Bridge of Legends- The Complete Series

by Sarah K. L. Wilson

  “Marielle!” He grinned at her as she came close. “We did it! Look!”

  “You made it in the water without hitting the ground?” she asked, curious. She could smell Tamerlan’s scent everywhere, but he wasn’t in sight.

  “Tamerlan is getting wood for a fire,” Jhinn said hopefully as Marielle set her sacks down on the rock and looked around.

  “This isn’t much of a lake,” she said eventually.

  “It extends under a rock ledge over there, though,” Jhinn said. “It’s hard to see but it’s a cave of sorts.”

  Marielle swallowed. Tamerlan had brought him this far, but with the cart ruined and this lake so small and dead, how would they ever get him out again?

  “Thinking about what a fool you are?”

  The words had an almost ringing quality as a figure climbed out to where they could see her at the top of one of the rocky cliffs surrounding the lake.

  Liandari.

  She wasn’t done with them.

  17: Cave Pictures

  Tamerlan

  He’d meant to go find wood. In this weather, Jhinn needed to start a fire in the brazier if he was going to keep from freezing to death.

  That’s what he’d meant to do.

  He’d followed the line of rocks looking for wood and found a few sticks blown up against the side of the rock, but when he gathered them up it had revealed words chiseled into the rock.

  If it was rock. The rock here was a little too smooth, a little too regular, a little too close to a pattern of man-sized scales to make him feel comfortable. This rock looked like the underside of a leaf turned upside-down so that you could see the delicate threading of the veins on the blade of the leaf. He’d stopped for a moment, running his palm over the leaf-like scale, completely entranced by the intricate pattern of the veins – more delicate and artful than anything he’d seen in the palaces he’d entered over the past few months, and yet carved out of rock.

  Dragons, Ram said in his mind. You should not be here. You must return to the cities. You must trap the dragons that have been freed, replace the Legends that have been killed. You must hunt as I once did.

  Hunt innocent people and bind them to eternal torment in a world between worlds? That’s what Ram wanted for him?

  It must be done. Even the worst of tasks must be done by someone. A servant of all. A hunter.

  Tamerlan shivered, his palm pressed against the stone dragon scale. He almost dreamed he could feel warmth through it.

  Can’t you? The dragon is alive. It merely sleeps.

  By why did it sleep? How did it sleep?

  You already know how. Through the sacrifice of an avatar? What more do you need to know? Return to the Dragonblood Plains and take up my cause. Save your people.

  Ignore him, Lila said, cutting into his rant. When has Ram ever done anything for you? He’s a madman. Let’s go see what he’s hiding.

  I hide nothing.

  Lila’s laugh was threaded with hate. You hide everything, Hunter. From your victims, from this boy, from the dragons. You are nothing but secrets within secrets within secrets.

  Tamerlan shivered and his hands slipped across the snow, brushing it from words chiseled into the scale below the one he’d been studying.

  TURN BACK, it read – but in the ancient runes he’d studied in his father’s libraries not the language of the plains.

  Well, that was welcoming. Were there more greetings in the rock?

  He walked a little further along the side of the dragon, brushing snow off and collecting a few sticks as he went.

  HERE BE DRAGONS, the next chiseled letters said – also in runes. The runes made him think of the old recipe that opened the Bridge of Legends. It had been in these runes. They were dark – almost as if they were stained with blood. But it had probably been centuries since they were carved.

  Carved into the flesh of our enemies.

  Ram was not a pleasant companion to have in his mind with him.

  Pleasantness is not my aim.

  Of course not. And now he was walking – almost without meaning to – into a cave mouth. And here at the mouth of the cave, someone had etched pictures into the rock. At first, as he brushed the snow away, he was confused about what they depicted, but once he saw them clearly, he wished he had not seen them at all.

  Horror filled him. No human should think these things, never mind draw them – never mind take the time to chisel them into stone. One picture led into another and into another. Pictures of men and women doing unspeakable horrors to one another. And around them tangled the tails and snouts and clawed feet of dragons. Tamerlan swallowed down bile.

