LEGENDS: Fifteen Tales of Sword and Sorcery

by Colt, K. J.

  “Remember the owl we ran into a while back?” he asked.

  “Sure, the white one, eh?” said Jahsin.

  “Right. Well, I have seen him many times coming back from the mines, and a few times besides.”

  “Yeah?”

  Talon told him about following the owl into the thicket and what he found in the cave. At first Jahsin looked intrigued, what with the strange vine tunnel grown beside the mines. At the mention of the firelight coming from inside the cave, his intrigue turned to grim-faced curiosity. When Talon mentioned the sleeping bear and leaf-clad elf sitting by a fire, Jahsin laughed, “you Bacraut!” and slapped him on the shoulder.

  “You had me goin’ for a time, didn’t you? A feikin bear, and an elf! Ha!” he laughed.

  “I’m serious, Jahsin. I’m serious!”

  Jahsin waved him off with his good hand but soon lost his grin when Talon remained stone-faced.

  “Buffalo shyte, you’re serious…”

  “I swear to the god of whatever the hells you want,” said Talon, raising his hands to the roof.

  “You don’t believe in the gods,” said Jahsin.

  “What, and you do?” said Talon, and his friend shrugged.

  “Swear on your mother, then,” said Jahsin.

  Talon rolled his eyes. “I swear on my mother.”

  “You can’t roll your eyes and swear on something, much less your mother!” Jahsin demanded.

  “For Thodin’s sake, Jah, listen to me. I met an elf, and that’s the truth of it. You wanna hear the rest or not?”

  Talon told him the tale and handed the ring to Jahsin. He rubbed his hand on his pant leg and with nervous fingers took the ring and held it up to the light.

  “Shyte, Tal, you’d get a good coin for this in Agora. Probably enough to set us up for a season!” he said, looking to Talon with sparkling eyes.

  “I can’t sell the ring!” said Talon, swiping it from Jahsin’s grip.

  “You really think it’s magic? You think the ring summoned the bear to your danger?” Jahsin asked with sudden wonder.

  “I don’t think so, but I believed Azzeal when he said it was magical.”

  “What’d he say it does?”

  Talon shrugged, thinking how to explain. “He said the ring would give me the strength of my enemies if my heart is righteous.”

  “Have you tried to use it yet?”

  “No. He said to be careful to reveal the ring’s power. When I do, I don’t know. He said I would be hunted, people would be after it.”

  “Shyte, Tal, you’re goin’ to be hunted soon enough anyway,” said Jahsin, eyeing the blue gem. “Well, if it turns out the thing don’t work, you can sell it in Agora like I said.”

  Talon slid the ring back on the ribbon and put it around his neck.

  “Nah, if it turns out not to be a magical ring, I’ll make it one: I’ll give it to Akkeri in marriage.”

  Jahsin’s grin spread like a hungry fox’s. “Well, you devil.” He began to laugh but soon his big cheeks turned bright red and his muffled chuckles cracked.

  “I’d like to see that wedding,” he sniffled.

  “You will, Jah; you will.”

  Later, during the night, they walked the road to the mines and collected the herbs and flowers needed by Majhree. They talked about possible places for the traps they intended for Fylkin. One place caught their eye: a wide game trail crossing in the woods. The trail went ten feet into the woods and broke off to the right and back again to the road. Thick trees grew on each side, and Jahsin suggested they use some of their rope as a trip line.

  “Lead him this way; we’ll put the rope ’bout two feet up. Just don’t trip yourself,” said Jahsin.

  “I don’t even know if I can outrun him. You know how fast a Vald can run. It’s downright scary. His stride is two of mine easily,” said Talon.

  “Well, if Akkeri does her part, the poison should slow him down a bit. And you can change direction faster than him. I’d avoid runnin’ in straight lines if you can.”

  Talon hadn’t thought about having to outrun Fylkin for miles. He did so with dread. He had watched the Vald’s races many times from afar, and the memories of their speed did nothing to calm him.

