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  LEGENDS

  A Ronin Saga Short Story

  Matthew Wolf

  © 2019 Matthew Wolf

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author.

  Learn more at www.matt-wolf.com

  MATTHEW WOLF

  LEGENDS

  A RONIN SAGA SHORT STORY

  Contents

  Legends

  Legends

  362 D.L.

  362 Years into the Lieon, The Great War, the Last True Council

  Kail felt the crust of blood crack and flake off of him as they stormed through the halls in the city of wind. With every step his pace quickened to the council’s chambers. They had been betrayed. But they would find the culprit and seek their vengeance, or all the world would fall.

  Flanking him were the other Ronin. Eight heroes who echoed his urgency. As always, Omni, Ronin of sun, and Maris, Ronin of leaf, were the nearest two—his closest companions. The others were not far behind. Water, fire, stone, moon, sun, leaf, metal, flesh. Together including him, they were the nine elemental guardians of the world and the supposed protectors of Farhaven. Yet here they were, destined to fail mankind in its final hour.

  Kail wouldn’t let it end this way…

  As they moved, guards, servants, and couriers stared at their bloodied clothes and pressed against the wall as they passed, watching them like angels of death.

  On his right, the dawning sun shone through the column of pillars. The hallway was open to the elements, revealing a city to rival all cities—the legendary Morrow, city of wind. Clouds floated by, and he caught glimpses of the rest of the city: dozens of behemoth floating rocks suspended in midair by rising winds. Each held a tiny city, connected by elaborate bridges. On each floating rock and adorning the cityscape were thousands of windmills utilizing the ever-present gusts to power the Great Kingdom.

  Even from here, Kail felt it… the wind. It rushed up from all angles, flowing over the columns and rising like tiny white snakes vanishing into the air. If anyone peered down into that rushing wind, they would see the giant updrafts of air supported a thing of miracles—whole cities, floating on islands of rock, suspended in midair by the rising winds.

  But despite the wind that spiked his senses, feeding his ire and power—the grandeur of the Great Kingdom was far from his mind.

  They reached the council chamber’s metal-strapped doors flanked by two hulking guards. The guards moved for the handles. Kail didn’t slow. He nodded to Baro, the giant Ronin of Metal. An arsenal of weapons bristled from Baro’s hulking frame. It was truly a sight, even from one legend to another. Heavy armor adorned the man from head to toe. Plate upon his arms, legs, dark metal rivets of forged from Yronia on his joints. At any seeming crack, was a thin veneer of scale mail, tiny bright metal plates. There was not an inch of the man, aside from his face, that wasn’t covered in metal. Though his weapons was what made most balk in fear.

  Baro bore two swords on his back, hammers, daggers, a spiked morningstar, and even a metal crossbow peaked above his shoulder. Each he had mastered, making mortal men who trained for years with blade or bow seem sluggish and awkward by comparison. At Kail’s gesture, Baro grunted in affirmation and raised a hand. Immediately, threading the flow, the metal hinges sizzled and fell into molten puddles making the heavy doors groan, now unsupported. Without slowing, Kail whisked a finger and summoned his own power of the flow, the essence of all life and the power of the Ronin.

  Each had their strengths: Omni’s sun had vast, devastating force and accuracy, Aurelious’ flesh for its healing abilities and unique conjuration, Aundevoria’s stone for its protection, Seth’s fire for its unbridled, wanton destruction, Dared’s moon for its stealth and guile, Hiron’s water for its creative applications, Maris’ leaf for its cunning and power to restore the lands, Baro’s metal for its talent at dissolving the world of man’s creations, and for his skill with a blade. Yet wind was something else.

  As wind and air were everywhere, Kail was the most powerful of all.

  The flick of his finger was more than enough. A colossal surge of air smashed into the door, sending it sprawling across the marble floor. “Ah, good, I never understood why that door was there anyway,” Maris remarked as the nine Ronin stepped over it, and slid past the guards who cowered against the wall.

