LEGENDS: Fifteen Tales of Sword and Sorcery

by Colt, K. J.

  “I would rather just rest for a bit,” she said. “It is not very serious. I only need enough wit about me to face Lain tonight.”

  “Very well. You have been at this long enough to know what you need,” he said, putting pen to page again at his desk.

  Myranda sat silently for a bit, listening to the distant rumble of the falls.

  “Deacon,” she said.

  “Yes,” he replied, without looking up.

  “You say that no one can leave because of the falls,” she said.

  “That is indeed true,” he assured her.

  “But the most skilled wizards in the world are here, aren’t they? Surely someone could find a way around the waterfall problem,” she said.

  “Were this any other place, I can assure you that such would be so. However, the selfsame crystal that makes casting so much easier for us is present in scattered clusters throughout these mountains and all along the cliffside,” he said, flipping a page.

  “Wouldn’t that make magic all the easier to use?” she asked.

  “Not as such. You can think of a well-refined crystal as a mirror. Quite useful. A cluster of small, rough crystals is like a broken mirror. It does nothing but distort and confuse things. As a result, save for very small, simple spells, any magic directed at the mountain or in the mountain falls apart quite quickly. There are theories we have developed that could conceivably offer a solution to the dilemma, but few are interested enough in leaving this place to develop them much,” he explained.

  “Ah . . . What are you up to?” she asked.

  “Scribing, as usual,” he said.

  “What exactly?” she asked.

  “The analysis of an efficient method of illusionary motion synchronization and appearance duplication,” he said without looking up.

  “Pardon?” she said, bewildered.

  “Oh, I am sorry. I am required to phrase things in that way when I record them. What it is, is . . . well, let me show you,” he said.

  Deacon stood and took his crystal in hand.

  “Now, for the duration of this demonstration, you will be able to recognize me as the one with the crystal. Ahem . . . most wizards have at least a basic understanding of illusion. They use a method that gives this result,” he said.

  Beside him a second Deacon appeared, indistinguishable from the first. It began to speak.

  “As you can see, this produces an admirable result. It can look like, sound like, or be whatever I desire,” the copy said. As it mentioned the different possibilities of appearance, sound, and form, the illusion shifted quickly through a series of examples. Suddenly, it faded away.

  “Such illusions are difficult to create, though,” he said, recreating the first, followed by another and another.

  The three spoke simultaneously. As they did, they moved about, pacing in well-choreographed circles around Myranda.

  “The trouble is making more than one is difficult. Keeping the illusion intact is more so. For long term or large scale pursuits, this method will not do,” they said, slowly fading away until only the voice of original remained.

  “I propose we use a new method,” the real Deacon said. “In my new method, similar copies are made that are based on the original. These copies synchronize their movements and appearance. As a result, no more effort is used for the tenth as was used for the first.”

  As he spoke, one duplicate after another began to appear. Soon the room was crowded with them, all precisely mimicking the true Deacon, who had quickly been lost among the crowd.

  “Now minor changes in appearance or movement can be added to each without much more effort,” the crowd said. Immediately, each of the copies took on a slight change in appearance. Some walked more slowly, others more quickly. Voices changed. And then they all vanished. All but one.

  “That is what I meant,” Deacon said.

  “That was remarkable,” she said.

  “Thank you. Illusions are one of the most refined aspects of my art,” he said.

  “Can you make an illusion of anyone?” she asked.

  “Anyone I have seen or can imagine. It actually makes it possible, with the addition of some strategic invisibility, to create instant disguises. Observe,” he said.

  He proceeded to transform before her eyes into a myriad of different people. Some she did not recognize, others she had seen in Entwell. She even noticed herself appear briefly. Lain, too, made an appearance before he ended the effect.

  “It is such practices that gave gray magic a poor standing in the mystic community,” he said.

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “It is used to create disguises. Therefore it is used for dishonesty. Dishonesty and treachery are among the worst crimes a wizard can commit,” he said.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “For the same reasons anyone else might be looked down upon for lying. Of course, there is a second stigma for a wizard who lies. The spirits who we so often call upon to aid in our conjuring judge us by the purity of our soul. Dishonesty twists a soul, rendering us distasteful to all but similarly twisted spirits. These spirits tend to take a far greater and far darker toll in exchange for their aid. Hence the gnarled appearance of the darker wizards and witches we hear of in children’s stories,” he said.

  “I see,” she said. “Couldn’t you solve the problem of your art seeming to be a lie by making it the truth? Couldn’t actually make the things appear?”

  “In theory, yes, but that would not solve our problem at all. We can change things from one form or substance to another with enough effort, but to summon objects is strictly forbidden,” he said.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “It is fundamental to the rules that govern this place. All areas may be studied, but some may not be practiced. Chief among them are time travel and summoning or manifesting. Time travel has consequences that no one can fully comprehend, and is thus too dangerous to consider, and summoning . . . well. When you summon, you may accidentally or purposely draw something from another world. That is unacceptable. Things of this world belong here; things from elsewhere do not,” he said.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “They simply do not. It has never been made clearer than that, but it has been drilled into us from the first day of our training. I don’t question it,” he said.

