LEGENDS: Fifteen Tales of Sword and Sorcery

by Colt, K. J.

  “A lady friend, how interesting. Well enough. You should know that you made your first enemy at the reception the other day.” She gauged my reaction.

  “I knew that, but there is no remedy for it.” If I got any better at wordy dialogue, I’d be teaching classes in circumlocution soon.

  “You are wise to accept that so readily. Your friend Marcus is lucky to have you, but his friendship puts you in grave danger.”

  I knew that as well, but I wondered at her opinion, “How so?”

  “A building’s strength lies in its foundation. Your enemy seeks to bring down the House of Lancaster. He will do so by undermining the foundation first, and you stand out as a key target in that pursuit.” I had heard this before, but I didn’t want to offend her.

  “Lady Rose, I think you greatly overestimate my value.” Maybe she wasn’t as smart as I had initially thought.

  “That may be, but I find it more likely that you underestimate yourself.” I could have argued, but didn’t bother. She would have gotten the last word anyway. A few more pointless exchanges and I pardoned myself to continue my search. This time she let me go without comment.

  I wandered for a while, hunting for a woman with dark hair and eyes that could drink the moon. Lady luck didn’t see fit to help me though, damn her. Penny was elusive, like a dream you can’t remember on waking. Finally I gave up and devoted myself to enjoying the last of the show. A particularly impressive red bloom lit the sky above the lake, accompanied by a thundering boom. An idea struck me. Pure genius. I couldn’t wait to try it out.

  Forgetting the light show, I hurried back to my room to search for the words I needed in the ‘Grammar’. If I wasn’t able to find Penny, at least I could prepare myself better for whatever lay ahead.

  Penny stood in an embrasure, shadowed by a tall merlon. She was all but invisible there, which suited her just fine. She watched the colorful lights bursting overhead, but she found no joy in them. When Mordecai came striding by, she almost stepped out. He had a look of concentration on his face, and he walked with purpose. She had seen that look before, and she loved him for it. His mind was constantly in motion, and she could tell something had inspired him. The wind caught his hair, tossing it back, giving him the look of a hawk stooping to find its prey. She wanted to catch him, but her heart quailed at the thought, she couldn’t face him now. It was too soon.

  She stood still, until he was past, then she turned back to watch the last of the show, a forgotten tear slowly tracing the line of her cheek. There were people everywhere, but she had never been so alone. A touch on her shoulder startled her, and she nearly screamed thinking Devon had found her.

  “Oh my! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you, my dear.” Rose Hightower was there, with a concerned look.

  “Forgive me, milady. I was caught up in my thoughts.” Penny self-consciously wiped away the tears that stained her cheeks. “Is there aught that you need of me?”

  “Don’t apologize. Not all nobles are as heartless as Lord Devon,” Rose said this with a small grin, hoping to elicit a smile from the troubled maid. To her dismay, Penny began to cry, shoulders quaking with silent sobs.

  Rose Hightower had been a lady and a peer of the realm since birth. She had addressed kings and been courted by every eligible bachelor in the realm, but she was much more than that. She was a woman of character and compassion first. Without a second thought, she stepped forward and embraced Penny, “There, there. It’s alright.”

  At first Penny tried to pull away, certain that her weakness would lead to even more trouble for herself. “No, no, don’t worry, I’m a friend,” Rose said, and she meant it. She held onto Penny until the girl relaxed, smoothing her hair and speaking softly to calm her.

  Penny hadn’t had anyone to hold her when she cried since her mother died. Even though Rose was nearly her age, she was reminded a bit of those days; days when she had felt safe. Eventually, she calmed herself and pulled back. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t tell anyone about this. I don’t know what would...”

  “Hush girl. I am not so cruel as that. What happened here is between us, and if you’ll let me, I will help you as I am able,” Rose’s eyes were sympathetic. “Now tell me why you’re up here weeping while Mordecai searches high and low for you.”

