LEGENDS: Fifteen Tales of Sword and Sorcery

by Colt, K. J.

  Rarely, some are born with a moderate to high emittance but with a low capacitance. This trait occurs with no more frequency than one in a hundred. Those born with it usually do not become aware of it until puberty, when their bodies begin to mature, although occasionally it becomes active even earlier. The primary trait found in those with a high emittance is known to the common folk as ‘the sight’. This refers to their ability to sense and see things of a purely magical nature. They sometimes manifest precognitive abilities or other forms of prescience and clairvoyance. Most become mystics, soothsayers, and fortune tellers. Some enter the clergy or priesthoods of various religions as their ability allows them to channel the powers of their gods. Thus are born the legends of ‘saints’. Such would likely have been my own destiny if fate and my own intellectual curiosity had not interfered.

  ~Marcus the Heretic,

  On the Nature of Faith and Magic

  MY AUDIENCE WITH THE DUKE had gone much as I’d expected. He made light of my late sleeping, passing it off as the ‘excess of youth’, but I was still sure I had disappointed him. In any case, he made sure that I was aware that he and the Duchess both were colluding in misrepresenting my social status. As Marc had said earlier, I was to represent myself as a traveling scholar and avoid questions regarding my exact place in society; they for their part would divert questions by remarking that I was a distant cousin of some sort.

  Looking back, I cannot help but wonder at their nonchalance at deceiving so many people as to my social standing. It seems incredible from the standpoint of a lowly blacksmith’s son, but when I consider it from their lofty station, it makes a bit more sense. It quite literally was no big deal to them; the Lancasters were second in rank only to the royal family itself. Who would gainsay them? Who would bother to question the rank of an unknown scholar? And if the truth should out, what of it? They could pass it off as a minor joke, and the worst consequence might be some ruffled feathers. For my part, it scared the living shit out of me, and I felt as if I had my neck on the executioners block.

  I took a free moment that afternoon to continue reading and do some experimentation. One of the more interesting things Vestrius had learned early in his apprenticeship was a spell to put others into a magical slumber. Apparently it was a simple feat and one taught early because of its general usefulness. It could be used defensively against men and beasts or to escape from delicate situations. It also had the advantage of plausible deniability, assuming that all the witnesses were included in the effect. Grummond made a point of telling Vestrius that it would have no effect on stoics, but I had yet to find out what that meant.

  I set out to find a suitable target for experimentation. I initially considered Marcus or Dorian, but I put that idea aside. I was still uncertain of my abilities, and I didn’t want to risk putting them into some sort of permanent coma. I settled for sitting at the window and attempting to put birds to sleep. My first target was a blackbird that was kind enough to land on the windowsill.

  I focused my will and looked at the bird, “Shibal.” It collapsed as though someone had struck it with a well-aimed stone. I watched it for several minutes to see if it would awaken. It didn’t. The spell was supposed to last a while, depending upon how much power the caster put into it, but I had no idea if the size of the creature was a factor. I tried waking the bird with loud noises, but it remained stubbornly asleep. I was pretty sure that was not normally the case with sleeping birds. Finally I picked it up and made sure it was still breathing. It seemed to be fine, with the exception of being a very sound sleeper. I tried shaking it a bit and then I poked it with my finger.

  “Ow! Shit!” the bird had wakened and promptly bitten my finger. It flew around the room for several minutes while I chased it, trying to herd it toward the open window. Eventually it found the exit, and I sat down to consider what I had learned. I definitely wouldn’t be bringing more birds into the room; my finger was still throbbing painfully.

  I decided to try again, this time on something further away. I spotted a hawk circling overhead. “Shibal.” The bird faltered for a moment but quickly recovered. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the distance or whether it was more difficult to put it to sleep because it was flying. I drew myself inward mentally and focused my intention on the bird, “Shibal!” The hawk dropped from the sky like a stone. I felt more than heard the hard ‘whump’ as it hit the stone courtyard. Bollocks! I killed it. I quickly drew back from the window, lest someone see me and make the connection. The story of the burning of the college in Albamarl had left an impression on me.

