LEGENDS: Fifteen Tales of Sword and Sorcery

by Colt, K. J.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  TRESSA WOKE BEFORE THE DAWN, sleeping only in fits and spurts through the night. She had to be up and ready for the competition to join the Black Guard before the sun lit the ground to the west. Leo told her to get good sleep and he’d make sure she was up early enough. She’d tried to follow his advice, but nerves got the best of her. The night was spent in a fitful sleep. Nightmares punctuated by real concerns. Images of her death. Blood. Severed limbs. Connor’s face floated in and out of the haze, reminding her why she was going ahead with her foolish plan.

  Or lack of a plan. She had nothing more than a vague idea of how she was going to get close to Stacia, much less kill her. The woman’s braid and its deadly spikes shredded through every scene, ripping apart everyone in her dream.

  Leo still slept in the bed across the room. His arm rested on top of his head. Tressa analyzed him, determining she could kill him with one strike of a sword under his arm. She shook her head and threw off the wool cover. It landed on the wooden floor without a sound.

  She tiptoed over to Leo and reached out to touch his arm. He leapt up, grabbing her shoulders. Tressa stumbled backward, balanced only by the grip he had on her.

  “You scared me!”

  Leo chuckled. “You must be ready for everything.”

  “I thought you were asleep.”

  “Hardly. After listening to you moan in your sleep all night? I couldn’t have slept even if I’d been awake for the previous five days.” He tilted his head to the side. “Are you going to be okay today? You don’t have to go through with this.”

  She spun out of his grasp. Every moment with him was a test. It was one she wasn’t willing to fail. “Yes, I do.” She slipped behind the screen, took off her bedclothes, and pulled her leather battle clothes on. Leo had purchased them for her from a local merchant with the money she’d earned working for Ira. A man could buy combat clothing without anyone batting an eyelash. Tressa would have been noticed. Talked about. It could have ended her plan before she had a chance to place it into motion.

  “What are you going to do today?” she asked Leo.

  Silence was his answer.

  “Leo?” She peeked her head about from behind the screen, but he was already gone.

  After binding her chest, she finished dressing. Grabbing a sharp dagger, Tressa prepared herself for the final part of her preparation. She pulled her ponytail over her shoulder. Bit by bit she sawed it off.

  Her hair fell onto a cloth she’d placed on the table. There couldn’t be one strand left to identify her. As far as Ira would know, she’d run off with Leo.

  She set down the dagger and purposefully avoided looking at the warped mirror on the wall. She didn’t want to see herself. Tressa wrapped up the towel and tied the edges together. Holding it upside down, she gave it a shake. No hair fell out. Perfect. She stuffed it in the bottom of her pack. She’d discard it later in the forest. If she survived the day.

  She looked again at Leo’s bed. Trying not to be disappointed he’d left without saying goodbye, Tressa tossed her pillow on his bed. It was something they’d done every morning since taking the room together. Leo was all about illusion and trickery. He’d known Ira would snoop. When he found their pillows together, their story was confirmed. Every so often Leo would pluck strands of Tressa’s hair and scatter them on the bed. It only took a few details to make the illusion complete.

  Her pack sat on the table, waiting for her to fill it with the few belongings she had. A dress. A brush. A few scraps of food she’d stolen from Ira last night. Enough to get her through the fight. After that, she’d be on her own. Leo had shown her a hollowed out tree just outside the village. The hole was hidden by thick branches. He’d been using it on and off for years and never been discovered. That was where she’d hide her bag until she could pick it up again.

  After she killed Stacia.

  Just before she’d make her way back to Bastian.

  Her stomach flipped. Bastian. Would he ever forgive her for leaving him behind? She hoped he would. Bringing Connor’s killer to justice would go a long way toward earning that forgiveness. Tressa took a final look around the room that had been her home for the last month. She was leaving nothing behind. Never returning. No regrets.

  She fingered the note Leo left for Ira. It was short and sweet.

  Ira,

  I’m in love with your barmaid, Sophia. We’re off to be married. We’ll be in touch with you.

