dansen had never paid much attention to his studies, but he couldn’t deny the knowledge of that symbol. It was the mark of the Bladesingers and the Smith’s of Bhaskar. A double-edged sword between two skulls, at the base of the sword towards the hilt were a pair of feathered wings spread out to either side of the coin. The ancient symbol seemed to glow with power as he held it. Nicter looked as if he had just swallowed something sour. Triton lowered his eyes as did Vern. Graffen barked a sardonic laugh and drew out his own medallion. It bore the same sigil, although it only had one of the two skulls.

  Vern withdrew his and it appeared identical to Graffens, as were Triton and Nicter’s. Once all the medallions had been drawn, they glowed brightly, giving light to the entire office. Graffen stepped closer to Dansen and the other followed suit. They formed a circle with Dansen.

  “When you unleash the power High Magistrate Bale,” Graffen said, his voice suddenly grave. “You will have to choose one of us to die, that is the sacrifice needed.”

  “I have to what?” Dansen said taking an involuntary step backward. “I am not killing anyone.”

  “No, you are not. The magic is,” Graffen replied. “The choice lies with you however.”

  The other three magistrates nodded their assent and Dansen sighed. “How do I choose?” he asked.

  “That is the duty of the High Magistrate,” Nicter said, his voice rising in anger. If you feel unfit pass the mantle to another and they will choose.”

  Dansen knew that Nicter meant himself, as opposed to another.

  “The intent of the choice matters as much as the choice,” Vern said, interjecting.

  Dansen considered that; if he killed Nicter it would solve many of his problems, but what would that make him? How would that shape the magic? He looked at each of the magistrates. He didn’t want to slay any of them, save for Nicter. Even then he wasn’t sure the old man deserved it. Even as contentious as Nicter had been, he was still a leader in the community.

  “I’ll do it,” Dansen said. “I will be the sacrifice.”

  “It doesn’t work like that,” Graffen said. “It must be one of us. Strength and courage High Magistrate Bale, strength and courage.”

  Dansen took heart in Graffen’s words, until he realized what the old man had been saying. Strength and courage was not a comfort, but a direction, advice from the old Magistrate. Dansen didn’t know the old man’’s motives, but he’d been as above the level as any of them. He knew that wasn’t much, but Dansen had made his decision. He reached out for the power in the medallion when the walls began to shake.

  * * *

  Haverfjord: Year 1507 AO

  26 Sepfer: Sival - 1st Hour of Eralda

  City Center: Outside the Bale Warehouse

  Jessa gathered her will and flung it at the warehouse. Purple streaks of malevolent energy struck the solid stone walls and rebounded. She nearly screeched with the frustration as her magic snapped back. It whipped at her as if in retaliation for her failure. It was the kind of thing she expected from Aldefe. Drawing upon her will again, she threw a ball of fire like she’d done before. The energy struck the building and dissipated again, exploding in several directions. Dark scorch marks marred the sides of the wall, but none of the magic seemed to break into the warehouse.

  Hurry, Aldefe hissed.

  “I am going as quickly as I can manage,” she said.

  I don’t care what you can manage, Aldefe barked. Give me control.

  Jessa knew that once Aldefe became directly involved it would take her weeks of recovery. The demon had little regard for human life or their limitations. She knew also that she could not refuse a command given to her. Jessa relinquished control. Power flooded into her like a waterfall and she was beneath it. She could feel the weight of Aldefe’s power. Then the pressure was released in a wave of energy, a hundred times more powerful than she had been directing at the building. The heliotropic blackness bursting forth crushing against the wall with unbridled intensity. The sky grew dark and triumphant cries from the demons echoed through the city. A cloud of inky blackness settled where the wall had stood.

  Jessa began to cackle; it was part woman’s voice and part demonic glee.

  * * *

  Haverfjord: Year 1507 AO

  26 Sepfer: Sival - 1st Hour of Eralda

  City Center: Bale Warehouse

  Dansen felt the energy shake the walls again. He turned to Graffen, the old man looked afraid. His eyes were wide and sweat was beginning to form on his brow. Dansen took a deep breath and pushed his will towards the medallion. He forced an image of Triton in his mind. The warrior was courageous and strong. He wasn’t sure if he could trust Graffen, but the magistrate had not given him cause to believe the older man was homicidal.

  Dansen’s father had told him of the medallions, schooled him in the act of using it, but he hadn’t prepared him for the sacrifice he was about to make. Then it hit him. The sacrifice was not the person consumed by the power -- it was the act of choice. The decision to send another to die in his stead. The decision a leader has to make. Triton was the correct choice. Waldo Bale had sent him with the medallion to find Dansen. The former High Magistrate had already made the decision. Empowered with the knowledge, Dansen forced all of his will into the medallion. He felt it grow hot in his hand, it began to burn. The mark melded into his palm, blazing with power and searing his skin. The energy grew out from him, a green and sonorous wave of energy that shook his very being. Verdant bands of life infused energy spread out from Dansen and into the others. He watched as their medallions exploded with light.

