No More Than a Legend Ch. 2, Part 1

The Lost and the Wandering

That night the light faded on a still city. Torches flickered in the silence of dark corridors and watch towers, and here and there guards stood shadowed at their posts. Across the cobbled stones of the courtyard a figure broke the stillness as he moved toward the throne room, black cloak reaching to his feet and sword casting reflections of the cold starlight. Overhead the clouds parted and the light of Inomyst, the brightest night-star of Saehram, sought the man, but with a glance at the white star he pulled his cloak closer around him, as if the light might do some harm to him. He paused at the throne room doors.

Within, yet unaware of his visitor, Tassian slumped upon his throne. The torches had long since burnt low, and their orange glow did little to penetrate the growing darkness. For nearly an hour, maybe two—he had lost track of the time—he had sat there, letting his thoughts take their own path and permitting the darkness to be his sole companion. Memories and words echoed in his mind—some quiet and whispered, others loud and unrelenting in their persistence. Many were passing—fleeting pictures of his father’s face, harsh words spoken in times of grief, the countless burdens brought to him by both lords and commoners. None of these held his attention for long. It was the events of the past day that most plagued him, together with the dark thoughts that recently had found their way into his mind.

Beside Tassian, on the floor, sat his crown. His gaze drifted briefly to it. The piece was a work of art, admittedly. Gold metal twisted to form its shape, and studded in its sides lay rubies and emeralds. Every man knew what honor it was to bear that crown, but upon removing it earlier, it had taken all his willpower to let it drop to the ground and not hurl it across the room. And yet he hardly remembered that anymore.

Across the room a door opened, the dull creaking of its hinges breaking the silence as the newcomer entered.

“Your Highness,” the man said, his bow slight.

“Lord Morzin,” Tassian greeted him. “What brings you here?”

The man paused, and when he walked to the center of the room his boots sounded heavily against the stone.

“I have only come in search of my king.” Silence fell for a moment. “What troubles you, Your Highness?”

Tassian studied the man before him. The white of his eyes was very pale in the darkness, and his arms hung at his sides, waiting in silence.

“I am only considering today’s events,” he said at last.

“The appearance of this young woman, you mean,” he said. “What was her name?”

“Ryanna. She offered no surname.”

Morzin seemed to hesitate before going on.

“Her appearance was striking, was it not?” he questioned.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sure you noticed the color of her eyes. A trait never seen in nearly every part of Artania.”

Tassian sat forward. “And is there anywhere it might be seen?”

“It is rumored that the trait is found upon Vastrana, though only in its royal line,” Morzin said. “The feature goes back countless generations.”

“She said nothing of royalty,” Tassian said.

“Perhaps this young woman is not who she says she is. Artania grows darker, Tassian, and Saehram is already threatened by monsters. You would do well to be wary of newcomers.”

“She spoke of the monster Damien,” Tassian said. “Do you know anything about those legends?”

“As much as anyone else living in this age.”

“Ought we take her warnings seriously, do you think?”

“There is no sure way to know whether that beast does exist in any place other than stories and whispers. But regardless of whether he lives or not, he is only one more monster to be added to the countless on that planet. The monsters do have a king, no doubt, and perhaps it is he, but whether he is everything the legends say I cannot tell. Keep your attention on Saehram, Tassian. No one else will fight for her—the city of Cnath-Airen is kept safe by you alone. It is my fear that in the years to come darkness will come and shroud our free home, and you must learn now to choose whom you will trust in that day. Other men are selfish; they will do only what prospers them. Learn to watch your back, Tassian. Learn to look out for yourself before anyone else.”

Tassian was once again slumped in his throne, listening, but with no response. It had begun raining outside. Morzin glanced about the room, and his gaze fell on the crown. He stooped and picked it up.

“Take your crown, Your Highness,” he said.

Tassian sat up and looked at it in his lord’s hands, not moving to take it.

“This crown is a symbol of your strength. Your power. Do not forget that. You are greater than other men. You will not rely on them. Saehram will be rescued by your doing alone.”

Tassian took the crown and turned it over in his hands, deep in thought. Morzin was right—there were none he could trust but himself. Not Ryanna, not his court, not even—he halted in thought. The next name had been his sister’s. Had that truly been his thought? What had pushed him this far? Tassian shook his head, rebuking himself for the thought, once again as uncertain as he had been an hour ago.