  “What? How do you know that...?” Penny was startled.

  “I spoke to him just a bit ago. He was looking for you, and he seemed worried about you.” He hadn’t actually told her that, but she had read it in his voice when he had answered her question; very little escaped Rose Hightower’s keen ears.

  “I wasn’t hiding from Mort; honestly, I just didn’t want to encounter Lord Dev...” Penny stopped, “He’s been making a lot of demands of the staff. I meant no disrespect, milady.”

  Rose’s eyes narrowed, “None taken, I know all too well how unpleasant that putrescent man can be.” Rose stared at Penny for a moment, her mind working. She had heard rumors of Devon Tremont’s misdeeds before, and she had an idea of the sorts of things he was capable of. “Penelope, do you trust me?”

  “I hardly know you, milady.” That remark could be construed as an insult, but she was in fact beginning to feel comfortable with Lady Rose.

  “Fair enough. Listen to me. I know you are close friends with Dorian Thornbear. Do you trust him?” Penny nodded; Dorian was one of the most honorable men she knew, not to mention her childhood friend.

  “I would trust him with anything milady. He’s a true gentleman,” she replied.

  “Then accept me in his stead. I would trust Dorian with my life. If I can aid him by helping you, I would count myself happy.” Rose looked steadily into Penny’s eyes.

  “Why are you telling me this?” Penny could sense the other woman’s sincerity, but she couldn’t fathom the reason behind it.

  “Because I want to help you, and before I can do that, you have to answer me honestly, as one woman to another.” Rose paused.

  “I don’t understand, but if you’re a true friend of Dorian’s I will answer you, if I am able.” Penelope felt silly answering like that, but Lady Rose seemed deadly serious.

  “You mentioned Devon Tremont was hard on the staff, but I suspect you meant something more personal.” There was no easy way for Rose to broach the subject, but the look on Penny’s face answered her more quickly than words could have done. “Have you been ill-used Penny? Please tell me true, and if he has, I will do all in my power to see that tyrant pay for his crimes.”

  “No, please, you can’t tell anyone. If they find out he’ll...” Her words were confirmation enough.

  “Relax, I won’t go shouting it from the rooftops. I don’t know what I can do, but I’ll make sure he can’t hurt you again. And eventually, I’ll make sure that man pays three times over for what he has done, or I am not a Hightower.” Her voice held a cold steel that made Penny shiver for a moment, yet it gave her hope as well.

  “He’s the son of a duke—what can women do to such a man?” Penny was more interested in hope now than dissuading Rose.

  “He’s the younger son of a duke, and his late brother Eric, was my friend.” Rose took her by the hand and began walking toward the stairs leading to the courtyard. “And you would be surprised what women can do.” The look in her eye would have even given pause to a king.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Dark God

  At heart, the gods as we have come to know them are merely powerful sentient and incredibly dense concentrations of aythar. It is thought that many of them formed originally as the result of mankind’s innate need to worship a higher power, but this theory is unproven as some of the gods currently known certainly predate the existence of humanity. Whether they arose as a result of a prior sentient race similar to humankind is uncertain. They might well have developed from some purely natural phenomenon, independent of believers. The real question lies in what their ultimate goals are regarding mortal beings. Some have proven definitively malignant, while others still seem beni
gn.

  ~Marcus the Heretic,

  On the Nature of Faith and Magic

  THE FIREWORKS WERE OF BENEFIT to more than just the spectators. They proved to be a perfect distraction for Devon Tremont to do a little research. The puzzling events in his room the night before had left him troubled. Someone had made a fool of him, and given the circumstances, there was only one man that could possibly have done it.

  He had shoved the furniture to one side, clearing the center of the room. Using a stick of charcoal he drew two black circles on the floor, one within the other. In the space between the two he traced a row of strange symbols. They glowed subtly as he finished and began his incantation. The summoning took several minutes, and during the invocation he repeated one name at regular intervals. As he finished, the light in the room dimmed, and shadows began to move strangely within the circle.

