LEGENDS: Fifteen Tales of Sword and Sorcery

by Colt, K. J.

  “Did I—” She looked down at her bare breasts, panicked. “Did we—?”

  “Y’ don’t remember?” he asked, still staring at the flames.

  She fell back upon the bed and groaned. “If anyone knows, if anyone hears, I’ll be ruined. My life is over.”

  “Glad y’ feel the same as I do,” he said sarcastically. “Just terrible, all of it.”

  “You don’t understand,” she said, forcing herself up again. She began pulling up her sleeves, adjusting her top. “You don’t know who I am.”

  “Sure I do. Y’re Lady Victoriar Ambrin.”

  Victoria blinked in surprise. “Yes. Betrothed of Prince Banen.” She emphasized each word.

  “Goodony’,” Arythan said, unfazed.

  “Betrothed of a prince,” she repeated.

  “Yeah, ’s what y’ said.”

  “So who might you be?” she asked.

  “Y’ really don’t know?”

  “Nooo. Why should I?”

  “Because y’ were the one shouting, ‘I found ‘im! I found the medoriate!’” Arythan said, imitating a woman’s voice.

  Victoria raised her eyebrows. “So. You’re a medoriate. A wizard.”

  “Not a wizard, but go on.”

  “I don’t know, you fool. I was drunk. I don’t remember.”

  He smiled at her growing frustration. “Y’ad a bloody good time, I’d say. ’Twas fun.”

  Victoria growled and straightened herself as much as she could. “Listen, whoever you are: whatever you want, I’ll get it for you. But we must keep this a secret.”

  “Whatever I want? I was ‘oping for a girlfriend.”

  “There are plenty on the corners in the villages,” she snapped.

  “Aw, not those.”

  “We can’t always be picky,” she said, getting off the bed and smoothing her gown.

  He finally turned to look at her.

  “Well?” Victoria demanded, her hands on her hips. “What’s your price?”

  “I liked y’ better drunk,” he admitted.

  She heaved a sigh and crossed the room in front of him, heading for the door. “Whatever your price, just write it down—you are literate, aren’t you?”

  He merely stared at her.

  “Send me a letter or a servant, I don’t care. I live here in the keep. Just—just don’t say a word of this to anyone, Mr.—”

  “Erik,” he said.

  “Erik. Don’t say a word of this to anyone, or I will…I will…do something terrible!” She slipped past the door.

  “Victoriar, wait,” Arythan said, but it was too late. She was gone. He eased back against the bed and stretched his feet toward the flames. I was going to tell her. Maybe another time. He considered the situation. Maybe not….

  “You survived, I see,” Eraekryst said, sighting the disheveled mage from the doorway of his room.

  He’s been waiting, I swear. Arythan did not stop or even look up to meet his gaze. “Yup.” He passed into his own room and shut the door. He crossed the floor and fell backwards upon the bed, closing his eyes. He had barely been there a minute before there was a knock upon his door. Though not entirely unexpected, he was not ready to speak to the Ilangien yet. The evening had turned out decently, but deception was deception, and he had been played for a fool. It seemed strange to him, though, that Eraekryst had not been present to watch his humiliation. He would have expected to have seen the Ilangien standing over him, grinning with his glowing teeth, basking in the glory of his successful plot.

  The knock came again, louder and more insistent.

  “’M sleeping,” Arythan responded.

  “Crow, this is important.”

  Michael’s voice. Sieqa. He forced himself upright and went to open the door.

  The prince poked his head in cautiously. “You are alone?”

  Arythan opened the door wider so that he could see for himself.

  Michael scratched his chin and stepped inside. “Who sleeps with his boots on?” he asked, glancing at Arythan’s feet. “Unless, of course, you did not want to waste any time in busying yourself with—”

  “Nothing ‘appened,” the mage interrupted.

  “Your pardon?” Michael asked, blinking.

  “Nothing. ‘Appened.” He folded his arms.

  “But I saw you take her—”

  “To y’r bed, yeah. Then she passed out.”

  “So you did not get to see anything?” Michael gestured to his chest.

  Arythan stared at him.