  Jahsin must have seen his dread, for he patted him on the back as they looked for another spot. “They’re fast at top speed; takes ’em a while to get going, though. And they’re heavy as all hells; they can only keep up that pace for so long. Not like you; you’re, what, one-fifty?”

  “What if he’s on a chariot?” The thought suddenly occurred to Talon and he stopped dead.

  Jahsin’s expression said, “Oh shyte!” But he quickly shrugged and smiled. “They rarely use chariots during Freista.”

  “Rarely!”

  “Yeah, mostly when they’re making a show of riding into the village,” said Jahsin. “But the Vald need at least two horses to pull ’em; they can’t maneuver too well in the village with the huts so close together.”

  Another half a mile down the road, they came on a swampy area to the left whose waters trickled from the hills. The stagnant waters were home to what sounded like thousands of frogs. The swamp echoed with their croaks and calls. Among the willows and reeds, patches of raised earth offered the only way through the bog. Talon and Jahsin followed a meandering trail through the swamp. After a time they found a way back to the road; they traced it two more times, improving the route, and added it to the list. Talon would be able to slow Fylkin considerably in the swamp. Much of the trail was no more than a foot wide. In some places he had to leap to certain stones to avoid the murky waters. He had two weeks to learn the route, while Fylkin would be going it blind.

  They found another place where a pit might be dug. This was another game trail leading off the road and winding through the woods. The trail ran parallel to the road for thirty paces before leading off into thicker forest. They marked the spot with a small pile of stones and continued down the road.

  Soon they came to a mile-long stretch of road where the forests to the left and right gave way to rolling fields of grass. The white buffalo often grazed here. To the east and west the fields stretched for miles.

  “We can dig out a hole in the field and cover it up with a few boards and sod. Might give you a place to catch your breath, at least,” Jahsin suggested.

  Talon nodded and stared out on the field. The humped silhouettes of many of the white buffalo could be seen in the faint moonlight as the clouds sailed by.

  “Think you can get ahold of some pop balls and noisemakers?” asked Talon.

  “Sure, there’ll be plenty ’round for Freista. Why, what you thinkin’?” Jahsin followed his eyes to the sleeping buffalo. “A stampede? You crazy?”

  Talon shrugged and headed for the road once more. “Can’t hurt as a backup plan.”

  “The buffalo are likely to crush you just as easily as Fylkin. I would use ’em as a last defense if I was you,” said Jahsin.

  The plains gave way to a sparse wood of birch on either side of the road. Here the land dropped down and the hill led on for a quarter of a mile. They walked through the thin forest on both sides looking for another place to put a trip line. When they found a suitable spot off the road, they marked it as before.

  The mines came into view shortly, and Talon showed Jahsin the entrance to the shaft High Vaka Moontooth had indicated.

  “A few yards in, the tunnel branches off into three others,” said Talon. “I can lose him easy enough in there. Let’s hope Moontooth and his cronies hold up their end of the bargain and wait until I get out to blow it sky high.”

  Jahsin’s only reply was a wary eye.

  They traced the route back to Skomm Village and found a few more places that might come in useful. Over the next two weeks, Talon would trace the route to the mines until he knew it perfectly. His life depended on it.

  Later on, when they had settled in for the night and Talon was laying in his cot staring at the ceiling, Jahsin suddenly shot straig
ht up in bed.

  “Wait a minute!” he said with growing excitement.

  “What?” asked Talon, rising up on one elbow.

  Jahsin scrambled out of bed and lit the lantern. He put it between the two cots and sat back on his. His hand and his stump flew wildly around as if he were composing a symphony.

  “The ring the Elf gave you: what…what did he call it?”

  “Kyrr,” said Talon.

  “Right, Kyrr. He said it’d make you as strong as your enemies, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, then, the ring should make you just as strong as Fylkin, right? Feikinstafir, Tal! Strong as Fylkin; can you even imagine?”

  “No,” said Talon truthfully. The more he had thought about it, the less real it seemed. Real or not, he too doubted the ring was magic. He had heard tales of the elves’ strange and powerful magic, but tales were tales: as plentiful as they were altered with each telling.

  “You can outrun him easy if you have his power; you would move like the wind.” Jahsin went on. “Hells, Tal, you wouldn’t have to run at all; you could kill him!”

