LEGENDS: Fifteen Tales of Sword and Sorcery

by Colt, K. J.

  Myranda applied the reverse of one of the spells that Solomon had taught. A wave passed through the water, leaving all behind it solid ice.

  “Excellent. Wonderful job! Deacon, tell me, do you remember that foolish spell Gilliam used?” Calypso asked.

  “Of course,” he said.

  “Well, cast it on this work of art. It needs to be saved in a form a bit more enduring than ice,” she said.

  Deacon raised his crystal and closed his eyes. The spell must have been a mighty one, because even in her drowsy, weakened state, Myranda could feel the power of it flowing. A less distinct wave of light began to pass over the surface of the ice statue. It rippled slowly along like a dozen grasping fingers creeping up. Behind it, the ice was turned to stone. When it reached the nose of the statue, his work was done. It was solid rock, saved for posterity. Deacon gave a sigh of relief as he finished.

  “Well done, both of you. It has been a pleasure working with you, Myranda. Don’t think that just because I am no longer your teacher that you can just stop visiting me. Deacon, you get her to Azriel. I have got to get this lovely thing down below,” Calypso said.

  “What? Azriel? Isn’t she the founder?” Myranda asked, still dazed from the effort.

  “Yes, you need to be declared a Full Master,” he said, walking her in the direction of the crystal arena. All the while, the rain she had caused was hammering down.

  “But I have been. Calypso said it,” she said.

  “No, no. You have been declared a Master of four separate disciplines. Now you must prove just how capable you are in their practical use. Then you will be a Full Master,” he said.

  “I don’t understand. There are that many different levels of Master?” she said.

  “Oh yes. We have nine main levels of mastery in magic alone. There is Novice, Journeyman, Master, Full Master, Highest Master, Grand Master, Archmage, and Elder. Aside from that we have Battlemages, Specialists, Seers . . .” he said.

  “What? I have been through four full disciplines and I am not even half of the way up the hierarchy?” she said in disbelief.

  “Well, with any luck, after today you will be halfway,” he said.

  “But I can barely think. How am I going to pass another test?” she asked.

  “Don’t worry about that. In fact, you had better give me that staff. You are likely to break it,” he said as he led her onward.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  THEY APPROACHED THE CRYSTAL ARENA. When she had first seen it, Myranda had been struck by the beauty of the place. Now, with rain pouring down from a darkened sky, it was the size that seized her mind. The spires around the perimeter looked like the teeth of some horrible creature. Myn scampered up beside them, familiar and quite fond of the place that now seemed so ominous. They stopped at the base of one of the carved columns. There, Deacon laid the staff on the ground.

  “Now, before we enter, I cannot stress this strongly enough. You absolutely must take this seriously. The danger will be real. She will try to trick you. Her purpose here is to test your mind. She will not relent. I have seen the strongest men and women I have ever known enter this place to face her and leave changed. My own experiences were mild, and I must say they still have a place in my nightmares. This is likely to be the most trying experience you’ve ever had,” he said.

  “What will she do?” Myranda asked.

  “I don’t know. She seldom repeats a specific test. Are you prepared?” he asked.

  “How can I be?” she asked.

  “Then let us begin,” he said.

  The three stepped across the border. It was the difference between night and day. Once inside, her head was as crisp and clear as it had ever been, the sun was shining, the clouds were gone, and instead of the cold, hard crystal that she knew to be beneath her, she found downy, soft grass. It was uncannily similar to her image of what the south must be like. Ahead there was a wholesome-looking thatched cottage.

  As they approached, a woman appeared before them. She seemed to materialize, like a cloud of smoke that wafted together rather than away. Draped about her graceful form was a black cloak with white, flame-like patterns rising from the hem that flickered and twisted as though they truly burned. She stood a few inches taller than Myranda, older, but the picture of elegance. Her hair was a glorious white and hung well past her shoulders.

  The dragon showed her usual suspicion, becoming defensive at the woman’s arrival, but upon recognizing her as the mealtime host, she relented.