  “No one warned me,” she said.

  “You haven’t received any gray training. For it to become an issue for you, you would have to stumble upon the appropriate spell by mistake,” he said, his mind suddenly shifting directions. “Say . . . how is that dragon of yours?” he said.

  “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her all day,” Myranda said. “I suppose she could be with Lain. Or Solomon. She does look forward to hunting with him.”

  “Well, not that she isn’t a joy to be with, but I cannot say that I have missed her little reminders of when I get too close. I wish that she would learn to speak so that there could be a less painful alternative. She doesn’t even give me a warning in her own language,” he said. “The only time that she seemed to tolerate me at all was when I helped you after Solomon’s test, and she was more than a bit reluctant even then.”

  “I keep telling her not to do it. It is as though she thinks it’s a game,” Myranda apologized.

  “She is young and overprotective,” he said dismissively.

  “Why did you ask about her?” Myranda asked.

  “You mean to tell me that you do not hear that?” he said, turning to the door and the peculiar noises on the other side.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  MYRANDA LISTENED CLOSELY. OUTSIDE THERE was a commotion. The voices of several excited villagers could be heard, as well as an odd crashing noise. She rushed out of the door. The eyes of the villagers were trained on a rooftop. Myranda looked to it just in time to see Myn finish scampering to the top.

  “Myn! What are you doing!?” she called out.

  The dragon looked excitedly to her and unfurled
her wings. She leapt from the roof and flapped wildly, taking a less-than-graceful lurching trip through the air. Despite the rather abortive attempt at flight, the little creature did manage to pick up a remarkable amount of speed. Her aim was impressively accurate as well, as she covered just enough ground to collide with Myranda, knocking them both to the ground.

  “Well, you have certainly been busy,” Myranda managed after sitting up and looking the little creature in the eyes.

  Solomon came trotting over to them, growling some throaty message to Myn.

  “That is the furthest she has managed to travel,” he explained.

  “When did this start?” Myranda asked, climbing to her feet as Myn sprinted back to the building and clawed her way to the roof.

  “This morning, after watching you and Ayna at work, she came to me, curious. I showed her how to start on the path to flight,” Solomon answered helpfully in Northern.

  Myn took to the sky again, flailing through the air and slamming into Myranda. This time the girl was ready and caught the dragon in her arms. The force of the landing still caused her to stumble backward. Myranda realized for the first time how much Myn had grown since the day they first met. The creature was as heavy as a child! She let her down and watched her run to another building, this one even further away.

  “How long is this going to keep up?” Myranda asked Solomon as she braced for a third test flight.

  “She needs to develop the muscles. To do that, she will need to practice. If she remains as enthusiastic as she is now, I cannot foresee her requiring much more than a week to fly for at least a few minutes at a time,” he said.

  Myranda caught her friend and released her again.

  “Take a few more steps back. Make her work. It will speed her progress,” he said.

  Myranda stepped back. Sure enough, Myn fought harder and made it into her arms. The game continued for some time. Though it was a bit rough, Myranda found it quite enjoyable. The sun had drooped in the sky before Myn couldn’t manage the distance from the roof to her friend, a distance that had grown to nearly a hundred paces. The poor little thing was exhausted. Solomon praised both dragon and girl for working together so well before retiring to his hut. Deacon, who had left to continue his scribing after watching for a time, had returned when he found that the sequence of flaps and crashes had ended.

  “I trust you had some fun,” he said.

  “Did you see her? She practically made it halfway across the village!” Myranda said excitedly, scratching the weary creature.

  “Perhaps a bit of an exaggeration, but it was impressive nonetheless,” he said.

  “She’s growing up. I know I should be happy, but inside I’m not,” she said.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “I don’t want to lose my little dragon. She’s enough of a handful at this size. Can you imagine when she is grown?” Myranda said.

  “Yes, well, you’ve got years before that becomes a problem,” he said. “As I understand it, they grow quickly at first, but it slows after the first year. Besides, I think you’ve got something else to worry about right now.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “Look at the sky,” he said.

  The sun was nearing the horizon.

  “Lain! I have to get to training!” she said.

  “I’m afraid so,” he said.

  Myranda rushed off to her hut, with Myn trudging as quickly as she could to keep up. She retrieved the quarterstaff and hurried to where Lain was waiting.

  “Myn is learning to fly. I lost track of time,” Myranda explained as the tired dragon collapsed beside her.

  “I know. It is a difficult spectacle to miss. Never mind the quarterstaff--take this,” he said, tossing her a shorter, stouter rod.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  “That is roughly what you will be given when you have finished your wizard training, minus the crystal. It is the weapon that you are most likely to make use of in the future. It is also the second weapon I have decided to teach you,” he said.

  “Very well,” she said.

  “Today, I will attack, and you will defend,” Lain said.

  “You will attack? I have been catching Myn all day. I am not sure I can take many hits,” she said.

