LEGENDS: Fifteen Tales of Sword and Sorcery

by Colt, K. J.

  Myn had just begun to gnaw upon her precious toy again when Myranda’s eyes locked onto something that she could not identify. The sun had long ago set, making it difficult to make out anything more than shapes. In the distance, far off, there was what looked to be a faint, twinkling star . . . but it was on the ground. For a moment she stood in awe of the bizarre sight. She knew, though, that regardless of what it was that was growing nearer to her with each passing instant, with her luck it could not be anything but bad news. She looked to the horse, still weak from the run. Her eyes turned back to the odd sight. It was white with a dash of blue, a single point of light with a barely visible trail behind it. She was reminded of the crystal that Wolloff used. The same light would glimmer briefly in it when he would cast a spell.

  “We have to leave now,” she said.

  She climbed to the back of the steed, with Myn wearily gathering up the helmet in her teeth. She gave the beast a kick, but the mare would not budge. It could not go on. The breaking point had been reached. Myranda turned an anxious eye to the west again. The light was closer, there was no question, but what was it? For once, fate conspired in her favor. A single, powerful bolt of lightning jumped silently from cloud to cloud, brilliantly illuminating the field for an instant. In the heartbeat that the truth was visible, the answer was burned into her eyes. The elf, the leader of the Elites, was riding toward her, a bare crystal held over her head, summoning an unnatural speed that pushed her horse forward at easily twice the rate that Myranda’s own could ever hope to muster.

  Myranda froze in terror at the sight. There was nothing she could do. Their leader would be upon her in no time. A monumental crack of thunder shook her from her stupor and frightened the horse into motion. Myn quickly bolted. Somehow despite the long run, the young dragon was still able to match the speed she’d managed before. Myranda clutched her pendant.

  There was no choice now. The time for magic had come. Enhancements such as the one the Elites must be using were not included in her education, but spells of healing and recovery could bring a strength and energy to her mount greater than many days rest could provide.

  She locked her mind into the purest state of calm that circumstances would permit and began to speak her spells. One to eliminate the weariness, another to ease the pain. After a handful more, Wind Runner was running as fast as she ever had, but Myranda was much the worse for wear. She nearly lacked the will to remain on the steed’s back. Slowly, she turned to see how close the enemy had become. Not more than a hundred paces separated them now, and the gap was closing with each stride. Myranda closed her eyes and prayed. There was nothing more she could do. It was in the hands of fate now. Or perhaps not.

  Myn turned to face the elf. Her teeth still clenched about the helm, she sprayed forth a stream of flame from her nostrils. The enemy horse panicked, and at the unnatural speed, could not maintain control. The pursuing horse and rider tumbled to the ground. Myn dropped the chewed helm and locked her eyes on the new prize. With one powerful bite, she clamped onto the elf’s helmet and tore it from her head. The horse, mad with fear, galloped wildly away. Myranda called and the dragon hurried to catch up, a fresh trophy in her teeth and a dazed and angry soldier in her wake. The elf looked after the escaping pair, but was helpless to follow. Safety, at least for the moment, was theirs.

  The night passed with Myranda slowly regaining enough strength to recast her spells. In time, even Myn could not keep up with the mystically-aided horse. She leapt onto Wind Runner’s back, but it did not slow the beast as Caya had feared. To the contrary, the clutch of the dragon’s claws urged the horse forward faster than any spur could.

  By first light, the forest that should have been more than a day away was in sight. Such was the ability of a tireless steed. Of course, the toll that was spared the mount was taken on the rider. Myranda was barely awake, each stride threatening to knock her from the beast’s back. As she fought for each moment of consciousness, she also wrestled with what she had seen. That soldier, the elf woman. Sometime, somewhere, she had seen her before. The image of her face burned in Myranda’s mind. Something from long ago.

  The dappled shadows cast from the branches passing overhead prompted Myranda to wrestle her eyes open again. They had arrived. Wind shook the clinging remnants of the night’s rain from the trees. The horse, sensing that this was indeed their destination, had slowed to a trot, then to a walk. Myranda stopped the steed entirely. She didn’t so much dismount the creature as fall from it.

  From the looks of things, they had made it quite far into the woods before she had become aware of it. The weary girl pulled herself to her feet. She had to move away from the trail that they had made thus far, and, alas, abandon the horse. As long as it seemed that she had remained on the steed, the pursuers would follow the hoofprints. All that needed to be done was to move a fair distance without leaving tracks.

  This was no simple task, though. The rain had muddied the ground. Tracks would be easy to find. She led the horse to a stream, the bed of which was composed of smooth stones. As it took a well-deserved drink, she stepped ankle-deep into the icy water. Myn looked with curiosity. It took a bit of coaxing for the dragon to join in the unpleasant but unfortunately necessary activity. After more than enough time to thoroughly numb her feet to the knees once again, she left the stream in an area too covered with pine needles to permit tracks to be left behind. A thick, full tree served as shelter as she collapsed on the driest patch of ground she could find. Myn fell on top of her and almost instantly dropped into a sleep of utter exhaustion.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  SLOWLY, HAZILY, A DREAM CAME. It was like the stark, bleak field that had haunted Myranda in nights gone by, but somehow different. She was lost, on her feet and wandering. Somewhere nearby, a faint, almost imperceptible light loomed. Stumbling and shuffling, she moved closer to this weak and quickly fading glow. A deep sense of desperation grew in her heart as the light slipped away from her. In this colorless field it seemed to be the last bastion of light against the overpowering dark. She had to find it, she had to touch it and know light once more before it was gone forever. It was near. So near.