  As they entered the chambers, heated voices cut short, fancifully dressed men and women turned from a stone slab piled high with maps.

  Inside, if he cared for such things, he would have gawked at the grandeur of the chambers. The Hall of Wind was breathtaking.

  A large round floor was where the assembly stood. Ringing them was a series of nine round pedestals, topped by glass cases hard as steel. Each of the cases held one of the nine stones. Water, moon, stone, metal, flesh—they swirled with power and their respective element, but none dare touch them. The stones, powerful relics kept under lock and key upon penalty of death at all times, were perhaps the only objects they had kept away from the dark legions.

  Aside from the stones, thick pillars held up an arched ceiling carved with an elaborate scene. Kail knew the fresco. He had even seen it commissioned on his seven-hundred and eighth birthday. It was the Legend of the Ronin, their origin, as told by the city of wind. It was just a story—each Great Kingdom had built their own over the long years. Yet he couldn’t deny the image was wondrous.

  The painting’s central figure depicted a wizened old man descending on a glowing cloud. Nine others were beside him. Silver and gold clouds roiled as if the very heavens were their entourage. The wizened old man was God, or what man thought of as God. He had other names too. Among them were: the Creator, Lightbringer, Waterbringer, Master or Mistress of Shadows, Windbringer, The Great Spirit, and more. Each Great Kingdom had their own story for the origin of the Ronin. At their heart, they were the same. Each told of a figure leading nine apostles, or demi-gods, to the world of mortals to save humanity from itself. Yet the image was wrong. Kail wasn’t a demigod, nor was he immortal, and most undeniably, he could not save mankind.

  Beyond the pillars was an impossible drop. With no walls, the room known as the Hall of Wind seemed perched upon a cloud, overlooking the world. The air was thin and hard to breathe. They were too high for most birds to fly. For a moment, his ire waned, in a strange reverie… As if consumed by a thought that wasn’t his own, and yet it was… Birds. Kail had always marveled at birds and their power of flight. They, above all, were light and free. Boundless, even, he thought enviously. Often he wondered what it would take to fly. Despite nearly a thousand years of life and the ability to wield one of the nine great elements, no thread he had ever woven could accomplish the feat. To attempt it truly would require a death wish, a desire to end it all and see what waited on the other side.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” a dignitary questioned.

  As if dunked into a frozen lake, Kail returned to the world and the Hall of Wind. Not again, he thought… Those reveries, his strange tangential thoughts, they were happening more and more. He even realized his wrathful expression had been replaced by a… smile?

  Kail felt
the air tremble as several of the Ronin embraced their power. He raised a hand and they relinquished the flow, if reluctantly. Patience, he ordered. We will find the betrayer and the truth soon enough. Again, he avoided touching an item in his pocket.

  “What in the seven hells of Remwar happened?” A man’s voice boomed.

  Fendary, the High General of their legions, rounded the stone slab, his grand cloak fluttering behind him. With his grizzled beard, deep crow’s feet, and streaks of gray in his dark hair, the High General was almost ordinary looking—to a fool. Those piercing brown eyes had seen more battles in a lifetime than any one man. Fendary was the most brilliant tactician the age had ever known.

  Kail knew what the assembly was gazing at, where their shocked eyes fell.

  A woman screamed, and others put hands to their mouth’s in terror, gazing at the newcomers in horror. Blood caked each Ronin’s body. It coated their cloaks and made their hair into sticky strands with dark red clumps. In contrast, the monarchs and emissaries before them were immaculately dressed. Fine cloth and silk draped their bodies. By comparison, the Ronin looked like demons.

  “You do realize a bath is still a tradition in this age, Ronin? Even a butcher cleans after he performs his duty.” The woman who spoke wrinkled her nose, as if not so much disgusted by the blood, but by their lack of decorum. Standing in an elegant purple dress, Queen Ophelia was as stunning as ever. Queen of the City of Covai, the Kingdom of Flesh, Ophelia was strikingly beautiful—even to Kail’s hardened heart—with fiery hair and dark olive skin. Her dress was less than modest with a plunging neckline that exposed her amble curves. Kail had seen her type before, those that used their bodies as weapons. But there was something in her eyes—something that said she was both curious and afraid by his blood stained skin.