  There was a strange glow in the cave. It went against all his instincts to go any further. Not after the warnings. Not after the grim horror of a madman’s fantasy. And certainly not with the maniacal laughter that had begun in his head.

  Is not life a joke and death a greater joke? Ram asked as his laugh went on and on and on, chilling Tamerlan to the core. If he could have just one more wish, he would be free of the Legends forever.

  He still didn’t know whether he was insane or simply a sane man haunted by devils.

  I share your sentiment, the Admiral agreed.

  Tamerlan paused. He hadn’t expected support, but it was washed away by another burst of Ram’s insane laughter. Tamerlan swallowed. Was this his own destiny – to go mad like Ram and destroy everything dear to him?

  Is it madness to know the secrets and have to live with them? Ram asked. Is it madness to know the truth that no one else wants to see? That they would rip their own eyes out to unsee?

  There had been depictions of that, certainly.

  Is that what you fear, Tamerlan? Physical horror? Then you should do as I tell you and leave this place.

  Now that he was in the cave entrance, he didn’t need to brush snow away to read what was carved in the wall.

  Blood of heart and bone of bone,

  Life and love poured out on stone,

  Keep the snap and claws at bay,

  All men are but made of clay.

  Empty shell and dead as rock,

  Open doors and turn in lock,

  Death the key to all you need,

  No plea or cry the hunter heed.

  Laugh we who your death behold,

  Dance we who in the dark are told,

  Light of foot and light of heart,

  As we pick over every part.

  Fear not that your death be null,

  Every human sees the cull,

  Spirit to spirit, ash to ash,

  Neck to throttle, skull to bash.

  Someone had taken the time to delicately carve every line of the gruesome poem into the wall as if to lovingly keep it for generations to come. And suddenly Tamerlan wanted to listen to Ram the Hunter. Because the one thing he surely wanted to avoid was walking into that cave and seeing what the people who had thought these pictures and this poem were art might have left for someone like him.

  He still wasn’t over the horror of it all when a scream shredded the air and he dropped his sticks and ran toward it.

  18: It Can Always Get Worse

  Marielle

  She hadn't expected Liandari. Hadn't smelled her. She was already half-cursing Tamerlan for putting her in such a trance with his unbelievably sweet smell and blinding her to all others when Liandari dragged Rajit out from behind her. He trembled in fear, seeming almost frozen by it.

  "I found something of yours," she said dryly.

  "Abelmeyer?" Etienne asked boldly. "Back for more?"

  "No," Liandari said. She slung Rajit over her shoulder like he was no more than a sack of grain and then she leapt from the small cliff to land on the stone beside them. Marielle felt her mouth drop open. You couldn't do that - not and survive. And yet here she was, perfectly fine. She dropped Rajit beside her, but her knife was at his throat.

  "I want you gone from this place," she said calmly. "You leave, or I kill the boy. He was with you. You must c
are whether he lives or dies."

  Marielle's gaze flickered to Jhinn's face. He cared. She could see it in his desperate expression and the waves of orange scent drifting from him. He was crouched in the gondola, dripping wet, a knife in one hand as if he could do anything at all to help his brother. That would only make a difference if Liandari decided to swim for it - and Marielle didn't think she was that much of a fool.

  "What do we care if you kill him?" Etienne asked. "We don't need the boy."

  "Don't you?" Liandari asked with a laugh. Her voice didn't sound right. It was becoming easier to notice those things. Dignified, noble Liandari would not have spoken this way. How odd to think that she was more measured in her speech than a king. "He was with you, so I thought he might be dear to you. But if that is not the case, then you still need him."

  "I think not," Etienne said, and his air of cool indifference chilled even Marielle. She could smell his scent - determined, confident. He didn't have the same feelings of guilt she did at the death of others. He wasn't troubled by fear that Abelmeyer might slay Rajit simply to spite them.

