The Realmsic Conquest: The Hero of Legend by Demethius Jackson
Thane and his men had spent most of the day riding from the Centre Forest into the connecting South Woods. He’d exhausted his horse traveling at top speed for what seemed like hours. Now coming to a small creek, he thought it best to give his horse and his men a brief rest.
As his soldiers tended to their steeds, Thane dismounted. He allowed his horse to walk to the water’s edge and drink. The leaves of the deciduous trees in this part of the forest had already changed colors and had begun to fall. He watched the red and yellow flakes sail gently into the creek. But the serenity of the moment brought Thane no peace. He was angry with himself.
His jaw hurt from grinding his teeth, as he mentally replayed the events of his search for the Realmsic Crystal. He thought for sure Maebus headed north. His instincts screamed it. But it made no sense for the King’s tracks to suddenly disappear in an empty field. Maebus must have doubled back south. Thane had analyzed the sets of footprints his men found by the castle. They led south. And after finding a Council cape discarded near the castle, he knew he was on to them. Maebus had to be with them. There was no evidence to conclude otherwise.
“General Thane,” a voice called.
He looked quickly around, but no one was in sight.
“Answer me, General Thane!” the voice called again, more angrily.
He then realized it was emanating from his own pocket.
He reached in and removed a handheld mirror. Small, thin, and rectangular, it fit easily in his palm. An image of the Warlord Damian appeared in the mirror.
“Yes, my Lord,” Thane answered.
The image within the mirror began to speak.
“What’s your status in locating the Realmsic Crystal?” Damian asked.
Thane hesitated a moment, not out of fear, but out of discomfort. The magical communicator mirror, often called a mobile device, was a brilliant invention that allowed two people to speak over long distances. Damian had provided mobile devices only to a handful of his men. Although the Realm was filled with different gadgets such as this, seeing magic utilized in such a fashion seemed unnatural to Thane.
“I’m currently in the South Woods,” he explained. “I believe Maebus and his Council are heading to the Hellish South Plains.”
“Are you sure, General?” the Warlord asked.
Thane hesitated again, this time out of fear. “The physical evidence leads me to conclude as such,” he carefully worded.
Damian scowled, seeming not to like the answer.
“General, I need not remind you that it’s imperative that the Realmsic Crystal be found! If your evidence does not allow you to stand firm in your assessment, then I suggest you find better evidence. Failure is not an option,” he said; the tone of his voice escalating. “Am I clear, General?”
“Very,” Thane flatly responded.
With that, the image of Damian faded and was replaced by Thane’s own reflection. He nervously placed the mobile device back into his pocket. Thane had never failed a mission, and he had no intention of starting now.
So far, he’d had little difficulty tracking the footprints of Maebus and the Council southward. But he knew that, at some point, the trail would grow cold. He needed to catch up to them as quickly as possible.
Thane gently patted his horse on the side of its long head.
“Let’s go, girl,” he spoke to her softly. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”
With the strength of a much younger man, Thane mounted the steed in one huge bound. Looking up through the canopy of trees above him, he caught a glimpse of the sky. “It’ll be night soon. Come on you lugs!” Thane yelled to his soldiers, and galloped off.
• • • • •
Nighttime is the best time for thievery, the bandit thought as he walked through the woods. From experience, he knew it made men feel braver, bolder, invincible. They were more willing to take greater risks than they normally would during the day. And since he and his archers hadn’t scored much from a group of traveling teachers earlier that afternoon, approaching a small encampment of Legionaries in the forest would be a nice rebound.
The heat from their campfire felt warm upon the bandit’s face as he squatted, concealed within the bushes. He took a few moments to observe the scene. His archers waited stealthily on the other side of the encampment for the ambush to commence.
From what he could tell, only one man sat near the fire. Old looking and shaggy, he’d most likely be too weak to defend himself. A lone Legionarie was an irresistible opportunity. Gripping his sword handle tightly, he imagined the spoils he’d receive from such a defenseless target: food, coins, weapons, and any other standard gear Legionaries were issued.
“Greetings,” the bandit said as he stepped from the bushes. “Fine night, isn’t it?”
The Legionarie didn’t acknowledge the voice.
The bandit took a few steps closer. “Travel alone often?” he asked.
“It’s none of your concern,” the Legionarie huffed without looking up from the fire. His face remained expressionless, his demeanor as still as pond water.
The bandit narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “Everything is my concern within these woods,” he replied, taking a few steps even closer to the Legionarie. “Trespassers are required to pay a toll.”
The Legionarie barked a laugh. “Under whose authority?”
The bandit became incensed. “Under the authority of my sword!” he exclaimed, yanking the blade from its hilt. The sharp steel rang through the night forest. The Legionarie remained aloof and disinterested.
The bandit slowly pointed the blade tip at the Legionarie, resting it against his shoulder. “Have I got your attention now, soldier?” he asked.
“Gothen!”