  A knock sounded on my door, and I started. Surely no one could have seen the hawk and gotten up here already? I opened it and found Dorian standing there.

  “You need to come down in a few minutes, Mort. The first of the guests are here, and Marc wants you there to greet them with him.” He glanced around the room. The bed was still in disarray, and the pillows were scattered. “Looks like you’ve been making friends with the cleaning staff already.”

  I wondered for a moment if he had been talking to Marc. “Dorian you trust me, right?” I tugged him into the room and shut the door.

  “Well sure. You remember that time you and Marc dragged me out to old man Wilkin’s farm to help you steal pumpkins?” He had an endearing habit of repeating our childhood stories every time he got the chance, or an annoying habit, depending on the circumstances.

  “Yeah, yeah, here come sit down for a second.” I hustled him over to the divan.

  “You and Marc told me you were gonna use the pumpkins to scare the crap out of…” he started to continue the story. Normally I wouldn’t have minded, but I had heard it a dozen times already, and I had other things on my mind.

  “Shibal,” I intoned seriously. Nothing happened.

  “…Sir Kelton while he was standing watch that night,” Dorian continued without missing a beat. It might have been because I was staring at him intently. He probably thought I was listening. A second knock interrupted my thoughts.

  Benchley, Marc’s valet stood in the doorway, “His Lordship thought you might need some help getting ready,” he said. I guess Penny had changed her mind about dressing me, or perhaps Marc had.

  A sudden thought occurred to me, “Actually Benchley, I’m already properly dressed, but you could give me a hand with the bed. I haven’t a clue how to get the sheets and pillows back the way they were.” I waved in the general direction of the disaster zone I was calling a bed.

  Benchley stood a bit straighter, and I realized I had probably insulted him since such tasks were usually the domain of the chamber maids. He was a ‘gentleman’s gentleman’ after all. He kept his tongue though, and walked over to pick up the coverlets. I watched him carefully, biding my time. Meanwhile, Dorian had stopped his story and was looking at me with an odd expression; he knew I was up to something now.

  As soon as Benchley leaned over the bed to smooth the sheets I spoke, “Shibal.” He collapsed across the mattress as if he had been poleaxed.

  “Sweet Mother!” Dorian stood up and stared at Benchley, then looked at me, his mouth agape. Then he silently mouthed, “What did you do?” as if we were in danger of being overheard. Honestly, his overly serious expressions are half the reason I love Dorian.

  I spent the next few minutes explaining what I had done. One nice thing about Dorian, as opposed to Marc, is that he doesn’t interrupt. He listened intently, his eyes growing wider as I talked. My demonstration had definitely sent him into a state of high anxiety, but the other thing I love about Dorian is his intense loyalty.

  “I better go stand guard in the hallway to make sure no one comes in.” He spoke in a hushed tone. I tried to convince him that wouldn’t be necessary, since there was nothing more incriminating in the room than a sleeping manservant, but you can’t shake these ideas from him once he gets his mind set on them.

  Once he had left the room, I stepped over to Benchley. My first thought was to awaken him with a shake, since tha
t was what had worked with the bird, but then I figured I should use the opportunity to get more information from my experiment. I tried shouting first, that didn’t work, but it did draw a worried Dorian back in from the hallway. “What are you doing?” he silently mouthed at me.

  “Nothing, go back to the hall,” I silently mouthed back. Lord, now he had me doing it too! He went back out, so I decided to try gently shaking the sleeping valet. After a moment, I had to get more vigorous, for it seemed I had put Benchley into a deep slumber. That didn’t work either. Finally I went and got a slender straight pin from the dressing table. I’ve never been sure why they keep those there, but it came in handy.

  “Gah!” Benchley uttered a most ungentlemanly sound and sat straight up from the bed. I quickly hid the pin I had just plunged into his posterior. “What happened to me?” He seemed very confused.

  “It appears that you fainted, Benchley. Do you think perhaps you might be working too hard lately? You might do well to get some more rest.” I did my best to look concerned for his well-being as I gently ushered him to the door.