  "Can you not smell the magic in the cave beyond?" Liandari asked, her gaze on Marielle.

  Marielle let her nose wrinkle, trying to dispel the scent of Tamerlan as she let her senses reach out. There was magic there – vanilla and turquoise with flecks of gold. Her forehead furrowed as she tried to think. Why would there be magic beyond? And what was that other scent tickling the edges of her senses? It smelled familiar. Like magic mixed with something else. Like the clock she'd been trapped in. It smelled a bit like that.

  She was still frowning when Liandari continued, "What do you think happens if a Legend were to, say, jump out of a clock and leave their real avatar behind? Would it break the magic they sacrificed to make something? Would it free a dragon? Would it kill that body they left?"

  "I suppose you must know," Etienne said coolly.

  "Oh, but I don't. But I suspect it might. And I suspect that your Scenter might be wrinkling her nose because she is catching a whiff of death from the cave beyond where the Lady Sacrifice's former avatar now rots, her body no longer sealed by the magic that held it in place.”

  Marielle gasped. That was exactly what she was smelling. If she concentrated, she could almost pick out each of those different kinds of decay. She swallowed down bile as it rose in her mouth.

  "See?" Liandari said triumphantly. "She does smell it. And so you must realize what I did. You'll need to replace that avatar now that you've killed Anglarok who housed the dear Lady Sacrifice. Which means you'll have to kill someone. And if you don't want to kill a friend, you'll need some other victim. Like maybe this one."

  “We aren't going to be making a new avatar," Marielle said.

  "Aren't you?" Abelmeyer taunted. "Aren't you letting the alchemist boy lead you? And he's being led by Ram the Hunter who is bound and determined to make a brand new hunter out of him. And that means new avatars. New, fresh deaths. New, horrific ways of creating them. And since you're his friends, I guess you'll be helping with that."

  "No," Marielle said quietly. “I follow the law, not the whims of necessity.”

  “The law isn’t that simple. Is there a law without a city? A law without a government?”

  “There’s the Real Law. The law that branches over everything else like a tree.”

  "We tried stopping you in the bookbindery," Abelmeyer said. "We tried to show you what we can do when we work together, but you didn't listen. So, now I'll show you. You want things back to where they were? You want to keep us trapped forever behind the Bridge of Legends? You think this is somehow serving your real law? Then you're going to have to kill people in horrific ways. Are you ready for that, Scenter? Ready to smell their terror? Ready to scent the violence? Let the waves of their horror and panic swell around you in clouds of colorful scents?” He paused. Or she did. Or whoever that was in that amalgamation of person. “Or maybe that's what you love? Bathing in the terror of others. Breathing it in. Letting it soak deep into your heart and bones so that you are made of their last breaths and last, broken dreams."

  "No," she gasped, tears springing to her eyes and then a last powerful, "No!" as she stood up and pulled the shell from her belt pouch and blew a steady, strong note. She pushed as much as herself as she dared into that one desperate plea for echo magic. Please, oh please! Work this one time, again! Please!

  Her nose was flooded with the lilac and vanilla smell of magic. But Liandari was already sheathing her knife and drawing her sword. She faced them with her head turned slightly to the side, as if she were compensating for a bad eye despite having two eyes that worked perfectly.

  Marielle blew through the shell again. Work, work, work!

  Liandari paused for a half a second and in that second Rajit leapt forward, grabbing the knife from her belt and jabbing it into her side.

  She roared in pain, lifting her sword and swinging it as Etienne darted forward. He’d fought her before and beat her. He could do it again. Confidence filled his sharply chiseled face as he slashed toward her but her first blow had not been for him. A wicked slash parted Rajit’s shirt and blood poured from the wound even as Marielle leapt forward, joining Etienne’s defense.

  He fought with a sword as quick as a viper’s tongue. It flashed out toward throat or inner arm fast as light, and then it was back again, guarding its master.

  “I can’t let you pick up where Ram left off,” Abelmeyer said through Liandari’s voice.