  A dark form solidified within the center, a shape that moved and twisted like smoke trapped in a jar. “What do you seek of me little wizard? You have not yet paid what you owe.” The voice was deep and coarse, rumbling like thunder in a winter storm.

  Devon kept his aspect calm, showing fear here would be a grave mistake, “You will get your payment when I am king. The Lancasters are but the first of many rewards you will receive.”

  “You would do well to leave me undisturbed if you have no gift of blood, I am not some petty demon to be trifled with.” A black maw of twisted teeth appeared in the smoke for a moment before vanishing again.

  “Perhaps if your information had been complete, I would be more likely to provide such gifts, Mal’goroth.” A bead of sweat ran down Devon’s brow, he was taking a risk here.

  “You imply I have violated our pact?” The voice was curious.

  “You told me that there are no living wizards,” he replied.

  “All the ancient bloodlines have been severed, and the knowledge they kept is broken and scattered, there are none left. Do you dispute this?” Mal’goroth’s words were heavy with implicit threat.

  “There is a wizard here, in the House of Lancaster. I would not think such a thing would have escaped your notice,” Devon answered.

  Mal’goroth spoke, “The talent arises from time to time. You, yourself are proof of this. This mage can be no threat, without knowledge he is helpless. There are no more wizards.”

  “His name is Mordecai, how would you explain that? A random mage appearing here among the Lancasters, bearing a name from the line of Illeniel?” Devon felt surer of himself now.

  “Lies! The line of Illeniel is no more, the last of them died sixteen years ago at the hands of the Shaddoth Krys.” Mal’goroth had become still within the circle.

  “Then the Shadow-Blades failed; even the Shaddoth Krys can make mistakes it would seem. Your information was flawed, like their mission.” Devon was baiting Mal’goroth now; he hoped to get more from their bargain.

  After a long pause Mal’goroth answered, “Yes.”

  “Then you must redress that mistake. I will require more assistance.” This was going better than Devon had hoped.

  “The Shaddoth Krys are too far, it would be better if you allow me to help you directly.” Mal’goroth sounded eager.

  “I am no fool, I will not bridge the gulf for you,” Devon snapped.

  “I would not suggest that. Merely let me join with you, my power could make your task simple.” The dark god’s voice was almost friendly now. It was suggesting Devon open his mind to it, channeling the evil god’s power. The idea was tempting, but Devon shivered at the thought of letting the being into his mind. There was no surety he would ever be able to get it out again.

  “That is unacceptable. What of your followers?” he was referring to the cult of Mal’goroth, a secret society worshipping in the shadows, hidden from the eyes of saner men.

  “They could not reach here soon enough, wizard, unless you open a way for them. Are you capable of such a thing?” Mal’goroth sneered audibly.

  “I can manage it, without need for your power,” Devon said. “How soon can they be ready?”

  The dark form of Mal’goroth shifted in the circle, “Four nights from now. They will be waiting.”

  Devon smiled. Creating a path to transport them would be difficult, but the result would be worth it. His original plan had been subtler, but sometimes bold strokes created a masterpiece. The Lancasters would be removed; they and their retainers would feed the dark god, and their absence would destabilize the kingdom, a necessary first step. He finished his discussion with Mal’goroth and ended the summoning spell. Once he was sure the creature had gone, he broke the circle and began planning.

  First he would remove the blacksmith’s son. He represented a significant threat to the completion of his scheme. After that he would see the House of Lancaster expunged and their retainers brought to ruin. The House of Tremont would not benefit in the short term, but in the years to come, when the royal family suffered a great tragedy, there would be no rivals to contend for the throne. Tremont would be the only possible choice.