  Your brother,

  Leo

  After hiding the pack in Leo’s secret spot, Tressa took a deep breath. Her shoulders pulled back. Her tightly bound chest puffed up. She took on the swagger and confidence of a young man about to conquer everyone for a place in the Black Guard.

  During the walk to the arena in the middle of the city hidden among the trees, Tressa tried not to engage anyone. Her mind was focused solely on the upcoming battle. Sword strapped to her hip. Shoulders flexible. Legs stretched and ready to dance with the other men. Heart prepared to kill.

  Crowds milled around the arena, ready to watch the battle. Women wore armbands with their favorite contender’s sigil. Pennants on the end of branches waved from the stands. Tressa didn’t have any colors to bear. No family to represent. Leo had told her it wasn’t uncommon. Peasants frequently entered the competition to improve their lot in life. Many died in the attempt. The winners usually bore the sigil of the wolf or lion, two families who trained their boys from birth to join the Black Guard. It gained them favor with the queen and elevated their status in society. They were almost impossible to defeat.

  Tressa’s strategy was to avoid them and fight the others like her. If she could beat them and make it to the end, she might be among the twelve chosen for the Black Guard. Leo hadn’t only taught her to fight. He’d given her the strategies he’d implemented to join the Black Guard. His use of illusion and deception would be her saving grace. All she needed to do was stay alive.

  Men waited in a long line leading up to the arena. Each was given a number, painted on their cheek in woad. Leo explained to her that the blue dye lasted longer than the red of madder and the yellow of weld. Based on the line, Tressa guessed her number would have two symbols to it. Granna had taught her to read text, but not numbers. To her, they were meaningless symbols. Still, she would wear hers with pride.

  As the morning sun rose, the crowds grew thicker and louder. The line shortened and soon it was Tressa’s turn.

  A woman grabbed her arm, pulling her close. “You’re a young one, aren’t you?”

  Tressa nodded. She’d vowed to talk as little as possible, for fear her voice would give her away.

  The wet dye tickled as the woman drew on Tressa’s cheek with her finger. “If you make it out alive, come see me afterward. I work at the White Swan. I’m giving away free, ten-minute sessions to competitors. Just a little perk for trying your best and surviving.”

  Tressa raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say a word.

  The woman tossed her a crooked smile. “Ah, you’re a virgin, aren’t you? Don’t worry, Sheleigh will take good care of you. She specializes in first times.” She winked, then patted Tressa on the butt.

  She stumbled ahead, berating herself for showing shock. Any young man would be thrilled with such a proposition. If she was going to pass for one, she’d have to play the part better. It didn’t end with the battle. Getting into the Black Guard was only the beginning.

  A horn sounded in the distance. The door that Connor’s body disappeared into opened. Stacia stepped out, clad in the blue armor she’d worn the day Tressa, Bastian, and Connor met her outside the forest. Tressa wanted to elbow her way through the crowd of men, jump up on the stage, and kill Stacia in front of everyone. It would mean her death too, but the blood pounding in her veins didn’t care.

  Forcing slow breaths, Tressa reined her desires in. It had to be done the right way. Carefully. When they were alone. Tressa wanted to tell Stacia exactly why she was about to die right before
she ran the sword through her black heart. Then she needed to escape and make it back to Bastian. Her love. Free her people from the fog once it was safe for them to come out.

  The plan didn’t involve a public killing or Tressa’s death in kind. Despite the rage, she had to control herself and let things unfold. One victory at a time.

  Tressa turned back to the other men, studying them. Some seemed confident, strutting around as if they’d already won. Others were unsure and one man stood off to the side crying, his mother next to him with her arms folded under her ample bosom, a frown on her face.

  He was only a child. No more than twelve. Why would a mother force her son to compete at such a young age?

  Then she saw it. The wolf on the fabric tied to his shoulder. So this was his lot in life. His birthright led him to this. Tressa wanted to walk over and hug him. Let him know he wasn’t the only terrified competitor.