  “I can’t kill him. He’s been training to kill since he could walk. I been training to not get killed since I could walk. The rabbit don’t kill the fox,” said Talon.

  “Well, maybe they should, especially if there are more rabbits,” Jahsin sighed, his bluster gone in the face of Talon’s uncertainty.

  “All the rabbits would die,” said Talon, lying back down.

  “Well, at least they’d die fightin’!” said Jahsin. “We Skomm spend our days slavin’ for the feikin Vald, while we outnumber ’em four to one. Their gods-damned standards are so high, they thin their own numbers.”

  He fell back into his cot and puffed out a frustrated sigh. “Know what, Tal? When I get to Agora I’m goin’ to make a fortune somehow, and I’m going to come back here with a group of renegades and pirates and the like, and I’m goin’ to free this entire village!”

  Talon could not help but laugh.

  “What?” Jahsin asked, hurt.

  “Renegades and pirates?” He laughed.

  “And so?”

  “I’m sorry, Jah, I’m just tired,” said Talon, trying to hold himself together. To Jahsin his words were suspect, but soon Jahsin lost interest as his daydream of vengeance and liberation played before his mind’s eye.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Talon said, feeling bad for his jesting. “If this ring ends up being magic, you can count me in. I’ll help you free the Skomm. Hells, I’ll help you either way.”

  “You mean it, Tal?”

  “I mean it, Jah.”

  The village became busier by the day as the Skomm prepared for the week of games and celebration. The traders brought barrels of ale, crates of spirits, and sacks of wheat, barley, sugar and spices. Livestock were also brought for the grand feast—namely pigs, chickens and cattle. Many of the white buffalo would be slaughtered for the feast as well.

  Talon had never taken part in any of the Freista celebrations when he was young. They were violent and bloody games of endurance and strength, played by the strongest young men of the tribes. Like all other things, the children of the Vald partook in the games, and they were just as violent as the adults. He had been invited to compete many times by the other children, but they only wanted to beat up on him and make fun, and how Talon had dreamed of being able to show them all.

  Nearly every chief had won his tribe’s Freista at one time, and Talon knew Fylkin would likely win for Timber Wolf Tribe. Like his father, he was a beast of a man. Talon thought back on the fight between Brekken and Fylkin often. The chiefson had defeated the Vaka with ease. He had the advantage of size, but his size had not come into play. He beat Vaka Brekken with finesse, which proved all the more unsettling. Talon hoped the ring was magic; he could use every advantage.

  Over the next week, they gathered wetweed by day and followed the route to the mines by night. They set the ropes where they would need them and they dug the holes. He took a few days, but Jahsin got ahold of the fireworks Talon had mentioned, though they were nothing like he had expected.

  “What the hells is this?” Talon had asked.

  “It’s an elven firework! I traded a shyte ton of wetweed for it,” he said, wide-eyed.

  The firework was shaped like a snake with wings of paper, a dragon of sorts. He realized the whole thing was paper and he couldn’t imagine how it would be of any use. Still, Jahsin insisted he take it with him on the night of Freista.

  The first day of the celebrations marked the beginning of the first game. Each tribe chose a Skomm who had come from their village. The seven Skomm were brought to the center of the village in front of Vaka Kastali, and seven metal cages were hung from poles. The Skomm were put in the cages naked, to sit for the entire week with no food or water. The bottoms of the cages held pointed ridges, making any position extremely uncomfortable. During the closing ceremonies, the Skomm were let loose and forced to race. The winner of the race was the only one who lived.

  The Vaka trials were also held during the week of Freista. Many of the younger Skomm or Throwbacks like Brekken competed, often to the death. Talon suspected that promoting the strongest of the Skomm was just one of the ways the Vald controlled them. The rewards for the Vaka were many. They controlled nearly all trade, and the Vald turned a blind eye to the goings on at Vaka Kastali. They got women and wine and all the best of the food. The price was the disdain of the other Skomm, but some, like Brekken, didn’t care. They didn’t feel they belonged with the Throwbacks, anyway.