The bandit was startled by the shout of his name. Turning his head, he saw his archers all being held at sword point by Legionaries. Their hands and weapons were raised high in the air. He had no idea where these other Legionaries came from, or how they’d gotten the drop on his men. As Gothen turned his attention back to his target, their eyes met for the first time.
The Legionarie’s dark eyes were wide and menacing, peering from a gruff, bearded face. Silence fell over the camp. Only the crackling of the campfire could be heard. The bandit was unsure how he lost the advantage, or if he ever possessed it.
The Legionarie smacked the sword blade from his shoulder and slowly rose to his feet. Gothen was taken aback by the man’s staggering height and mass. This hairy beast was not the weak old soldier he intended to rob. Accepting the situation, being outmanned and outmatched, Gothen surrendered his sword to the Legionarie without being asked.
“I am General Thane,” the Legionarie said, snatching Gothen’s sword from his outstretched palms. Thane examined the metal specimen. “This is an excellent sword,” he stated, twirling it in his hands. “The handle balances the weight of the blade quite nicely. Your generous donation to the Warlord’s Legion is well appreciated. But our cause is great and requires much support.”
He flipped the sword to point at Gothen. “Empty your pockets.”
The bandit complied, as did his accomplices. As he dropped items upon the ground, something caught Thane’s eye.
“Stop!” he shouted. Gothen instantly froze.
“Pick that up,” Thane commanded, pointing to a metal device. The bandit, without breaking eye contact with Thane, slowly bent down and grabbed the object. He placed it in the General’s massive hand. Thane looked as if he recognized the device. “Where did you get this?” he asked.
“I ... acquired it from a group of travelers today.”
“Were these travelers well dressed and headed south?”
Gothen didn’t answer. Thane pressed the sword tip harder against his chest.
“Yes! Yes, they were,” he said with desperation.
“How many where there?”
“I-I don’t remember,” Gothen felt lines of sweat trickle down his neck and back.
“Think harder! More than eight? Les
s than five?”
Gothen searched his mind for images of the teachers. “I’d say ... more than eight”
Thane hunched his shoulders over, fumbling the strange device in his free hand. He then pointed it forward. After analyzing it for a moment, he pressed its narrow sides. Instantly, a bright bluish light shot from its tip and illuminated the forest before him. A few yards away from where they all stood, etched in a tree, was a hand-drawn image of the Realmsic symbol.
“Gotcha!” Thane exclaimed. He pointed Gothen’s sword towards the archers. “Get rid of these bandits,” he ordered his men.
“No, wait!” Gothen pleaded, nearly sobbing as his accomplices were marched away from the encampment into the woods. Glancing back towards the General, he barely caught the quick flick of Thane’s wrist. The glint of his own blade swinging swiftly towards his head was the last thing Gothen saw.
Chapter Seventeen
As his soldiers tended to their steeds, Thane dismounted. He allowed his horse to walk to the water’s edge and drink. The leaves of the deciduous trees in this part of the forest had already changed colors and had begun to fall. He watched the red and yellow flakes sail gently into the creek. But the serenity of the moment brought Thane no peace. He was angry with himself.
His jaw hurt from grinding his teeth, as he mentally replayed the events of his search for the Realmsic Crystal. He thought for sure Maebus headed north. His instincts screamed it. But it made no sense for the King’s tracks to suddenly disappear in an empty field. Maebus must have doubled back south. Thane had analyzed the sets of footprints his men found by the castle. They led south. And after finding a Council cape discarded near the castle, he knew he was on to them. Maebus had to be with them. There was no evidence to conclude otherwise.
“General Thane,” a voice called.
He looked quickly around, but no one was in sight.
“Answer me, General Thane!” the voice called again, more angrily.
He then realized it was emanating from his own pocket.
He reached in and removed a handheld mirror. Small, thin, and rectangular, it fit easily in his palm. An image of the Warlord Damian appeared in the mirror.
“Yes, my Lord,” Thane answered.
The image within the mirror began to speak.
“What’s your status in locating the Realmsic Crystal?” Damian asked.
Thane hesitated a moment, not out of fear, but out of discomfort. The magical communicator mirror, often called a mobile device, was a brilliant invention that allowed two people to speak over long distances. Damian had provided mobile devices only to a handful of his men. Although the Realm was filled with different gadgets such as this, seeing magic utilized in such a fashion seemed unnatural to Thane.
“I’m currently in the South Woods,” he explained. “I believe Maebus and his Council are heading to the Hellish South Plains.”
“Are you sure, General?” the Warlord asked.
Thane hesitated again, this time out of fear. “The physical evidence leads me to conclude as such,” he carefully worded.
Damian scowled, seeming not to like the answer.
“General, I need not remind you that it’s imperative that the Realmsic Crystal be found! If your evidence does not allow you to stand firm in your assessment, then I suggest you find better evidence. Failure is not an option,” he said; the tone of his voice escalating. “Am I clear, General?”
“Very,” Thane flatly responded.
With that, the image of Damian faded and was replaced by Thane’s own reflection. He nervously placed the mobile device back into his pocket. Thane had never failed a mission, and he had no intention of starting now.