  All of her urges went against what she was there to do. Her heart sank. Could she keep up the charade? Was there any chance she’d come out victorious?

  Stacia raised her arms in the air. The crowd was immediately silenced.

  “I see many fine men out there, all prepared to fight to the death to protect me, your queen. I bestow blessings on all of you.” A cruel smile spread across her face. “And those of you cowards who are injured, if you wish your lives to be spared, you best leave the arena quickly. There will be no mercy today!

  “The rules are simple. The final twelve left standing inside the arena win. Everyone else can slink off in disgrace or die honorably in battle. It is your choice. Once you leave the inner ring, you cannot re-enter. Now, fight for your destiny!”

  The horn blew louder, calling the men to the arena.

  Swords whooshed out of their sheaths, clanging in the air. It didn’t take long before men dropped to the ground, felled by a well-placed blade. One young man dragged himself across the dirt, clawing desperately to make it to the outer ring where he would be safe. Before his finger could cross the line, a man with a lion sigil pierced him in the side. Blood sprayed in the air. He took one final breath, then his head fell to the ground, his eyes blank. It was the boy with the wolf on his arm that Tressa had seen crying not long ago.

  Tressa held back the bile rising in her throat. Leo had tried to tell her, but nothing could have prepared her for the raw carnage. She hunched down, blew her hair out of her eyes, and entered the fray.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  THE BATTLE RAGED ON. WITH the sun at its highest, the scent of sweat permeated the arena. Tressa wiped her forehead with her arm. The point of her sword in the ground, she leaned against her weapon, taking a breather.

  The main throng of fighting was taking place on the other side of the circle. She watched them spar as if they had limitless energy. Most of the participants remaining bore the lion or the wolf, their dark reds and oranges standing out in the mass of men and steel.

  Tressa had managed to avoid most of them. She’d concentrated on injuring the weak and letting them make it to the outside of the circle. Her fighting techniques looked inept. Thanks to Leo’s instruction in illusion, she didn’t appear to offer a threat to anyone. Yet when she was near a wolf or lion, she fought with everything she had, proving to them that she deserved a second glance.

  Leo had explained the goal was to pick off the weak first. Get them out of the ring so the real battle could take place. Even though every man wanted a spot on the guard, he also knew that his fellow victors had to be the best of the best. No one wanted a coward to slip through to the end because he avoided most of the fight.

  It was a strategy that had produced a guard not only lethal, but clever. It was exactly what the queen wanted and they knew it. Pleasing her meant a life of boons… at least while still in the Black Guard. On this one day a year, no one was safe.

  A man sauntered over to Tressa, his sword gleaming off the sun’s rays.

  “Taking a break, are you? I think I’ll join you, if you don’t mind.” He huffed the words out between quick breaths.

  He seemed winded, but Tressa wouldn’t trust it for one second. She only nodded, grasping her sword tighter in her fist.

  “Quite a day, isn’t it?” He removed the leather hat from his head. “The men are going down faster than last year. I suspect the guard will be chosen by midday.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “You’re a quiet one. What’s your name?”

  She glared at him, not taking her eyes off his arms. If he made a move, that would be the first place she’d see it. Muscle contractions couldn’t be hidden.

  He laughed, the braid on his long black beard danced from side to side. Yellow and red beads decorated the length of it. “I can tell this is your first time here.” He coughed, phlegmy and thick. “You won’t win.”

  He nodded to the throng of men fighting. “Twelve of the men left are from the last guard. They’re all working together. I’m sure they planned their strategy ahead of time.”

  Tressa let her eyes wander to the group. She could see it now. They moved in unison, helping each other. One would strike the first blow, another would finish the man off. “They’re conserving their energy.” Her hand flew over her mouth. She hadn’t even thought to disguise her voice.

  She looked at the man. He didn’t register a hint of surprise.

  “If you want to win, you’ll have to take out at least one of them.” He didn’t comment on her voice. Maybe he assumed she hadn’t reached puberty yet. “The best way to do that is to get one to break off from the bunch. They’re much less lethal alone than together. Not that they aren’t great fighters alone, don’t make that mistaken assumption, but it’s easier to kill one at a time.”