  He could see the approaching shadow through the windows of the office. As the warehouse darkened, the office grew bright with the power of the amulets. A cacophonous roar ripped through the air, throwing all five them to the ground. The green wave of energy exploded throughout the warehouse enveloping it. Peals of thunder rippled and vibrated in the air. Then, just as suddenly as it had burst from the amulet, the energy went silent. A hazy green mist hung in the air. Drops of dew fell on Dansen’s face.

  Pushing himself to his feet, he felt around for his bow. He gathered it and rushed to the front of the warehouse. Everyone was laying on the floor, hands over their heads. Light drops of water fell from the ceiling and ran down the walls. Dansen pushed through the throngs of people
and stopped. The main entry to the warehouse was covered in a blanket of glowing shifting energy. It was bright green and white. Just on the other side of it was a cloud of black smoke that seemed to almost writhe with life. He knocked and arrow and drew it back. Before he could loose the arrow the green shield bowed inward as another blast of energy slammed into it. The light was so bright he let go of the arrow to shield his eyes.

  When he lowered his arm, the energy was gone, but the echo of its presence still resonated with him. It seemed to have affected everyone. The light was gone, but so was the black cloud. He knocked a new arrow and walked outside.

  * * *

  Haverfjord: Year 1507 AO

  26 Sepfer: Sival - 1st Hour of Eralda

  City Center: Outside the Bale Warehouse

  Lush powerful waves of energy exploded through the smoke, sending out tendrils of magical energy. It slammed into Jessa, and she wanted to scream. Pulsating power throbbed against her spirit and through her limbs. Then it passed through her. She felt something tear as if her heart had been ripped from her chest. The uneasy feeling of absolute loneliness struck her and she knew that Aldefe was gone. She did not feel weak or burdened by it. In fact, she thought she might retain some of the power. Jessa took a deep breath and drew in her will. Energy flooded into her, picking her up off the ground. She continued to drink in the power and revel in it. The world thundered and roared around her.

  A second wave slammed into her back, but she pressed back against it and it flowed around her. The flash of light was so blinding she could see it through her closed eyes. Then it was gone. The world had become silence. Jessa allowed herself to lower to the ground, the power infusing her being. She gathered her will and prepared to level the building in front of her. If Aldefe had fled, she would gain prestige in his eyes for completing the task. Something struck her in the left breast, directly into her heart. Pain lanced through her, and she screamed.

  “Not today witch,” a voice said from just beyond the warehouse. “The city is defended. It is time for you to die.”

  “Who,” Jessa started to speak, but the words caught in her throat as another arrow struck her in the abdomen.

  She doubled over in pain and immediately stood straight again as the pain of the two arrows intensified. She stared at the young man with raging fury. She gathered the magic and extended her palm. Crackling purple and black energy formed above her outstretched hand and she flung her fingers out. Wisps of energy lanced towards the archer, as a final arrow found her skull. The magic vaporized into motes of unspent energy as she tumbled backward. The ground was hard and knocked the wind out of her already labored breathing. The man stood over her.

  When had he moved so close, Jessa thought.

  “It is over witch,” the man said. “I am High Magistrate Dansen Bale, and you are finished.”

  Finally, Jessa thought to herself as the man who had called himself the High Magistrate yanked out the arrow from her abdomen and stabbed it into her throat. She welcomed the pain, it signified her end. She was free of Aldefe. It only took me nine hundred years, she thought bitterly as she coughed her last breaths.

  * * *

  Haverfjord: Year 1508 AO

  5 Rytfer: Calal - 6th Hour of Eralda

  City Center: Monument

  Dansen stood in the center of the city of Haverfjord. An enormous statue stood behind him, covered by the salvaged sail of a ship. He watched as the masses of people gathered in front of him. The finery of the Northern district stood beside the common-wear of the Docks. From his vantage point on the raised base of the monument, Dansen could see the winding South road as it led away from the city. If he looked west, he would be able to see the West road that led towards the heart of the Marshweld. Many of the buildings had been razed the year prior, but he could see new construction as well. There were rumors in the city about the disappearance of the other magistrates, but in light of the victory over the demon armies and the hard pressed battle against the pirates in lieu of the demon horde, the people forgave the rumors.

  Dansen knew that the magic had consumed them all, despite his choice. The words of Graffen Maels echoed in his thoughts.

  Strength and Courage.

  He knew now that the words had several meanings. Strength and Courage were needed to enact the spell. Strength and Courage would be needed to survive the sorrow brought on by the spell. Strength and Courage would be needed to keep the city from falling even after the battle was over. He had managed it all.