  A man in red robes with four stripes on his cuff strode forward. Reaver Nevar was an ambassador of the Citadel, the Great Kingdom of Fire. The red robes of a Reaver and the four stripes of rank attested to his power. “What’s the meaning of this spectacle? Why are you here when we sent you to the Frizzian Coast?”

  Seth broke rank and strode forward. He grabbed Reaver Never by his collar and raised him into the air. Flames danced in the Ronin of fire’s eyes as he growled, “Because, my little spark wielding friend, you didn’t send us to the coast. You sent us to our death. Or at least… you tried.”

  “Let me go!” the man cursed. Fire swirled around Reaver Nevar’s hand. The Reaver cast out a hand, sending angry red flames curling around Seth’s form, turning the Ronin of fire into a living torch.

  Kail didn’t move a muscle.

  Through firestorm, Seth laughed. Nevar’s eyes grew wide with surprise, pouring in more of his power. Seth clamped a hand over the Reaver’s fist. At once, the flames in the room were snuffed like a blanket over a campfire. Despite the inferno, the only sign of the Reaver’s attack were faint, curling wisps of smoke. Seth patted the smoking bits of clothing casually with his free hand, putting them out. “Fire? Are you an imbecile?” Seth sniffed contemptuously. “Let me show you what true fire looks like.” A dark amber glow grew around Seth. Flames singed, burning away Reaver Nevar’s scarlet robes. The man began to scream.

  “Enough,” Kail ordered. “Drop him.”

  It’s him, Kail. Seth thought angrily. He’s the traitor. I know it! The air in the room grew stifling as fire danced in Seth’s eyes.

  Release him, brother, Kail commanded through the link.

  Omni, ever the light of reason, echoed his words, You’ve impressed upon them the importance of our arrival, Seth, but now let him go. It was true. Kail turned to see the terrified faces of the dignitaries—men and women who had seen the atrocities of this war.

  Seth growled and dropped Reaver Nevar who shook on the ground, eyeing the missing sleeves of his scarlet robes and his arms reddened by the instant flames.

  Accusing the counsel… This will break us, Maris said through the bond. Are we certain about this? There’s no going back.

  We are already broken, Omni replied. At least we’ll know the truth. Then, her bright blue eyes solemn, she nodded, encouraging him to continue.

  Kail spoke again, “As were our orders, we headed to the Frizzian Coast to aid in the ongoing war on the Plains of Aster. When we arrived, the battle was quickly turning in favor of the Alliance. We were losing. Saeroks and vergs were everywhere, and nameless outnumbered us two to one. Finally, after days of bloodshed and death, we turned the tide and the Alliance broke and fled. We thought we had won.” He laughed at that, though it hurt to do so.

  “Where did you go?” King Gias, ruler of Eldas home of the elves, questioned.

  “To the only shelter we knew. We gathered our wounded and traveled to the City of Gal. That was our plan at least…” Kail’s mind flashed back.

  He saw the lone stretch of road. The night was silent, aside from the soft clop of hooves and the rattle of armor. The orange glow of paper lanterns was the only light in an otherwise black night. They glimpsed the city’s stone walls in the distance through a last stand of trees. Whispers of relief sifted through the army. Suddenly, a howl pierced the air. Battle cries shook the night as they were attacked from all sides.

  “We were ambushed,” he said. “Within sight of the city walls of Gal, the enemy sprung their trap.” Instead of the gold-veined marble beneath him, Kail saw the bodies once again. The dead were everywhere, piling towards the ceiling. They gasped and coughed blood, reaching for him, but there was nothing he could do—just like back then. Not even Aurelious’ powers of knitting flesh could save a man from a nameless’ cruel blade.