  “Or do you merely refuse to tell me based on principle?” The prince smiled deviously. “You must tell me, Crow. I refuse to believe you both went directly to sleep…separately.”

  “Believe what you want to believe,” Arythan said easily. “She didn’t remember a lick o’ meeting me, which is kind o’ disappointing.” He shrugged and scratched his chin.

  “You have the Enhancement to thank for that,” Michael said. “The Black Ice has a way of clouding the memory.”

  Arythan looked at the prince suspiciously. “Y’ must’ve ‘ad some then, because y’ forgot to mention she was y’r brother’s betrothed.”

  Michael dismissed the fact with a wave of his hand. “Banen will never know. Besides, he and Victoria quarrel incessantly.” His indifference gave way to disappointment. “I was hoping you would obtain some enjoyment from the situation.”

  “She was drunk,” Arythan said humorlessly.

  “As were you.”

  He was growing tired of this conversation. “I thought y’ said ’twas important,” he reminded.

  “Ah, yes!” Michael said with a clap of his hands. “It is. My father is holding council regarding the journey to Kitrimar. He would like an audience with you.”

  “What? Me? Now?” Arythan’s confusion turned to renewed suspicion. “Why?”

  “Oh, just come and see. We should not keep him waiting, and you seem in decent enough shape.” Michael opened the door and waited for him to go through.

  “’Ow are y’ in decent shape?” Arythan asked, grabbing his hat and scarf.

  “I am an expert, Crow. I am the Lord of Entertainment, and I did not earn that title by allowing the entertainment to conquer me.” He stopped the mage just as he was about to move past him. “Ah, you best not hide yourself. My father respects a forthright man. You may have noticed his lack of costume last night.”

  Arythan hesitated before tossing the articles back on the bed.

  “You have no cause to hide anymore, my friend. Just relax and listen to what he has to say,” Michael assured him.

  What choice do I have? Arythan wondered and followed behind the prince. He was fairly certain a pair of hidden eyes watched him as he quit the hallway and descended the stairs to meet the king.

  Garriker was seated at the center of a long table, his eyes locked upon a small pile of documents before him. There were several wealthy-looking gentlemen to either side of him whom Arythan did not know, and they looked upon him with vague interest. There were also some faces he did know—faces he preferred to avoid. The royal medoriate, Cyrul Frostmeyer, was glaring at him from the far end of the table; the only expression to best his belonged to the younger prince, Banen. Michael’s brother scowled at him, betraying the fact that, at the very least, he had seen his bride-to-be in Arythan’s company. He also recognized the broad-shouldered, dark-skinned woman who had ridden at the helm of the black company, the king’s elite force of ruffians.

  Michael stood with Arythan at the door, waiting for the king to acknowledge them. Presently Garriker did look up, and though his expression did not change, Arythan saw his eyes sweep over him discerningly.

  “Father, I have returned with Medoriate Crow,” Michael said. He gave Arythan a slight nudge, and the mage interpreted this as a cue to bow.

  “Bring him in.” Garriker straightened his documents while the rest of the room focused upon the mage. Now it was Arythan’s turn to hide all expression. Once they were closer, the king met hi
s gaze.

  “You are younger than I expected.”

  What do I say to that? Arythan wondered. Thank you?

  Garriker continued. “You must forgive this delayed introduction, but I have been away tending to other matters. Upon my return I was immersed in business that required my immediate attention.”

  More important things, Arythan interpreted, though he did see the king glance in Cyrul’s direction.

  “I trust you are nearly recovered from your ordeal with the Warriors of the Sword.” He looked down at Arythan’s leg, and it took the mage a moment to realize a response was awaited.

  “’Tis better,” he said, feeling Garriker’s eyes bore into him.

  “No one has recently hindered your recovery, I trust.”

  Arythan stared at Cyrul, who narrowed his eyes. “Not recently, sir.”

  “That is what I was hoping to hear,” Garriker said. “If you are well enough, I would ask that you accompany my party to Kitrimar.”

  Arythan’s brow furrowed for just a moment. Kitrimar? Why me?