  “Strength and Courage,” he said in a loud voice. “Strength and Courage saw us through the hardships brought to our city. Strength and Courage saw us through the battle against the pirate lords. Strength and Courage saw the horror and spat in its face.”

  Dansen reached back and gripped the sail. He pulled on it hard so that it fell away from the stone sculpted monument in the center of the city. Triton’s face roared in defiance his sword held aloft. Vern held a bow with the arrow drawn. Graffen held a book and looked like the sagely giver of wisdom that Dansen saw him as. Slightly hunched and looking clever, Nicter balanced a scale in one hand and held a life ring in the other. The people cheered. Soon the roar of the crowd turned into a chant.

  Strength and Courage

  Haverfjord!

  Strength and Courage

  Haverfjord!

  Strength and Courage

  Haverfjord!

  Dansen let them sing. He also, let a tear fall from his cheek. He would not dishonor the men who gave their lives to ensure that the city would survive by crying for them. He would be strong and courageous and lead the people forward. Haverfjord would become a jewel of the south.

  Captain Seafang

  Pirate Lord of the Maelsea

  The Maelsea: Year 1610 AO

  17 Ienfer: Sepal - 6th Hour of Eralda

  The Sea Queen

  “Aye laddie,” the grizzled old pirate said. He shifted his weight and searched for a comfortable spot between the gunpowder barrels. He focused his gaze back on the young man. “T’was when Bhaskar cast down t’wicked Kokila that t’seas did roil and cry out. Thus angering t’goddess of t’sea - Thalassa.”

  “I've never heard of Thalassa before,” the young man said. He rubbed at his chin and felt the days' old stubble growing there.

  “I don’t expect that you would have.” The pirate brought a tankard to his lips. He took a deep draw and smacked his lips nosily. “Laddie, Thalassa is t’goddess of all t’oceans. She is t’sister of Bhaskar, and she holds no love for her brother.”

  “Two points off the starboard bow!” The call came from the crow's nest. “Yellow flags!”

  The old pirate slammed the tankard down on top of one of the barrels in an effort to rise. The young man winced. He figured the pirate knew what he was doing, but explosive barrels still worried him. With a meaty hand the older man grabbed hold of the younger and began to pull himself up. His significant girth made it a difficult task, but the young man caught on quickly. He braced his legs and kept himself from falling while the older man used him as leverage.

  “Good on ye laddie,” the pirate said. He pointed behind the younger man and said, “O’er there ye bilge-keeling landlubber, trim that fore sail afore we're tossed about.” The young man turned to look behind him, but he wasn't sure which cable the pirate meant. “T’danglin’ line there Gribbons!”

  The young man, Alar Gribbons, noted the loose line and ran for it. The ship swayed and heaved on the back of the sea, but he had been on the ship long enough to match her flow. He gripped the line and drew it down to secure it.

  “Captain,” another voice called. “Captain Seafang!”

  “Oi?” the old pirate turned around, facing the man calling his name. “What is it?”

  “Yellow flags, with circle and cross in black,” the other pirate said. He was a thin man with sunken eyes and a pointy nose that gave him bird-like qualities.

  “T’praetorium is it Crow?” Captain Seafang asked.

  �
��Aye Captain,” Crow said, although his brow furrowed at the captain’s mention of his nickname. “Two points--”

  “Off t’starboard bow,” the Captain interrupted. “I heard ye afore. What size is she?”

  “Brigantine by first guess Captain. Three-masted,” Crow said, casting a sidelong glance at the robust captain. Rubbing his bald head, Crow grimaced before speaking again. “I figure we can take her if we can get her to the shallows.”

  “What’s the shallows?” Alar said from behind the captain.

  “Gribbons,” Captain Seafang said. “Get back on t’rudder and get us t’running, if ye let t’main sail luff I’ll keelhaul yer carcass after I gut ye.”

  Gribbons blanched and his palms felt damp. He hurriedly rushed back to the wheel of the ship. He cast a look behind him at the captain and Crow. The Captain was already looking ahead. Crow was still scowling.

  “T’that peak jutting out of the sea, set yer course at four degrees south and another one degree west,” the captain said, bellowing so all could hear.

  He reached up and took the black admiral’s cap from his head and rubbed at the skin at the crown of his skull. He gave Crow a look then said, “What’re ye waiting for ye Jack tar, get yer scrawny arse astern rouse the crew and prepare t’ballistae.”

  Crow followed the order, but not before he cast a murderous glance at Seafang. If the Captain had seen it, he would have gutted the pirate on the spot.

  As it was, the Captain did not see Crow’s look. He was watching the Praetorian vessel in the distance, smiling. The ship turned causing the sea-spray to cascade up in the air as waves broke against the hull. The captain thought of it as the sea’s rage and grinned again. The wind blowing across his face whipped at his long black beard and blew away the salt of the sea. His fiery purple eyes stared at the Praetorium Brigantine in the distance.