  Lain took a wooden training sword from the rack behind him. With a swift slash, he brought the weapon to within an inch of the girl’s neck before she could react. There it stopped without touching her.

  “If my weapon comes as close as this, you can consider yourself killed,” he said.

  “And how do I earn a question?” she asked.

  “If you manage to block three attacks in a row, I will allow you one question,” he said.

  After a brief explanation of the differences in the usage of the staff as opposed to the quarterstaff, he instructed her to prepare herself, and they began. Had she more energy, Myn would have viciously objected to the violent display. Instead, she cast a weary eye on the proceedings between dozes.

  Whereas she had been slow to pick up the correct methods of attack, defense came far more naturally to Myranda. Before long, she was blocking his first attack without fail. Unfortunately, this nearly always left her weapon out of place to block the follow-up attack. Lain scolded her as she failed again and again to block his second attack.

  “Your opponent may be able to attack more quickly than you can move, but not more quickly than you can think. Use your mind. Battle is more than about the body. If you cannot position a block in the time between when you identify the intended target and the moment of impact, then you must move sooner. You must know where the foe will attack next! Anticipate!” he demanded.

  By the end of the session, she had only managed to block a second attack a handful of times, and never a third. Magic had forced her to think deeply. It would seem that combat was forcing her to think quickly. The two skills, on the surface, seemed practically opposite. It was clear that if someone were to possess both skills, though, there would be little that such a person could not handle.

  After a few final pieces of advice from Lain, Myranda parted ways and headed for home. Myn was still quite weary and took her usual post atop her when Myranda went to bed.

  Across the Low Lands and across the west, the black carriages rolled. Trigorah watched in cold silence as her Elites carried out their orders. Anyone who met the girl since she found the sword was found, captured, and hauled away. The orders seemed pointless, arbitrary, but they were not the first such commands to bear fruit. It was not her place to question them, only to carry them out. The other generals had managed to keep the Northern Alliance free despite a centuries-long struggle against a foe twice its size and many times its strength. It didn’t matter that their methods were . . . unsettling. The only thing that mattered was victory.

  Trigorah repeated it to herself during the long nights without sleep. These orders were vital steps toward victory. Victory would bring peace. Peace was an end high enough to justify any means. She repeated the words to herself as she looked into the eyes of the innocents being taken away for reasons they didn’t understand. She repeated them as she heard the wails of children separated from their parents. She repeated them until the words were without meaning, until the wheels of the black carriages wore deep ruts in the roads of the low lands.

  She repeated them, praying each time that she might finally believe them.

  Myn awoke and looked upon her friend with concern. Myranda was sweating and out of breath. Perhaps through no coincidence, her dreams had been of Trigorah, of that fateful meeting in the forest before they came here. The night when she nearly killed the nearest thing she had to a living relative. In her nightmare she’d seen the face of one of the injured soldiers. It was her father. She knew it couldn’t be true, that her mind was playing tricks, but that hardly mattered.

  Thoughts raced through her head. Trigorah had worked with her father, and she was now an Elite. Could her father have been an Elite as well? It would explain
why he was away so often . . . and since the Elites were so secret and important an organization he could still be alive today, and she would never know. A brief flash of happiness at the thought vanished when she realized that Trigorah knew her, and if her father was still alive, he most certainly have been informed. He would have come for her if he was still living as a member of the Elites. Unless he was ashamed, or . . . there was no time for such thoughts.

  Myranda gathered her things and headed to Ayna’s place while Myn trotted off to be with Solomon. As usual, the fairy was up and about, impatiently waiting for her student to arrive. A smile came to her face as she noticed that Deacon was there, too.

  “Well, well. It would appear that my little pupil has attracted an audience once again,” Ayna said.

  “I missed out last time. I just want to see this firsthand. It promises to be quite a spectacle,” he said.

  “So is a forest fire,” she said with a sneer, “but if you must stay, keep clear. I will not tolerate interruption.”

  “I will be a mere shadow,” he said.

  “Well then, get to it. Concentrate,” Ayna ordered.

  Myranda quickly shut off the world as she had done so many times before. When her mind was prepared, Ayna’s voice sounded.

  “Eyes open,” she demanded.

  “But--“ Myranda began.

  “I said eyes open. And if I have to repeat myself again, you will learn just how unpleasant being my pupil can be,” she said.

  Myranda opened her eyes. Set before her was an array of thin poles, each with a wooden ball perched on its end.

  “Now, the purpose of this apparatus should be clear to all but the dimmest of individuals. Therefore, let me explain it to you. You will conjure up a wind and direct it at the poles. If it is of sufficient strength, the ball will fall. I will see to it that no natural breezes give you any help,” Ayna said. “You may close your eyes, provided you can remember which direction is forward.”

  Myranda closed her eyes and tried to push away the anger Ayna had stirred up with her belittling remarks. The wind came quickly. It was only a breeze at first, but it grew steadily, and before long, she felt that it must be strong enough. She opened her eyes, managing to maintain the strength of the breeze. Of the ten poles, four had already lost their cargo, and a fifth came quickly after that.