  He was not the only one taken aback by the invitation. Cyrul stood, his face crimson. “Your Majesty, I do not mean to question your offer to the boy, but he is merely a guest here, and our accommodations in Kitrimar will be limited. This affair may be best suited to the Crown and the Crown alone.”

  “Sit down, Cyrul,” the king said with a sigh. He waited until the wizard had obeyed the order before he continued. “You do indeed seem to enjoy questioning my decisions. Yes, Medoriate Crow is a guest, but he is my guest, and I would like to have him along on this venture. As I regard him now, I highly doubt he will jeopardize our provisions or occupy too much space that we cannot accommodate him.”

  There were some snickers amongst those present, but Arythan remained rigid where he stood, Cyrul rigid in his chair.

  “In fact, it would be my desire that you mentor him and explain the nature of our business,” Garriker said.

  Arythan and Cyrul met gazes for but a moment, neither happy with the situation.

  “Your Majesty, if I may voice my concern…” Cyrul began, his face redder still, “I am ill-equipped to take on a pupil. This new responsibility would detract from the specialized duties to which I already tend.”

  “I would have to disagree,” Garriker said. “I believe Medoriate Crow might inspire you to find a way to tend to all your obligations. Besides, he would not be your student; he would be more akin to an assistant.”

  Grudgingly, the purple-faced wizard gave a stiff nod. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

  Arythan wondered if his presence even mattered. Decisions were being made for him faster than he had a chance to process what was happening. In a matter of moments, a journey to Kitrimar had turned into service as Cyrul Frostmeyer’s apprentice. Garriker was strategizing, and Arythan was a pawn. I don’t care who you are; you do not own me.

  “Of course, Medoriate Crow will be compensated for his time and contribution on this journey,” Garriker said, as if reading Arythan’s thoughts. He looked directly at the mage. “I am sure the experience will be worth your while. What do you say?”

  What should he say? No, I won’t be my would-be murderer’s assistant, and if he’s going to Kitrimar, I will head in the opposite direction. As for you, Mighty King, I do not trust you any more than your royal medoriate. Find someone else to manipulate. His lips parted. What happens, though, if I refuse? I don’t care if I’m scowled at or ousted. I just do not want to be dead. He drew a breath and slowly exhaled. Or maybe I should rise to this challenge and find out exactly what is going on here. There is obviously something missing from this invitation, and I can’t go on avoiding opportunities…if that is what this is. Slowly the mage nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good,” Garriker said, clearly not surprised by his response. “Michael will speak with you about travel preparations. Thank you, Medoriate Crow.”

  And the matter was over. Arythan felt himself bow, and his legs carried him out of the room. Did he just make a decision or did Garriker? He was determined not to lose his freedom. So long as he was the one making his own choices, he would have nothing to fear.

  “I am so glad you decided to come along, Crow.” Michael’s voice reached his ears. He had forgotten the prince was beside him.

  “Y’ knew what this was about,” Arythan said, not entirely friendly.

  Michael glanced at him, confused. “I did say that my father was meeting about the journey.”

  “Y’ knew ‘e was going to ask me,” Arythan clarified.

  “Not for certain. My father makes decisions on a whim, or so it seems.”

  Arythan stopped walking, forcing Michael to turn around and face him. “’S no whim. Why am I going? Y’ don’t expect me to believe I’m going to ‘elp the bloke ‘oo tried to kill me.”

  Michael turned away from his hard stare. “It is a bit more complicated than that,” he admitted. “You should know, however, that you will be in no danger from Cyrul on this journey.”

  “I’d feel a bit better if Erik came along,” Arythan said, watching Michael’s expression.

  The prince frowned. “I am afraid that would not be possible, Crow.” He looked knowingly at the mage. “But you knew that would be my response, did you not? Lord Sparrow will be treated very well in your absence. I will assign him a servant to see to his every need.”

  Arythan shook his head and started walking again. “Tha’s not the problem.”

  “What is the problem?”

  “Telling ‘im I’m going an’ explaining why ‘e can’t come.” And deterring him from coming along anyway. If that’s possible.

  “Would you like me to speak to him?” Michael asked.