  When her eyes opened, the memory of the dream was gone, but the feelings she had felt lingered. There was something within reach that she had to find before it slipped away. She turned her eyes to some indistinct spot in the distance. Something was calling to her. Myn was still asleep, as hers was a more physical exhaustion. The girl sat and waited. Once again, a days-old hunger was burning at her, but she could not bring herself to wake her friend. The cold, wet day of rest had seized her muscles and joints with a terrible stiffness. She stood and tried to stretch it away.

  It was night again and the woods were silent. The ever-present cloud cover and impenetrable canopy made it difficult to see more than a few paces in front of her, but she managed to spot something that made her smile. There was a cluster of arrowroot. It was very rare in this area. She pulled out her knife, one of the few things she’d had the presence of mind to bring with her, and dug them up. They wouldn’t be enough to fill her, but at least they would take the edge off of her hunger.

  As she chewed the roots, she remembered when she was a little girl and she would hunt for them any chance she could. It was a more peaceful time, and having a little slice of it at a time like this made it all the more disturbing to her that things had changed so much. In those days, the only things she had to worry about were her assignments and when her father would get home. Now she was freezing cold with no hope for shelter, digging for roots for sustenance instead of for fun, and constantly looking over her shoulder for a team of soldiers with specific orders to find her.

  Myranda shook the thoughts from her head and dug the knife into the earth to pull out another root. When she did, she noticed something that the scarce light had hidden from her before. There was an impression in the ground--almost undetectable, but undeniable. It was a footprint. The rain had nearly washed it away, so it must have b
een left before the sleet and rain had started. From the shape, it could only be a boot print. Nearby there were a few more accompanied by hoofprints as well. They could have been left by anyone. Perhaps hunters or woodsmen who had moved through the area a few days earlier. Deep inside, though, Myranda knew that there was something sinister behind these prints.

  While she pondered the worst, Myn stirred, padding over to Myranda and flopping down again, offering her head for the usual stroking while she gnawed at her new toy. This helm was different from the one she had left behind. It was more carefully detailed with gold, with a nose guard in the shape of a dragon’s head. The dragon had focused her attentions on this piece in particular and managed to snap it off in short order. Before long Myn’s hunger got the better of her and she trotted off to seek out a meal. Myranda called after her.

  “Don’t forget your old friend! I’m hungry, too!” she called, immediately scolding herself for making so much noise.

  Before worry could rush back into her mind, Myranda busied herself with the preparation of the fire. She gathered the driest tinder and kindling she could manage, as well as a few thicker branches to feed the fire later. After clearing a place and laying out the wood properly, Myn had not yet returned. With nothing else to do, she picked up the dragon-head piece that had been left behind. Most of the details were intact. It had a gold-bronze color and, like the rest of the helm, was exquisite. There were even eyes carved of amber mounted in the head that were uncannily alike in hue to Myn’s own eyes. The piece of armor must have cost a small fortune. One of the dragon’s teeth had managed to punch a hole just below where the piece had broken from the rest of the helmet. Myranda pulled a thick thread from her uncle’s old cloak, now rolled up as a keepsake in one of the new white robe’s pockets, and pulled it through the hole. Instantly, she had a new pendant.

  Myn marched proudly back a few minutes later. The dragon must have heeded Myranda’s words, because with her she brought two freshly killed rabbits. The dragon lit the fire quickly before gulping her meal down. Myranda cooked her own meal as quickly as possible, and extinguished her fire before eating. The wet wood created copious amounts of smoke and she feared that she would be found if she let the telltale flames burn for too long. As she ate, Myranda felt the vague feeling of uneasiness return. She glanced to the south, then to the footprints. She couldn’t explain it, but the tiny yearning, like an itch she could not scratch, soon consumed her. It pushed all other thoughts aside. Before long, she found herself manufacturing rationales for moving southward.

  “We really ought to keep moving,” she said aloud to Myn. “If we remain here, they are likely to find us soon. After all, we slept here. Days could have passed for all we know. The Elites could be just out of sight. South is as good a direction as any. What do you say?”

  Myn’s interest rested solely on the leftovers of Myranda’s meal. Once she had snapped them up, she could care less what she did, so long as she did it with Myranda. As the creature happily munched, Myranda presented her with the pendant. Myn had earned it, after all. The string was tied about her neck tightly enough that it would not fall or become tangled. She seemed pleased, shaking her neck a bit to feel the weight of it before snatching up the rest of the helm and making it clear she was eager for whatever was next.