  Tressa wanted to ask him why he was telling her all this. She didn’t trust her voice. Discovery could mean instant death. Her mind reminded her of one of her dreams: her top torn open, her feminity discovered, dozens of men hacking her body to pieces for trying to fool them. No, she wouldn’t say another word.

  The man nudged her with his elbow. “Watch this.” He ran off toward the fray, his sword waving in the air.

  He jumped on the back of one of the wolves, forcing the man away from his comrades. They fell to ground. The braided man pushed off the ground, rolling away into an open area.

  The wolf elbowed him in the stomach. The man grunted, then leapt to his feet, the blow not affecting him at all. He brandished his sword, sticking it into the wolf’s heart. With a sucking sound, he withdrew it, along with a gush of blood. The wolf’s eyes widened as he stumbled backward. He opened his mouth to scream, but instead of a cry for help more blood spurted from his lips. His knees buckled. His sword dropped to the ground. His body crumpled in a heap on the dirt.

  The braided man picked up the wolf’s sword in his left hand. With a flourish, he spun them from side to side in a blur of steel and vital fluids. “Got to clean the blood off,” he yelled to Tressa. After a quick wink, he chose another victim.

  Tressa decided she’d waited long enough. She walked the circle, looking for the right victim. The man with the braid wasn’t it. Despite herself, she liked him. If she had to fight alongside someone, she’d choose him just as quickly as she’d choose Leo.

  Twenty left. No, nineteen. It was shocking to her how quickly they fell. Exhaustion was setting in. She knew that as well. Her arms ached. Her legs burned like they were on fire. Her palms were covered in blisters, most of them already swollen and broken. She’d need a lot of ointment to stave off infection in the days ahead.

  If she made it that far.

  If she survived.

  Before she could choose her next victim, someone chose her. With his sword in the air, his war cry echoed in the quiet afternoon. The crowd had gotten bigger, waiting for the time when there were only twelve left in the arena.

  Tressa planted her feet on the dirt, squatted, and braced herself for the attack. As his sword came rushing down at her, she stepped back and parried. The clang of metal on meta
l was followed by the screech of grinding. She knew she didn’t have the upper-body strength to force him off. Instead, she let her sword drop, then spun out of the way. He stumbled, following his sword to the ground. Tressa kicked him on the arse, forcing him all the way down. He sprawled out, his sword just out of his grasp.

  “Do it. Do it fast!” Someone yelled in the distance, urging her.

  She raised her sword in the air, then stabbed him hard in the thigh. With proper medical care, it wouldn’t kill him. “Get out of the ring.” She lowered her voice, attempting a growl.

  He nodded and reached for his sword. Tressa turned, but a whistle in the air surprised her. She jumped into a roll, using her sword arm as a bar on the ground to break the fall. She stood, her sword at the ready.

  The man on the ground had attempted to slash at her legs. Tressa slashed his other leg at the shin. There was no way he was walking now. “Save yourself and get out now.”

  “I will not leave in dishonor.” His arms flailed, losing the stamina he needed to raise his sword.

  “Then you will die a fool. It’s your choice.” Tressa spat at him, then stalked away. What would drive a man to prefer death over life? Another man ran past and skewered him in the stomach. Another senseless death.

  After a quick count to fourteen, she realized she didn’t have any time left.

  The fight was almost over. She was still alive. So were five lions, five wolves, two men of unknown origin, Tressa, and the man with the braided beard. One of the unknowns appeared weak. He stood trembling behind two of the other wolves. For all the brutality they’d shown, they were protecting the boy.

  Why was his life more important than the other wolves who’d died, especially since he wasn’t one of their own?

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  TRESSA STEPPED CAREFULLY AROUND THE group of men. The wolves and lions had already decided who had won the honor of serving in Stacia’s personal guard. They stood in a circle, their backs to each other. Normally it was a move that invited death in battle. Never leave your back to an enemy. But today that was not a concern for they’d already won in their minds.