LEGENDS: Fifteen Tales of Sword and Sorcery

by Colt, K. J.

  “Have you ever given a moment’s consideration to your mount?” Trigorah scolded.

  “Horses are cheap,” Arden said.

  Trigorah looked at him with disgust.

  “I figger you know why I’m here,” he said.

  “The circumstances of the wager,” the general said.

  “Uh-huh,” Arden said, grinning with half-rotten teeth.

  “You still seek to collect? You couldn’t hold on to your target!” Trigorah hissed.

  “I caught the ‘sassin before you caught the girl or found the sword. Hangin on to monsters don’t enter into it,” he growled. “You ain’t lookin to weasel out, are ya?”

  “I still have a task at hand. I will not abandon it,” she remarked.

  “She went in that cave, and you still hope to bring her back? What part, the head?” Arden chuckled. “Quit tryin to wriggle out of this. What’re you, a coward?”

  “Coward? Coward!? You, of anyone, call me a coward? There is a war! There is a hated enemy to the south. Has your blade ever tasted anything but the blood of your fellow Alliance?” Trigorah raged.

  She smoldered for a moment, then turned to the cave.

  “Soldier!” she called.

  One of the men under her command stepped from the shadows.

  “I want regular sweeps of the cave. Systematic. I shall send a supply team here. In the meantime, my colleague and I have a briefing that cannot be postponed,” she said, stalking off to the clearing that sheltered her horse. “I dare say he has much to learn from me.”

  With no conversation to occupy her, Myranda’s mind wandered. Just as he had instructed her to do, at each branch, she carefully felt the walls, turning in the direction that was smoothest. Soon the tunnel was glass-smooth, and almost perfectly straight. The grade grew gradually steeper, making it difficult to keep footing. Strangely, the sound of echoing drips of water was absent. Hours passed as Myranda gave Leo his quiet time. The second torch since they had awakened had to be replaced, signifying a full day of walking, climbing, and crawling. Myranda made ready to sit and rest, but this time she was not even scolded or encouraged. Her friend merely gave her a stern look that prompted her to proceed.

  “How much further?” she asked.

  “I can’t be sure,” he said. “We are close.”

  Silence followed.

  “What is wrong? You were so talkative before,” she said.

  “Nothing is wrong. I just want to get to the end of this tunnel as quickly as possible. You can’t hear it, but I can. This mountain is groaning. It has something up its sleeve. When it makes its move, I want to be ready for it. That means I need to listen,” he said, agitated.

  Myranda milled over his words before answering.

  “It’s just that . . . I can’t stand the silence. It cuts through me. I’ve been alone for so long. Talking to myself, talking to Myn. I just need to hear a voice. I need proof that there is someone else out there. It seems like every time I try to get close, the world runs away,” she said.

  “The world runs away from you!” he said incredulously. “That is not how I remember it. When we first met, what were you doing? You came into an inn and sat as far as possible from anyone else. You closed yourself to your surroundings, so much so that you failed to notice your money being stolen. When I helped you out, you scurried upstairs and locked the door behind you. You were the one running. That is the trouble with your kind. Everything is always about you until the time comes to find fault. Sickening,” he said.

  His words were tinged with anger. It added a new quality to his voice, something vaguely familiar. Myranda was struck to the core by his words. Partially because they were so harsh. Partly because they were so true. She did protect herself from those around her. She had ever since she was a child. The only way to be sure no one learned of her feelings on the war was to keep them at arm’s length. A part of her isolation was choice.

  “I am sorry if my words hurt you, but . . . I just need silence right now,” Leo said, less an apology and more a warning. He seemed not to be in control of his emotions, as though something had a hold over him.

  A few moments passed. Leo stopped suddenly and shuffled to a wall, putting an ear to it.

  “Leo,” she said.

  He clenched his fists and whipped his head around, sudden fury seizing him.

  “What now!?” he raged.