  With that they were off. The routine of the next few days was a strenuous one. Sleep would come during the comparatively warm daylight hours. Upon waking, Myn would fetch food for Myranda and herself if she so desired. Then the remains of the fire would be eliminated or hidden and they would move at a brisk pace southward. The sheer density of the forest assured that, even if the Elites were to search nonstop, they would not stumble upon any evidence of Myranda or her dragon for days. Although once they found what they were searching for, they would easily be able to follow her, Myranda convinced herself that so long as she was careful and continued her southward trek, she could remain out of their reach.

  One curse and blessing of their chosen direction was the fact that the wind was always at their backs. This was helpful in that it did not burn at their faces or make walking more difficult. Myn, however, was near madness from the scent of the Elites that was carried by the constant breeze. The little dragon’s uneasiness became a gauge of how near the soldiers were. When her restlessness turned to defensiveness, it was time to quicken the pace. In this way, the soldiers were always kept at least out of sight. Though they were a constant threat, Myranda soon found that she had a more pressing concern.

  The footprints that she had found before had only become more numerous, and slightly fresher. Whatever group had been here before, it had followed the same path. Had she been in her right mind, she might have changed direction to avoid trouble. Such a choice would not be made. The intuition that had led her this far had only become more insistent. Whatever was out there, she had to find it or be driven mad by doubt.

  As if the uneasiness wasn’t enough to addle her mind, the nights on the cold and often wet ground were affecting her health. The stiffness that came to her muscles during rest lingered longer each day, and her breathing was reduced to wheezing at times. She knew what it meant. At least once a year she began to feel this way. It generally signaled the beginning of a long illness.

  Myranda smirked. Not this time. She knew the words that could cure her, but she had been warned not to cure an illness before it had become a burden. If a body was cured of disease too quickly, too often, it would weaken, and eventually cease to fight disease on its own, Wolloff had warned. Indeed, many a wizard, kept alive well past the time that nature had intended, had died for precisely this reason, he claimed. Myranda decided that once the wracking cough that invariably came appeared, she would cure it. That should give her natural defenses the practice they needed.

  Perhaps five days of constant travel had passed. She had not traveled due south, or the Elites would have surely found her. Instead, she zigzagged along rocky ground and thatch, anything that could obscure her tracks. She was walking the bank of another pebble-bottomed stream when she noticed something in the distance. Myn noticed it as well, and rushed to chase after it. When the creature was flushed out into the open, Myranda caught a clear glimpse of it before it galloped away. It was a horse. A horse just like the one the Elites who pursued her were riding. The image had burned itself into her mind--there could be no doubt.

  But how? How could one of their steeds have gotten past her without either of them noticing? And why did it have no rider? Perhaps it was the horse that had run away from the leader of the Elites when Myn had scared it during the rush to the Locke’s Woods.

  Her mind turned to the footprints and hoofprints. If there was an Elite horse here, then perhaps the Elites had been in this place, days before, leaving behind those traces. But how? They had to be behind her! Myn proved that! Unless they had split up, but then they could have confronted her days ago! None of this made sense! Myn trotted back, pleased that she had frightened away the assumed threat.

  “Myn,” Myranda whispered, “this is very important. How near are they? The bad ones.”

  Myn did not understand. Myranda took a series of sniffs to illustrate what she meant. The dragon imitated, but seemed no more disturbed by the scent than usual.

  “Again! You need to be sure!” Myranda demanded as a change in the wind brought a blast from the south.

  Myn caught a whiff of this new wind. Instantly, her eyes shot open. She turned to the south and took off like a bolt, sprinting across the ground like a creature possessed.

  “Myn! No! Not now!” Myranda called out uselessly. She hurried after her friend, following the deep claw marks left by her sprint. This could not have happened at a worse time.

  Minutes of running as fast as her legs could carry her had aggravated her ailing lungs severely. She stopped briefly to catch her breath, leaning against a tree. When she took her hand away, she felt something sticky. She looked to the culprit and found her hand reddened with blood. Fresh blood. She rushed
on, determined to not to stop until she found her dragon and the thing that had stirred her so. There was danger afoot.

  Myranda stumbled into a clearing. She could barely breathe. Her eyes scanned the surroundings. It was a gruesome sight. Soldiers, Elites, a dozen or more, were scattered about the ground. They had been slaughtered, armor pierced and torn. It was as though a wild animal had been let loose upon them. The sight brought painful memories of the battleground she had stumbled through when Myn had run last time, though now the injuries seemed somehow more savage. These were not the clean slices of a sword, but the horrid punctures and tears of a spear or a lance.

  The bodies, like the blood she had stumbled upon earlier, were fresh. They had likely been killed just as the sun was setting earlier that day. At the opposite edge of the clearing was Myn. She was nosing a figure that was hunched against a tree. It was difficult to tell just what it was that she was looking at when she finally approached it, so covered was it in all manner of injuries. Perhaps it was some sort of monster. It had arms and legs like a man, and some shreds of clothing, but the numerous tears showed a horrid red fur. Myn was blocking the head, but from what Myranda could see, this creature was as dead as the soldiers that littered the area.

  “Myn, get away from there! We need to leave this place--now!” Myranda ordered.