So far, he’d had little difficulty tracking the footprints of Maebus and the Council southward. But he knew that, at some point, the trail would grow cold. He needed to catch up to them as quickly as possible.
Thane gently patted his horse on the side of its long head.
“Let’s go, girl,” he spoke to her softly. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”
With the strength of a much younger man, Thane mounted the steed in one huge bound. Looking up through the canopy of trees above him, he caught a glimpse of the sky. “It’ll be night soon. Come on you lugs!” Thane yelled to his soldiers, and galloped off.
• • • • •
Nighttime is the best time for thievery, the bandit thought as he walked through the woods. From experience, he knew it made men feel braver, bolder, invincible. They were more willing to take greater risks than they normally would during the day. And since he and his archers hadn’t scored much from a group of traveling teachers earlier that afternoon, approaching a small encampment of Legionaries in the forest would be a nice rebound.
The heat from their campfire felt warm upon the bandit’s face as he squatted, concealed within the bushes. He took a few moments to observe the scene. His archers waited stealthily on the other side of the encampment for the ambush to commence.
From what he could tell, only one man sat near the fire. Old looking and shaggy, he’d most likely be too weak to defend himself. A lone Legionarie was an irresistible opportunity. Gripping his sword handle tightly, he imagined the spoils he’d receive from such a defenseless target: food, coins, weapons, and any other standard gear Legionaries were issued.
“Greetings,” the bandit said as he stepped from the bushes. “Fine night, isn’t it?”
The Legionarie didn’t acknowledge the voice.
The bandit took a few steps closer. “Travel alone often?” he asked.
“It’s none of your concern,” the Legionarie huffed without looking up from the fire. His face remained expressionless, his demeanor as still as pond water.
The bandit narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “Everything is my concern within these woods,” he replied, taking a few steps even closer to the Legionarie. “Trespassers are required to pay a toll.”
The Legionarie barked a laugh. “Under whose authority?”
The bandit became incensed. “Under the authority of my sword!” he exclaimed, yanking the blade from its hilt. The sharp steel rang through the night forest. The Legionarie remained aloof and disinterested.
The bandit slowly pointed the blade tip at the Legionarie, resting it against his shoulder. “Have I got your attention now, soldier?” he asked.
“Gothen!”
The bandit was startled by the shout of his name. Turning his head, he saw his archers all being held at sword point by Legionaries. Their hands and weapons were raised high in the air. He had no idea where these other Legionaries came from, or how they’d gotten the drop on his men. As Gothen turned his attention back to his target, their eyes met for the first time.
The Legionarie’s dark eyes were wide and menacing, peering from a gruff, bearded face. Silence fell over the camp. Only the crackling of the campfire could be heard. The bandit was unsure how he lost the advantage, or if he ever possessed it.
The Legionarie smacked the sword blade from his shoulder and slowly rose to his feet. Gothen was taken aback by the man’s staggering height and mass. This hairy beast was not the weak old soldier he intended to rob. Accepting the situation, being outmanned and outmatched, Gothen surrendered his sword to the Legionarie without being asked.
“I am General Thane,” the Legionarie said, snatching Gothen’s sword from his outstretched palms. Thane examined the metal specimen. “This is an excellent sword,” he stated, twirling it in his hands. “The handle balances the weight of the blade quite nicely. Your generous donation to the Warlord’s Legion is well appreciated. But our cause is great and requires much support.”
He flipped the sword to point at Gothen. “Empty your pockets.”
The bandit complied, as did his accomplices. As he dropped items upon the ground, something caught Thane’s eye.
“Stop!” he shouted. Gothen instantly froze.
“Pick that up,” Thane commanded, pointing to a metal device. The bandit, without breaking eye contact with Thane, slowly bent down and grabbed the object. He placed it in the General’s massive hand. Thane looked as if he recognized the device. “Where did you get this?” he asked.
“I ... acquired it from a group of travelers today.”
“Were these travelers well dressed and headed south?”
Gothen didn’t answer. Thane pressed the sword tip harder against his chest.
“Yes! Yes, they were,” he said with desperation.
“How many where there?”
“I-I don’t remember,” Gothen felt lines of sweat trickle down his neck and back.
“Think harder! More than eight? Les
Gothen searched his mind for images of the teachers. “I’d say ... more than eight”
Thane hunched his shoulders over, fumbling the strange device in his free hand. He then pointed it forward. After analyzing it for a moment, he pressed its narrow sides. Instantly, a bright bluish light shot from its tip and illuminated the forest before him. A few yards away from where they all stood, etched in a tree, was a hand-drawn image of the Realmsic symbol.
“Gotcha!” Thane exclaimed. He pointed Gothen’s sword towards the archers. “Get rid of these bandits,” he ordered his men.
“No, wait!” Gothen pleaded, nearly sobbing as his accomplices were marched away from the encampment into the woods. Glancing back towards the General, he barely caught the quick flick of Thane’s wrist. The glint of his own blade swinging swiftly towards his head was the last thing Gothen saw.
Chapter Seventeen