  Again, the mage shook his head. “’Tis better ‘e ‘ear it from me.” He turned to Michael. “Y’ave a meeting to finish, right?”

  The prince gave a nod. “Yes, I must return, as boring as that will be. I promise I will meet with you later.”

  Arythan nodded and continued on his way. He had his own meeting to deal with.

  “’Ow long?” Arythan asked, drawing his foil.

  “Does it truly matter?” Eraekryst asked, his own weapon already in-hand. “I accomplished my objective.”

  They stood in an open area of the courtyard, the distant sun doing little more than providing atmosphere with its golden, afternoon light. Eraekryst, unaffected by the cold, stood still with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. Arythan had cast his coat aside for the sake of unimpeded movement, but he still bore his hat and scarf, and he did rub his arms for heat in the chill air.

  “Y’ mean tricking me,” Arythan said. “Are y’ ready, because I’m bloody cold.”

  Eraekryst gave a nod, and the two bowed and poised their weapons. Arythan, as was custom, made the first lunge, which the Ilangien evaded.

  “There was no trickery involved,” Eraekryst protested. “’Twas a diversion to alleviate your aversion to the public eye.”

  “Whatever. Big words mean nothing. Y’ set me up. ’S that simple.”

  The two of them circled before Eraekryst finally made his move. Arythan deflected his foil and counter-attacked, striking the Ilangien on the forearm with the rounded tip.

  “You enjoyed your evening regardless of my involvement in your exposure.”

  “Now ‘ow would y’ know that?” Arythan asked. “I barely sawr y’ after the lady took y’away.”

  They faced off again, but now Eraekryst made the first attack.

  “Your bleary eyes were affixed to Lady Victoria Ambrin,” the Ilangien said. “I doubt you saw much else.”

  “So y’ know ‘er?”

  “I had revealed her name to you at the dinner, but your ears must have malfunctioned, or your senses were dulled by the haphazard consumption of wine.”

  “Hm.” The mage narrowly avoided a hit by twisting on his foot. As much as his leg remained sore, he was determined to strengthen it through exercise. After all, he had a journey to consider. “’Oo was y�
��r lady-friend?”

  “Catherine Lorrel, Countess of Silvarn.” Eraekryst smiled. “I did not need wine to win her affections.”

  “Oi, everyone loves y’. Shiny, glowing Erik. They don’ know y’ like I know y’.” Arythan tapped Eraekryst on the back, and they separated again.

  “Did you engage in intercourse?”

  Arythan gawked at him. “No!”

  “I had thought that was your goal.”

  They crossed foils and began again.

  “Y’ an’ Michael take me for an animal. I’m not like that.” Then he considered. “Did y’…?”

  “I did not make an attempt at that activity. She is a modest creature.”

  “Unlike y’.”

  “I merely recognize my inherent charms,” Eraekryst admitted haughtily.

  The tips of their foils collided in a fast bout, but then they slipped away from each other, retreating to a defensive posture.

  Arythan shook his head, remembering the details of the festival. “Y’ad blokes dressed like me.”

  “Imposters, yea, though their attire fit them better than yours did you.” Eraekryst nodded toward Arythan’s hat. “Will you not abandon your concealment now that your face is known here?”

  “No.”

  “I do not understand you, Durmorth.”

  “Yeah, well…” Arythan hit his arm again. “Can’t understand everything.” He set down his weapon. The cool air on his hot skin felt good at first, but then the cold began to penetrate him. He shivered and fetched his coat before sitting down.

  Eraekryst looked at him curiously from where he stood, and at last the mage looked up at him. “I’m going to Kitrimar with the king.”

  At first there was no change in the Ilangien’s expression. “Of your own volition?”

  “What?”

  “’Tis your choice to accompany him?”

  Arythan scratched his chin. “’M not sure.” Then, “I was asked; I said yes.”

  “And what is to be your role in this venture? What purpose in your presence?” Eraekryst asked, that familiar discerning look in his eyes.

  Arythan did not want to answer, because the answer was ridiculous. “’Tis stupid, I know, but I’m supposed to assist the royal medoriate.”