  There was yet more to do, so Devon left his room and went below. He needed a quiet, isolated location within the keep, a place where something as conspicuous as a large transportation glyph would go unnoticed. Tonight would be the best time to find a place for it; while the servants were watching the pyrotechnics, he would be free to roam the cellars and tunnels beneath the keep.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Return Home

  Regarding the differences in power between a mage and a channeler, otherwise known as a ‘saint’: A mage is, in most cases, a free agent, given that his power comes from within, while a channeler is beholden to the source of his power. Although both achieve their effects through the use of aythar, a mage must rely upon his own control and his own reserves. A channeler is partly controlled by his deity, therefore his control is provided in large degree by his god, and his reserves are much less limited. The channeler is largely restricted by two other factors: his credos, for he may not act against the wishes of his god, and his human frailty, a factor scholars refer to as ‘burnout’. If too much power is channeled, one may destroy one’s health and possibly the ability to channel as well. A wizard’s own power is rarely great enough for burnout to be a possibility, although some exceptions have been known.

  ~Marcus the Heretic,

  On the Nature of Faith and Magic

  I ROSE EARLY FOR A change, and for the first time in days I felt as if my mind and body were in harmony. I have lived according to a dawn to dusk schedule for most of my life, so the late nights had really thrown my body out of whack. I also had a plan, things to be a’doing. The feeling of purpose gave me renewed vigor.

  I hadn’t told anyone yet, but I had decided the night before to return home today. I had already begun to feel some homesickness. After all I was just the son of a humble blacksmith. The politics and intrigue of court life wore on my nerves; I had no stamina for it. I wasn’t going to spend the night. I intended to ride back before nightfall. The idea that I had had the night before, required a lot of wide open space, and I wanted a place where I wouldn’t create a panic with my experiment.

  My home suited that purpose perfectly. Out in the country we had no close neighbors, and if anyone did happen to be in the vicinity, the smithy was often the source of odd noises. I would have to explain matters to my parents beforehand though. Even had I not planned my ‘test’, I needed to do that. My sudden departure had left my parents in the dark.

  I borrowed a horse from Dorian’s father, there being fewer questions that way, and began riding home. It took me close to an hour, but the weather was nice, and the palfrey I was riding had a smooth gait. I was in a fine mood by the time I got there. My only worry was how my parents would react to my new abilities. I was pretty sure that it wasn’t every day your son comes home to tell you he’s developed a knack for magic. I guessed my mom would have the most trouble, she has difficulty with surprises. Dad would probably ask me if it would help with the meta
l somehow. He was very practical that way.

  I found my father hard at work. He saw me come in and nodded at me, directing me to the bellows with a glance. I got to pumping. Half an hour later he set the piece he was working on aside to cool slowly. Annealing it was called, to take the temper out. “I didn’t think you were supposed to be back for a few more days,” he said.

  “A lot has happened. I’m going back this evening, but I need to talk to you and mom,” I replied.

  “She’s in the house I think, let me wash up and we’ll go in. She’ll probably want to feed you some of our leftovers.” His face was still, but his voice had a smile in it.

  A while later, after some bacon and hash-browns, we sat at the table together. Slowly I began to tell them of the things that had happened to me. It took more time than I thought, even with me leaving out the parts about Penny. I didn’t feel it was my place to discuss what had happened to her. Through it all, my father sat quietly, his stern face deep in thought. Mother looked as though she might interrupt a few times, but he shushed her and she held her peace. When I finished she got up, “I have to hang the wash out. I’ll be back in a bit.” Her tone was tense.

  “What’s wrong with mom?” I asked.

  “She’s just having trouble facing the future. She’ll be ok in a little while,” he answered me. “Go on and do your ‘test’. Just make sure it’s far enough away from the cows that you don’t sour their milk.”

  “I’ll try.”

  He thumped me on the back, “Go on, I’ll talk to your mother. We’ll have more to say when you get back. We just need some time to chew on all this.” I had to love him. He might be quiet and taciturn, but it would take a lot more than learning his son was a mage to make my Dad lose his calm demeanor.