  Fendary gripped his shoulder breaking him from his trance. “How many?”

  Kail’s fist clenched around Morrowil’s handle, dried blood flaking from his hand. He wasn’t sure when he had unsheathed the blade. “We were the only survivors,” he answered.

  “Where was Gal in all this?” another questioned.

  Kail’s hand tightened on Morrowil. Something felt different about the blade. “We wondered the same, so we brought down the doors of the city. What we saw… It was a graveyard. A ghost town filled with only broken buildings and dead bodies.”

  “What about Governor Jacek and the Assembly?” King Gias asked.

  “We found them in the throne room, all slaughtered or worse.”

  “Worse? What do you mean?” Ophelia asked.

  Reaver Nevar quivered in anger, face reddening to match his crimson beard. “You’re wrong! A hundred thousand men were stationed in that city. There’s no way it could have fallen!”

  Shall I? Dared, the silent Ronin asked.

  Kail nodded.

  The man rose from the shadows. With his dagger he cut the cords of a wrapped bundle and rolled the parcel into the center of the room. Kail issued filaments of wind. The cloth was pushed aside to reveal a severed head.

  A servant holding a silver pitcher screamed, and dropped the pitcher, stepping back to the corner of the room. More dignitaries gasped, but many simply stared in disbelief. The head gazed back, mouth agape, lips slack, and eyes rimmed with blood. The dead man’s black hair was oiled and slick against his pate, and a huge gash ran down the center, as if a blunt axe had failed to cleave his thick skull. Worst of all, his ears, nose, and most of his neck appeared masticated from a hungry verg or saerok. Aurelious had kept the head fresh with strands of flesh. As a result, the dead man’s lips twitched or eyes rolled occasionally as the threads made the muscles move, preventing atrophy and decay.

  “Governor Jacek,” King Gias breathed.

  Governor Jacek’s upper lip trembled as if in reply. An ambassador vomited on the ground. Reaver Nevar put a hand to his mouth, turning, while Queen Ophelia blanched. The rest of the dignitaries stepped back. All but Fendary.

  The High General’s hand swiped across the slab, throwing maps upon the ground. “The Alliance,” he growled. “
Those bastards. By the gods, they’ll pay for this.”

  “Ah, but you have not heard the best part,” Kail twirled Morrowil in his hands as he circled them, footsteps falling upon the smooth white marble. The dignitaries watched as he moved through the pillars.

  Queen Ophelia waved a hand. The sobbing serving girl recognized the dismissal and fled the chambers through the open door. “Congratulations. You’ve scared the serving girl thoroughly with your little parlor trick. Now stop baiting us and speak straightly.”

  “The truth was in the dead. Judging by the decay, the city and its inhabitants had been dead for nearly two moons.”

  “What are you trying to say?” Another emissary asked.

  “Two moons…” King Gias spoke, as if realizing before the others. “Two months…”

  Kail sighed. “Isn’t it obvious? The city had been gutted long before we got there.”

  “But the reports…” Fendary said, shaking his head.

  Kail spat the next words, walking a line before the richly clothed dignitaries. “We’ve been fed lies. Fattened like hogs for the slaughter with misinformation, leading us to this moment. We gathered the majority of our forces in one place, and they took it long ago. They burned and died, meanwhile we were fed reports for trivial battles in far-flung places.”

  Maris added, “Played like a fools right into the hand of the dealer. Playing cards while he held the whole deck behind the table. Fighting pointless battles in the east and south while our main force in Gal waged a terrible war. Those poor bastards… they must’ve wondered why and where we were…”

  “It can’t be,” Reaver Nevar whisper, still sitting the ground, shaking his head. “Gal…”

  “Is gone,” Kail finished. “Whoever betrayed us, has been pulling our strings for weeks, months now. We lost a long time ago, and we didn’t even know it. We are all that’s left.”

  Fendary stared at the masticated head in disbelief. “How? Who would betray us?”