When he glanced back up Morzin was gone, and the blackness settled as he sat alone.

✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵

The next morning Tavira was woken by a breeze sweeping gently across the window sill, the shutters still open. The ground beneath it was sprayed with rainwater, though now the clouds had cleared and the sky above was a light shade of blue. Tavira dressed and stood before her mirror, examining the girl before her with an eye that let nothing go unnoticed. She was tall, brown hair a great cause for sorrow rather than blond, and eyes the same hue only a shade darker. A belt circled her waist, jeweled dagger hanging in a slim leather sheath. Her gaze fell on the reflection of a bow and quiver mounted behind her upon the wall, and even across the room she could read the inscription upon the bow’s shaft: Warrior Maiden of Saehram. It was a title that she had received by birth, and one she was often torn between loving and loathing.

Tavira Alikhan was no warrior—and neither had anyone before her held the title. But she had been given the weapons, and she had learned to use them well. The Warrior Maiden’s task was to protect, to love, to care for Saehram, and if she were to go to war she would stand in the same ranks among the other archers. Tavira had not seen war, but she came from a line that had, and the stories passed down were enough to fill her with as much hate for it as any sufferer from those times. War took, it killed, it destroyed, and left in its wake nothing but ash and dreams that had crumbled as easily as the ancient empires had fallen. These stories Tavira knew by heart, as did every man and woman upon that planet. And for that reason she would stand by Saehram till every planet in Artania crumbled from age, or their own cities burned to ashes.

These thoughts held Tavira’s mind for only a brief time before she left her room and went to the dining hall, finding Tassian outside in the courtyard beside a saddled horse.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Hunting,” he answered.

“In the forest?”

He smiled wryly. “That’s the only place to hunt, sister.”

“Just be careful,” Tavira said, and there was no smile on her face.

“There are no monsters in Ahvon Forest, Tavira. The soldiers cleared it months ago.”

“I only wonder how many more could arrive in that time.”

“Go and eat breakfast,” Tassian said, mounting. “Our visitor is dining—see what more you can find out from her.”

Tavira shook her head after her brother, but she went anyway and found Ryanna already finished eating.

“Good morning,” Tavira greeted her. “I hope you slept well?”

“Better than I have in two years,” Ryanna smiled, turning to go.

“What exactly… What did you do for those two years?” Tavira questioned, halting her.

“The only survivors after Vastrana was destroyed were taken captive. Escape should have been impossible, but… the Creator gave me strength.”

Tavira nodded, quiet, but Ryanna went on.

“How long have you lived here?” she asked.

“My entire life. Why?”

“Your family has always ruled?”

Tavira hesitated. “Almost since Cnath-Airen was first built.”

“Is Cnath-Airen Saehram’s only city?”

“It is one of three.”

“I see.”

Ryanna was turning to go again, and this time Tavira let her leave, unwilling to answer any more questions. As Tavira sat at breakfast, Tassian was already cloaked in the shadows that sheltered Ahvon Forest from the rest of Saehram. The forest was his second home, and he knew the hunting paths that wove into its heart better than anyone. Deeper and deeper he let his horse take him, till the only light came filtering through the thickness of the branches and the fortress lay long-forgotten and out of sight behind him. Tassian had not gone this far into the forest since before the last winter, and now behind his eyes flickered something close to fear as he scanned the trees around him. There was no reason to fear, he told himself. What besides small animals and deer would venture here—a land almost separate from the living? The forest was its own world—a world of quiet, loneliness, and danger.

Tassian’s heartbeat quickened, and he ignored it. Was not the forest his own kingdom as much as any other place upon Saehram? Somewhere ahead in the brush branches cracked, and Tassian’s hand flew to his sword. But all was silent, and though his horse tossed its head the creature—had it been one—had vanished. Tassian patted his horse’s neck with an unsteady hand.

“Let me take down one animal, and we’ll go back,” he whispered, as if that would assure his horse.

Ahead the ground grew rockier as they reached a clearing, bordered on one side by a small boulder and on every other closely guarded by trees. At its edge stood a stag, head down as it nosed the ground, hooves stepping lightly across fallen leaves. Tassian dropped the reins and reached for his bow, setting an arrow on the string and drawing it back. The instant before he released it, a second arrow whistled by him and struck the deer in the chest with flawless marksmanship. His own arrow flew into the underbrush.

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