  The final word echoed off of the walls relentlessly. The echoes drove into Myranda’s mind, stirring her thoughts. That word. That voice. She knew them. The echoes continued. A dark, painful memory emerged. It couldn’t be.

  “You . . . you were there . . . at the church . . .” she said, detached.

  “What are you saying?” he demanded.

  She remembered the voice behind her. The voice of the one holding a blade to her throat as she was sent away from the church all of those months ago.

  “The church! Where I was kidnapped! You stole the sword! You killed those soldiers! Who are you really!?” she realized.

  As if as an answer, the mountain began to rumble and roar. It was deafening. A rush of icy air swept past them.

  “Not now! Not now!” he cried, launching himself into a run.

  Myn looked anxiously to Myranda. Between the roar of the mountain and the flaring tempers, she was beside herself. Myranda sprinted off after the fleeing malthrope. For once she would not be distracted, no matter the madness that raged about her. The steep, slippery tunnel soon betrayed her as she lost her footing and began to slide. Myn’s claws clacked at the floor as she struggled to keep pace with the now helpless human. After a few moments, Myranda splashed down into a numbingly cold pool of thrashing water. The dragon joined her in the pool, unable to stop quickly enough to avoid it. The beast managed to keep the torch she had taken to carrying dry, and leapt out of the water. Leo was waist deep in the icy stuff.

  “Answer me! I want to know the truth!” Myranda demanded.

  “You want the truth? Fine! This torrent of frigid water is rushing in through our only means of escape. We spent the better part of three days getting through this cave, and the water will fill half of it within the hour. If we stay or flee, we die. If we swim, we may survive,” he said.

  The reality of the situation swept over Myranda as powerfully as the water threatened to.

  “How do I know I can trust you?” she asked.

  “You don’t. I’ve kept you alive this far. Now you have to decide,” he said, diving into the churning pool.

  Myranda cast a nervous glance at the very anxious Myn.

  “He is not getting away that easily,” she decided.

  She dove into the water after him, with Myn reluctantly following. The dragon hated the cold, but was determined not to leave her friend’s side.

  Myranda wrestled her eyes open. The water was so cold, it stung her unmercifully, and the sound of the rushing water filled her head. Leo was disappearing into the eerie light of the submerged tunnel. She fought the astounding current, clinging to the slick as ice walls with fingers that had lost their feeling after just a few heartbeats in the water. Wavelike swishing motions of Myn’s tail surged her forward until she was able to grip the roof with her claws. Neither girl nor dragon could make any headway. Every ounce of effort went to maintaining their position. A slight ripple in the rocky tunnel was enough to keep Myranda from sliding back, but Myn was not so lucky.

  The dragon scratched desperately at the wall of the tunnel. She was losing the fight, flailing and slipping backward. Myranda took one hand away from its grip to guide the beast to the hand hold. Now with a firm grip, the two began to slowly pull themselves forward. Leo’s form was barely visible ahead, pulling himself along in much the same way. Just ahead of him was the edge. Beyond that there was only light. Daylight.

  As the girl and the dragon neared the opening, the current intensified. Myranda’s chest heaved as her lungs begged for air. She reached out, managing to grasp the rounded edge of the opening with one hand. With t
he other, she grabbed the claw of her friend. In a final flurry of effort, she pulled the two of them into the light. The current split at the opening, half flowing into the tunnel, the rest fanning out along the wall the tunnel emerged from.

  The latter current caught them, sweeping the pair forcefully along the wall just as Myranda’s breath gave out. Spent air burst from her lips and a desperate, raking breath pulled in a lungful of frigid water. She convulsed as she smashed into the rocky edge of the pool. Darkness was closing in about her as she felt a pair of hands grip her arm and drag her from the pool.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A SERIES OF PAINFUL COUGHS spewed the water from Myranda’s lungs and she gulped gratefully at the fresh air. Her vision was a swirl of indistinct forms as she was helped to her feet.

  “Myn!” she managed. “Myn!”