  Jahsin determined that Talon needed a blade, but he was loath to agree. He had never even swung a sword and had only rarely used a knife, and never in any sort of combat training. Jahsin was adamant, however, and when he came home halfway through the week with a long, sharp dagger, Talon wasn’t surprised.

  “Are you crazy, bringing that in here? We get caught with that and its good-bye plan. We’ll be killed on the spot.”

  “Relax,” Jahsin sang as he wrapped the dagger in leather by holding it by the handle with his knees. “It’s three days ’til we leave this shyte hole. We ain’t gonna get caught.”

  “What if there’s a random search?” Talon asked.

  “Won’t be; besides, we got High Vaka Moontooth on our side. Nobody is gonna mess with us. Ain’t you noticed you ain’t been beat up in a while? Since your bear crushed Vaka Groegon’s skull?”

  “I guess,” Talon agreed. If he was going to be hunted, he may as well have some sort of blade—a rabbit with a dagger.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  THODIN’S EYE

  “I AM TEMPTED to intervene—I who urged nonintervention. I study them and their land, always a watcher; how easy it is to judge from afar. But what use is power if it cannot help the powerless?”

  —Azzeal, 4996

  Talon thought the day would never come; the weeklong festival seemed to drag on for months. The weather turned stormy on the second day of the Vald games. Fat, dark clouds settled over Volnoss and never left. The wind tore through the village from the east, bringing with it an endless rain. Lightning storms lit the nights and thunder shook the heavens. The rain proved too much for most of the huts to handle, and though they had some irrigation set in place, the storm was unusually powerful. By the fourth day, four inches of water had collected on the floor of Jahsin and Talon’s hut. The Vald saw the violent weather as a sign of the gods’ approval. They reveled in the storms and even called one man who was hit by lightning “blessed.”

  Talon spent the small hours tossing and turning on his cot. Strange dreams came to him—dreams of elves, bears, Vaka, and blood. Jahsin didn’t sleep much either, it seemed, for every time Talon whispered to him in the dark, he answered.

  They prepared as well as possible, setting many trip lines along the side trails, and digging pits carefully covered with sticks and moss. Talon traversed the swamp until he had dedicated the route to memory. He spent his sleepless hours
mentally preparing himself for the run to the mines.

  He hadn’t heard anything more from High Vaka Moontooth or his cronies; he could only hope the Vaka kept up his side of the bargain. If the dragonsbreath bombs didn’t kill Fylkin, the whole plan would be for naught.

  Talon thought of Chief often, wondering whether he would be the same wolf he had trained. He hadn’t seen him since he spied the Vaka siccing him on the Skomm villager, and he feared for the worst. If Chief’s temperament had been spoiled, their waiting until now to leave could prove fatal. Had he made a mistake? They might have left weeks ago when they got the boat from Vaka Bjorn. He feared that his insistence on waiting for Chief might get one of his friends killed.

  Friends—the word still sounded foreign to him. He had never dreamed he would find such good friends as Jahsin and Akkeri, or even Majhree. Akkeri had become more than a friend, and showed him a love he had never thought possible. He often felt undeserving of her affection, but he was ever grateful for it. Without her and Jahsin, he didn’t know how he would have survived.

  On the morning of Freista, he and Jahsin went to the commons to have their last breakfast on Volnoss. Many of the scraps from the weeklong games made it to the Skomm cooks’ kitchens, and they enjoyed a rare breakfast of pork and fresh bread. Talon ate as much as he could force down his throat; he would need the energy tonight. The mood in the commons was low, and when they sat at one of the long tables, the Skomm cleared out fast. It was no secret that Fylkin was aiming to kill Talon, and no one, save Jahsin, dared be seen with him. He was marked for death.

  After breakfast they headed out for the docks for one last day of wetweed collecting. They had to keep up appearances. Just because the chiefson of Timber Wolf Tribe planned on killing him, it was no excuse to miss work. The storm became worse than ever, with winds that sometimes pushed them back as they sloshed through the mud and rain. They doubted any boats would be allowed out, but they still had to report to Vaka Bjorn.