  “I can’t let you stop us,” Etienne returned, but she was working him hard and even Marielle’s defense of his left side was not helping enough. She turned Liandari’s blade aside with a quick riposte before it snaked in on his left, but the Harbinger was so fast that she was already beginning another attack before Marielle could even catch her breath.

  Behind the daughter of Queen Mer, Rajit lay on the ground, clutching his chest and moaning. That cut had been deep. Marielle heard Jhinn calling to him.

  “Hold on, Rajit! I’m coming.” He might be able to reach from the gondola. Maybe.

  Her thoughts were interrupted as a flurry of blows rattled her sword almost out of her hand. The last thrust was so close that she barely dodged to the side and it grazed her scalp. Blood, hot and fast, spread down her cheek shocking her with its sudden warmth. She swallowed down a sudden wave of dizziness as Etienne cried out.

  “On your left!”

  She barely got her sword back up to defend herself but now the blood was in her eyes and she had to blink fast to clear it enough to see. Etienne cursed loudly – he’d been struck. She could smell the wound.

  “Help me get you in the boat! Please, Rajit!” Jhinn was calling and Marielle blinked hard. She felt disoriented in the chaos of the scents – blood from Rajit, blood from her head, blood from Etienne. The smell of the insanity of the Legends, of violence now and violence from before, of someone’s horror so powerful that she began to shake. Her eyes were open, but she wasn’t seeing and then strong hands lifted her up and a golden scent filled her, wiping away the scent of blood and violence.

  “Marielle, stay with me. Marielle!” She felt her veil being torn from around her face and bound around her head and she was laid against something – a rock perhaps. The ground was cold beneath her but the hands tending her were gentle.

  “You shouldn’t be here, you know,” Tamerlan’s voice was low and soft under the noises of the fight. “You never should have been here among madmen and death. You should have lived and died an officer of Jingen. Maybe married a nice Watch officer and had sweet purple-eyed children. Stay here, love.” She felt his lips press to her head. “I must finish this first then we’ll look at that wound again.”

  She could smell spices burning, drifting in the wind. His smoke. His spice. He was nearly out of it, but here he was, using it again. He coughed and his smell morphed away from that pleasant, addictive gold to harsh elderberry as if someone had taken the astringent smell and fermented it badly. Legend.


  But which Legend had him this time?

  “Want to dance, pretty girl?” he called to Liandari.

  It must be Lila Cherrylocks.

  Her last emotion was jealousy as she slipped into unconsciousness.

  19: Into the Darkness

  Tamerlan

  Tamerlan stubbed out the roll of spice so he could use the rest later, tucking it into the pocket in his sleeve. He leapt forward – or rather Lila did. He’d been careful to take in only the barest whiff of smoke – just enough to call her – but not for long.

  I don’t need long!

  Etienne jabbed at Liandari, his blade snaking in under her guard and slicing her inner thigh. Blood – bright red against the white snow – spurted out too quickly but Lila wasn’t looking at that. What was she doing? She was supposed to come and help him!

  Sure. When you call me for longer. For now, I’m going to help myself. Should have thought of that when you chose to only take one puff of smoke. Next time, call me for longer and we’ll do what you want, too. It’s always better when both parties are satisfied, don’t you think?

  He shivered internally at her suggestive mental tone, but it didn’t affect his actual body. Lila stepped forward smartly, raised his sword and before he realized what she was about to do she was already bringing down the hilt toward Etienne’s head.

  “No!” Jhinn screamed from the boat and Etienne spun, the hilt missing his head.

  His hand slammed up, gripping Tamerlan by the throat. Etienne shoved all his energy into the battle, shoving him backward as he slid against the snow.

  Lila vanished from his mind with a curse and he let his limbs go limp, let Etienne throw him to the ground and waited there, panting, as the last tendrils of her faded.

  Remember, next time, more smoke. Or it will go like this again.

  He wasn’t going to be blackmailed by her.

  Of course, you are. You’re nothing without us. Just a failed apprentice of a useless occupation.