  She could feel the shivering beast brush weakly against her before dropping to the dry ground. Myranda was vaguely aware of being led along. Somehow she was on her feet, shuffling with a strong arm supporting her. She was barely cognizant of her own movement. Her helper lowered her to a seat and a blanket was thrown about her shoulders. The shapes that swept before her eyes were clearing. Before long she recognized a hand. She raised her eyes and struggled to focus on the face. Her hearing was nearly as poor as her sight, the roaring water still ringing in her ears. Mingled with the sound of water was a periodic sound she couldn’t identify.

  As she tried to steady herself, she realized that the sharp, grating noise she was hearing was her own coughing. When she finally calmed herself and her senses returned to her, she looked to her anonymous helper. He was a young man, about her age, with brown hair and a gray tunic. A sturdy messenger bag hung over his shoulder. He was checking her eyes and spouting phrases in a variety of languages. Eventually he struck the correct one.

  “Are you warm enough?” he asked.

  Myranda nodded.

  “Where are the others?” she asked.

  “Ah, so you have a tongue, and a northern one at that. Excellent, one of my favorites. The dragon that came with you is sleeping over yonder, and the malthrope has requested to be cared for in one of our cleric huts,” he said.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “You made it through the cave. You also made it through the waterfall, which may be unprecedented. I will look into it,” he said.

  “What is this place?” she asked, looking around. Her eyes had not recovered enough to make out her surroundings.

  “My, so full of questions,” he said. “Though after the ordeal you’ve been through, I suppose you’ve earned a few. This is Entwell Num Garastra. In the northern tongue, that translates to . . . the stomach--no, the belly of the beast,” he said.

  “What!?” she gasped.

  “Oh, my heavens, I am sorry. It’s just a name. No cause for fear. I’ll explain later. Suffice to say you have discovered our village. It is a place of learning. We exist to acquire, improve, and impart knowledge,” he explained.

  “I’m not sure I understand,” she said.

  “You will. All in time,” he said. “My name is Deacon. And you are?”

  “Myranda,” she said.

  He held out his hand. She shook it, but he pulled away quickly and began riffling through a bag that hung at his side.

  “You are cold as death. Excellent! Hold out your hand,” he said, revealing a perfectly smooth, palm-sized, egg-shaped crystal.

  “What? Why? What is going on?” she asked.

  “Open your hand. I am merely going to temporarily manipulate certain physical attributes of your body tissues so as to facilitate the timelier introduction of appropriate heat levels than nature would generally allow,” he said in a bewildering flurry of logic.

  While Myranda was still trying to sort through his words, he placed the crystal in her hand. He then closed her hand around it and clasped his hands over hers. A flash of light shined through her fingers and a mild glow spread up her arms and through her body. It was accompanied by a curious sensation, or more accurately, a lack thereof. Everywhere the light touched was restored to normal. Cold became comfortable, numb became normal, and nowhere in between. There was no feeling of warmth, no tingling, simply an instantaneous return to normal. A second streak of light swept over her clothes, drying them.

  “There,” Deacon said. “How do you feel?”

  As she began to answer, he scrambled to draw a thick, leather-bound book from his bag and began marking down all that she said with a stylus he had perched behind his ear.

  “I feel fine,” she said.

  “No excessive heat? And tactile sensation--normal? Excellent, excellent,” he said.

  “What did you do?” she asked.

  “The procedure is quite simple. It has escaped common use because the techniques it entails are not generally associated with white magic,” he said. “You seem tired. Are you?”

  “Very,” she said.

  “That is not a side effect I had anticipated. Perhaps . . .” he began.

  “I don’t think your spell is to blame. I haven’t slept in more than a day,” she said.

  “Oh, well, yes. That would explain it,” he said. “I can find you a soft bed and some fresh clothes if you like.”

  “You can?” Myranda said.

  “Oh, yes. All of the amenities,” he said with a chuckle. “Follow me.”