  “Welcome. I have been waiting for our prodigy. By the grace of your own skills, I have not had to wait long. And, Deacon, I understand that you have been this young girl’s steward. Splendid, please come inside,” she said in a voice that radiated civility.

  She led them inside where a trio of overstuffed chairs surrounded a table set with the most sumptuous feast that Myranda had ever seen. All manner of meats, cheese, and bread covered it from end to end. The four sat--Azriel at the head of the table, Deacon and Myranda at each side, and Myn upon the floor beside Myranda. The chair was impossibly comfortable, and the food was something out of a fantasy. The wine was nectar. The meat fairly melted as soon as it touched her tongue. The atmosphere was so warm and inviting, Myranda couldn’t feel more at ease.

  The same could not be said of Deacon. He sat rigidly in place, eating slowly and sparingly, as though he did so only because of what might happen if he did not. The fear rolled off of him as palpably as the grace flowed from Azriel. When they were through, their host spoke again.

  “Now, I have been blessed with the honor of treating your little Myn to her meals. She is as fine a beast as I have ever seen. Treat her well and she will serve you well. Of that much I am sure. As for you, Deacon, am I to take your presence as an indication that Myranda has had a dose of gray magic as well?” she asked.

  “Just a touch, your grace. A spell or two,” he answered quickly, hesitating to even look Azriel in the eye.

  “Well, every little bit helps. Gray magic is a favorite of mine. It is possible that I shall have something of a challenge from this one. I relish the thought. I also understand that Hollow had a word with her. Quite the unique occurrence,” she said.

  “We believe that she may have a connection to the Chosen. She even has a semblance of the mark,” Deacon offered timidly.

  “Might I see it?” Azriel asked.

  “Show her. Show her the mark,” Deacon whispered insistently.

  As Myranda revealed the palm of her left hand, she couldn’t understand how this motherly woman could be making Deacon so uneasy.

  “Yes, yes. It is not a birthmark, but no ordinary person could bear such a mark, if it truly is that of the Chosen,” Azriel said.

  “That is why it is very important that we get her to the ceremony just as quickly as we can,” Deacon said.

  “Well, that is hardly any concern of mine. I shall test her as I would any other. She will decide if she is ready,” Azriel said, the tiniest hint of annoyance in her voice.

  One would have thought that she had lashed out at Deacon, so quickly did he retract himself.

  “Oh, your grace, I meant nothing by it. I am certain that you will be fair, and that Myranda will succeed,” Deacon said, brushing sweat from his brow and releasing a shaky sigh.

  “Perhaps, though, it is best that we do not dally. Now, now. What test is best for a prodigy? I believe that I will administer the escape test. That seems appropriate,” she said.

  Myranda nodded, curious as to what the test entailed. Deacon shook as if struck when he heard the words.

  “W-what duration . . . if it is not too forward of me to ask?” Deacon nervously inquired.

  “I believe, for this occasion, ten minutes seems long enough,” she said.

  “Oh, well, that doesn’t sound so--“ Myranda began.

  “Ten minutes! You must reconsider. She has only just finished her water training today!” he objected, his fear for Myranda overcoming his fear for himself.


  “I have spoken. I will not be dissuaded,” she said.

  Suddenly, Deacon vanished, wafting away just as Azriel had appeared. Myn was similarly swept away, leaving Myranda alone with her examiner.

  “What have you done with them?” she asked, slightly taken aback by the action.

  “They are still about. Myn is with him, but she cannot see any of this. She and I have a fine relationship, and I would hate to spoil it by upsetting her. Deacon is somewhere where he can watch without becoming a nuisance to either of us. Ah, that boy. His concern for you is rather charming, and perhaps not out of place, but so irritating. Nevertheless, we’ve a task at hand. First, allow me to expand the field of play,” she answered.