  “What about the bed sir?” he asked.

  “Never mind that,” I replied, “the chamber maids can get it in the morning.”

  “Very good sir,” he ambled down the corridor while I watched him go.

  Dorian nudged me, “If we don’t get moving, you’re going to miss greeting the Duke’s guests.”

  “Oh, right!” I shut the door, and we headed down.

  As we walked, he looked over at me, “We’re going to need to talk about this later.”

  “Be sure to invite Penny to the meeting,” I muttered sarcastically to myself.

  “What? I didn’t hear you,” he said.

  “Nothing, I was talking to myself.” Inwardly I did resolve to try to make sure I included her more in the future. Her speech earlier had made me feel like a complete jerk. All of this assumed of course that she didn’t think I was an agent of the dark gods. The last I had seen her, she had been putting as much distance between us as possible.

  I wound up standing at the steps leading into the main keep with the Duke and his family. The Lord and Lady Thornbear were there as well, which left me feeling distinctly out of place. While the coaches drew up, the Duchess was kind enough to explain my role.

  She was a striking woman in appearance despite her middling years, and she placed her hand over mine as she spoke, “As the guests get out of the carriages, James and I will greet them one by one. Each person standing here will escort one of the guests into the front hall and then show them to the sun room upstairs.” In case you’ve forgotten, James was her husband, the Duke; although she was the only person I had ever heard refer to him by his given name. The sun room was a brightly lit parlor upstairs near the Duke’s rooms. “Mordecai, you will escort Rose Hightower.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Do you remember how to address her?” the Duchess had some qualities that reminded me of my own mother.

  “I address her as Lady Hightower,” I said confidently.

  “No, Mordecai. Lady Hightower is her mother, you address her simply as Lady Rose,” she remonstrated.

  “Yes, Your Grace, Lady Rose.” I had known that, but I was nervous.

  By then the first coach had drawn up, and the occupants were getting out. Naturally the first was Devon Tremont, the son of Duke Tremont. The Duke of Tremont was the only peer of the realm who had equal standing with the Duke of Lancaster; accordingly his son and heir had equivalent standing to Marcus. I took that to mean I should be exceedingly polite. The Duke and his wife greeted him warmly, and Marc stepped forward to escort him upstairs.

  Knowing Marc as well as I did, I could tell he didn’t like Devon. He tipped his head slightly in greeting, “Devon, it is good to see you again.” Something told me that was exactly the opposite of how he felt, but he hid it so well I doubt anyone else could have discerned it.

  “Marcus, well met. I see you are in good health…still.” Devon replied. The slight pause before the word ‘still’ made it abundantly clear he wished it were otherwise. I watched him intently as they mounted the steps. He was of middling height with a lean athletic build and light brown hair. The moment I laid eyes upon the young lord I nearly gasped. He carried about him a strange radiance, almost a purplish aura, and something about it made me feel mildly ill. I had never encountered anything like it before. For a moment his eyes met mine and they narrowed, I wondered what he might be seeing. Did I have a similar aura, and if so… could the young nobleman see it?

  The moment passed, and he continued up the stairs. My reverie was interrupted by the next guest, Stephen Airedale, the son of Count Airedale. He was an impressive looking young man with light blond hair and steel grey eyes. He was also the first person to emerge who was my equal in height. In fact, he might possibly be taller. Marc’s sister, Ariadne, offered him her arm, and the two of them proceeded up the stairs chatting amiably. Her mother had trained her well, and I could see she would someday be a formidable socialite.

  The next to get out was Master Gregory Pern, the son of the famous Admiral Pern. As the son of a military commander his standing within aristocratic circles was minor, his father had originally been a commoner after all. Regardless, his father’s powerful shadow had a long reach, and there were rumors that Gregory might be granted a minor title in the future.

  Before we go on I have to confess, if I sounded knowledgeable about the aristocracy, it was not through any great knowledge of my own. Marcus had tutored me on our guests that afternoon with some help from his sister.