  She stood, but woozily stumbled. Deacon was quick to lend his arm to steady her. As the pair moved away from the deafening falls, Myranda gained her first clear look at the place she had been striving to reach for the past few days. Stretching out before her, nestled in the shadow of the cliffs towering behind, was a small village. The houses were simple huts with thatched roofs. The perfect little buildings with the rosy sky behind them looked more like a painting than someplace that might actually exist. There was no snow on the ground. Much to her surprise, the gravelly ground surrounding the falls gave way to emerald green grass.

  As if this did not distinguish this village enough, the hamlet was alive with activity. Here was a young man sitting under a tree, there a trio of older men and women in a heated discussion. Birds, butterflies, and even what she swore was a tiny, winged person fluttered by. There were representatives from a myriad of races. Elves, dwarfs, humans--all in the open and interacting. It was a surreal sight, and Myranda was entranced. It was as though she was seeing life as it should be for the first time. Her trance was broken when Deacon was knocked forcefully to the ground. She turned to see Myn standing atop the fallen helper.

  “Myn! No, he is helping me!” she scolded.

  The dragon was reluctant to release Deacon, her teeth bared and dripping.

  “I am sorry, little lady. I did not realize you were awake. I would have asked your permission, I assure you,” Deacon said, chuckling as he got to his feet.

  He drew his crystal and healed several places where the little dragon’s claws met their mark.

  “Are you all right?” Myranda asked.

  “Fine, fine. It was my fault. I know how attached dragons get. Had I been thinking, I would have made my intentions clear,” he said, casting another spell to mend holes torn in the fabric of his tunic.

  “How do you know so much about dragons?” she asked.

  “Solomon taught me,” he said, carefully allowing the still agitated dragon to wedge herself between himself and Myranda.

  “He knows about dragons?” she asked.

  “He is a dragon,” he said. “When you feel up to it, I’ll introduce you. He is a very enlightening fellow.”

  Before long, they came upon a hut on the edge of the village. It was just like any of the others, and appeared as though it had never been used. He opened the door and led her inside. There were two rooms. One had a bed, the other a few chairs, a table, and a number of shelves.

  “This will be your hut. Equip it as you will,” he said.

  “You mean, I may live here? This hut will be mine? Just like that?” she said.


  “Of course. You made it through the cave. You are one of us. We always keep one hut empty to house the next adventurer to make the trek. We hadn’t anticipated three at once. Work on the other huts will begin first thing tomorrow,” he said.

  “Where will Leo sleep?” she asked.

  “Leo is your vulpine friend, I presume. He will be spending a day or two in the cleric’s hut. What happened to him? I heard a bit of the chatter when they were hauling him out of the water and it seems he has been mangled physically and spiritually. It is going to take some of our best healers to untie the knots,” he said. “As for Myn here, I am sure we can make some arrangements for her, too . . .”

  “Oh, she sleeps beside me,” Myranda said.

  “Are you certain?” he asked.

  “Since she was hatched,” Myranda assured him.

  “Oh, all right then,” he said, eyebrow raised.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Well, you see, the act of breathing fire is not always a strictly voluntary one. Occasionally, they let loose a puff or two in their sleep. Not enough to kill, mind you, but more than enough to set the bed aflame. Thus, sleeping in a bed with a dragon is generally inadvisable. However, if you have been doing so for this long then it is clearly not an issue,” he said. “In a wardrobe in your bedroom, you will find a number of blue robes and tunics. They should fit well enough until we can make some specifically for you. I will make the necessary arrangements for you. You just have a well-earned rest. When you wake, find the nearest person and they will set you on your way.”

  “But where will you be?” she asked.

  “Likely I will be scribing. It consumes most of my time. Anyone in the village will be more than willing to help you, you needn’t come to me. However, if you need me, just say my name and someone will point you in my direction,” he said.

  He took his leave and closed the door. Myranda quickly changed into the fresh clothes. They were a bit too large for her, but as the first change of clothes she’d had in weeks, they were heavenly. She fell into the bed and was asleep before Myn joined her a moment later.