  Without any outward semblance of effort, the sorceress began to reconfigure their surroundings. The walls pushed away and turned from warm, inviting wood to cold stone. The table lengthened, and as it did, new food sprouted up to occupy it. The doorway gaped massively and chains sprang forth to connect to the door, which fell away with an earthshaking crash to bridge a moat that had formed outside. The fire from the hearth shot to the center of the room and scattered, lighting a dozen or so torches dotting the walls, as well as countless candles and a massive chandelier that dropped down from the now-towering ceiling.

  In the space of a few moments, she had come to be standing in the great banquet hall of some ancient castle.

  “There. I would say that this is a far more fitting venue. Now for the rules of the game. This hourglass will run through after five minutes,” she said.

  An hourglass appeared, floating above the center of the table.

  “After that, it will be turned over, such that it may run back. Now, while the sand is in motion, I will endeavor to capture you, and you will endeavor to escape me. You will be designated a failure if you remain captured long enough for me to mark you down in a red book of failure with this pen,” the wizard said.

  A case of books materialized behind her. Out from it slid the last in a very long line of red-covered books. The bottom shelf was the only one not fully occupied by the books of failure, as two white books occupied it, and one conspicuous black-covered one.

  “Now, if you pass, you will be marked down in the white book. The trial ends when the last grain of sand has returned from whence it came, or when your name has been marked down,” she explained. “Have you any questions?”

  “How can I expect to resist you? Look how powerful you are. I have only begun my training,” she said.

  “You have reached a level of mastery in the elemental arts. That is quite enough. As for power? In this place, you are as powerful as I. So long as you know how to cast a spell, you shall do so without effort and without delay. You are being tested only on your knowledge and ingenuity. Now--begin,” she said.

  “But I--“ she began.

  Her words were cut off by a bizarre sensation as the room, and all that filled it, seemed to grow to many times its size. A second odd feeling came as she was drawn into the air by some invisible force and dropped down into a red liquid. It stung her eyes, and when she surfaced and looked about, her view of the massive room was wavy and distorted. She had been shrunk and dropped into a wine bottle! The cork worked itself into the opening as Azriel walked the short distance to the pedestal, having already willed the pen into her hand.

  Myranda cast her strength into the air around her. Instantly it swirled into action, bursting the cork from the bottle with such force that the bottle tipped. After sloshing violently about, Myranda squeezed from the mouth of the bottle. She had to find somewhere to hide long enough to figure out how to undo the spell. Deacon had yet to teach it.

  She ran further among the place settings of the table, crouching behind a folded napkin. Her mind swiftly analyzed her body, quickly happening upon an odd twist of magic that seemed to be wrapped about her. She made ready to levy her own strength against it when a shadow appeared.

  Looking to the source, she saw, towering over her, the form of a cat. It was pure black with white flames flickering in its dark eyes. Myranda tried to run, but the cat swatted her painfully to the ground and held her there. In a flash, the cat was turned to stone, pinning her to the ground. Azriel appeared beside the table and headed in the direction of the book again. Myranda finished her work against the shrinking spell, restoring her size quickly enough to hurl the statue away and clear a good portion of the table she was laying on.

  “Really, now. Must you make such a mess?” Azriel complained as she turned to watch Myranda sprint out of the banquet hall and down one of the adjoining halls.

  Myranda found herself in a long hallway, lined with doors on either side. The doors began to slam, working their way toward her. The girl dove into a doorway containing an ascending staircase before the door could close and climbed it. There was another hall at the top, and she quickly entered the nearest room. It appeared to be a bedroom with a narrow window and posh furnishings. Azriel couldn’t have made it out of the dining hall yet. With any luck she still thought that Myranda had been trapped in the first hallway.

  “No such luck, I am afraid,” came a second voice in her head.

  The door slammed shut and locked. Myranda struggled against it, but the heavy wooden door would not budge. It would be a fool’s errand to search for a key. Thinking quickly, her mind turned to one of Deacon’s spells. Outside of this place, she found the manipulation of the spell to be a clumsy and imprecise procedure, but here things might be different. She cast her mind into the lock, manipulating the individual elements directly. Within a few moments, with a satisfying click, the door popped open.