  Master Pern was being led away by Lady Thornbear, who seemed quite comfortable on the arm of a handsome young man. She winked at me as they went by. Meanwhile her husband, Lord Thornbear had stepped up to escort Lady Elizabeth Balistair, daughter of Earl Balistair. She was lovely in her own right, although I would have said her nose was a bit too long and her green eyes were unsettling. She was also excessively tall for a woman, probably near five feet eleven inches. Not that that was a bad thing, but being as tall or taller than most men would make finding a husband difficult, and finding a husband would be important to Lady Elizabeth. The Balistair family was rumored to be having financial difficulties.

  I had little time to think on that though; my turn had come. Lady Rose stepped out of her carriage and greeted the ducal couple warmly, and then she turned to me. I offered my arm as I had seen done, and she slipped her gloved hand across it. Truthfully she was one of the most beautiful women I could recall, with long dark tresses and warm blue eyes. Well, she might not be quite as pretty as Penny, certainly her figure was a bit slighter, but she had a definite presence. Her father, Lord Hightower, was the nominal head of the royal guard and commander of the garrison in Albamarl. Reputedly their family name came from the tall bailey their family occupied in the capitol.

  We walked up the steps carefully. I felt awkward walking next to such a graceful lady, but I did my best to cover it. “Lady Rose, I understand this is not your first trip to Lancaster?” I said. You would never guess I had a note card hidden in my pocket with a list of similar conversational phrases, thanks to Ariadne. Marc’s sister was very thoughtful.

  “Oh! Yes, yes I have visited twice before, when my father came to discuss matters with the Duke.” She seemed distracted, her eyes scanning the crowd when I asked my question. I wondered briefly who she might be looking for.

  “I hope your previous stays were pleasant. Did you make any friends of note while you were here?” That question wasn’t on my list of approved topics, but I figured I could improvise.

  She looked at me carefully, and I could see a sharp intelligence behind her blue eyes, “Why yes I did. I was just a girl at the time, but I was quite charmed with young Ariadne.” Her eyes slipped away from me again, and it seemed to me that they lit upon Dorian for a moment as he stood duty by the front doors. It might have been my imagination though, for she returned her glance to me but a second later. “How long have
you lived in Lancaster, Master Eldridge?” she said.

  I nearly answered, ‘All my life,’ but I caught myself, “Not long, but I’ve visited many times before.” She was no longer looking directly at me, but it still felt as if she were looking at me intently. As we passed through the doorway I gave Dorian a quick wink to let him know things were going well, but he didn’t notice. His attention seemed fixed on my companion. My curiosity was definitely piqued.

  “Her grace introduced you to me as a scholar, Master Eldridge… might I inquire what it is that you study?” she queried me.

  I thought I could detect a subtle undercurrent of humor in her question. Worse, I had let too much time lapse, and she had turned the questioning back upon me. I was definitely getting into murky waters here. “Mathematics, Lady Rose,” I answered. “Although I fear the term ‘scholar’ does me too much credit. I still feel myself a novice compared to the great mathematicians of old.” See, I can be quite erudite when I try.

  “You do not seem old enough to be so learned,” she remarked.

  “In faith I am young, my lady. It is a fact which has done me no good service. I shall be glad when I will at last be able to display grey hair as proof of wisdom.” I was rather proud of that one, I might be a natural.

  “You do not think we should revere the wisdom of the aged?” observed Lady Rose perceptively.

  Ouch, she had neatly turned that one back upon me.

  “That was not my intention at all,” I explained. “I merely imply that in matters of mathematics, advanced years are no guarantee of wisdom, nor does youth necessitate its lack.” We had reached the sun room, and I felt relieved that I might escape. I was beginning to doubt my ability to keep up with Lady Rose in the dueling dance of our conversation.

  I started to excuse myself, but she held onto my arm for a moment, “Master Eldridge, relax. We’ve only just met. Let me give you some advice.” I looked down and her blue eyes caught me again. “You did well for a novice; in future, don’t let your opponent have so much time to turn the questions to topics you would prefer to avoid.”