  After a moment of relief, she tried to leave the room. The door was opened barely halfway when it slammed shut again, hurling her backward. Before her eyes the wooden door turned to a heavy iron cell door, and the lock vanished entirely. Soon the door was just a barred portion of wall. It could not be opened. Myranda scrambled out the window onto a thin ledge. The window sealed up behind her, as did each other one along the ledge.

  “Well, now. Trapped on the ledge? That is a capture as well,” Azriel’s voice echoed in her thoughts.

  Again Myranda’s mind raced. She combed her thoughts for any foreign presence. Finding one, she forced it out. That was how Azriel was reading her thoughts. Now, perhaps, the wizard would not be so certain of her location. With one problem solved, Myranda had to now escape the ledge. The solution was obvious, but unpleasant. Without delay, the girl leapt into the frigid water of the moat below. She resurfaced, gasping for air, only to find Azriel peering off of the drawbridge with a grin.

  “I may not be able to detect your mind anymore, but a deaf man could have heard that splash,” she said.

  In an instant, the water around Myranda began to freeze. She tried to scramble up the edge of the moat, but her foot was locked into the ice. Azriel chuckled lightly to herself as she walked leisurely toward the pedestal to mark down her victory. Myranda listened closely to the footsteps recede. In a flash, enough heat was conjured to free her foot. No sooner had the girl scrambled to freedom than the teacher stopped. Myranda acted fast--before her return.

  “You know that I will always know when you are captured and when you are free. There is nothing you can do about that,” Azriel informed Myranda.

  The girl, now on the drawbridge, tried to rush silently past her. Once the student had made it inside the castle, Azriel willed the individual stones of the floor to rise up as bars to form a cage. Myranda stopped abruptly. Azriel opened her mouth to gloat, but stopped. Poking her hand through the bars to grab the girl, her fingers passed right through.

  “An illusion! I didn’t expect to see any of those out of you,” she said.

  The teacher ran outside and forced away any illusions that were not her work. Clinging to the wall were a number of bars of ice, forming a crude ladder leading to one of the first floor windows that had fortunately not been willed away like those of the second floor. Azriel rose into the air and approached the window. It
widened to allow her through easily, but Myranda could already be heard hurrying down the hall. Azriel made her way out of the room just in time to see an image of Myranda rush into every open doorway and slam it.

  “What fun, a student with creativity,” Azriel said.

  The powerful wizard touched her fingers to the wall and the stone became as transparent as glass. The effect spread until each and every block that composed the castle could be seen through. One by one, the illusions of Myranda were dispelled, but finishing was not necessary. The change that came over the castle startled the true Myranda, who stumbled backward, knocking over the bookshelf.

  When her eyes met Azriel’s, and a wicked grin came to her instructor’s face, the girl sprang to her feet and ran toward the hourglass. Only a minute or two had passed, and the rules said that the test would be ended when the last grain returned from whence it had come. If she inverted the glass now, she would need to last only a minute or two more. Azriel was moving quickly toward her, unimpeded by the walls and floor, which separated like curtains at her approach. Just as the teacher’s feet came to rest on the floor of the banquet hall once again, Myranda grasped the timepiece. With any luck she would be able to invert it and lock it in ice until the last few grains fell.

  Luck, alas, was not with her. When the floating hourglass was tipped to the side, the whole of the castle seemed to lurch in the opposite direction. She lost grip on the glass and slid along the floor, colliding painfully with the wall. Nothing else seemed to be affected by the bizarre shift, which was a mercy, as had the furniture followed her she would have been crushed beneath it.

  “Surprisingly, you were not the first to attempt to exploit that little technicality. As a result I have assured that, regardless of which way the hourglass is pointing, the sand continues to fall in the appropriate direction. Just for fun, I have seen to it that you fall in that direction as well, no matter which way I turn it,” the devilish instructor said.