Confronting Legends

By Stefon Mears

Save 60% over buying these five stories individually!

From the mind of Stefon Mears comes a collection of fantasy short stories about legendary creatures, mighty wizards, failed apprentices, fell gods, and determined warriors.

Includes “Drinking and Conjuring Don’t Mix,” “Hunt for a New Life,” “Betting on a Legend,” Writers of the Future honorable mention designee “The Curse of Valassa,” and Writers of the Future semi-finalist, “Not That Kind of Wizard.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stefon Mears
• Release date: Sep 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310908415

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About Confronting Legends (Spells & Swords Volume 1)

From the mind of Stefon Mears comes a collection of fantasy short stories about legendary creatures, mighty wizards, failed apprentices, fell gods, and determined warriors.

Includes Drinking and Conjuring Don’t Mix, Hunt for a New Life, Betting on a Legend, Writers of the Future honorable mention designee The Curse of Valassa, and Writers of the Future semi-finalist, Not That Kind of Wizard.

CONFRONTING LEGENDS

Spells & Swords

Volume 1

Stefon Mears

Thousand Faces Publishing

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Copyright © 2014 by Stefon Mears

Published by Thousand Faces Publishing

9220 SW Barbur Blvd.

Suite 119-276

Portland, Oregon 97219

http://1kfaces.com

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

ISBN: 0692304649

ISBN-13: 978-0692304648

Not That Kind of Wizard

From the Journal of Harkin, Son of Fiach

Sixth of Remembrance,

Forty-fifth Year of King Morann

They did not execute me. Rather, they promoted me, which may be worse.

I had been recalled to the palace in the company of deserters and spies, a three day trip I would not care to repeat under the best of circumstances, much less under guard at a pace that nearly killed four horses. I could think of no crime, save perhaps cowardice in the face of the enemy. But every man is a coward in the face of certain death, whether he acts on his fear or not. Still, His Majesty is not called the Sword of Fury for his even temperament.

Yet when I stood before the throne under the hot-poker gaze of His Majesty, awaiting His call for the executioner, He asked me questions. Why did you lead your hand off of the trail?

Sire, I heard enemy troops approaching. I was afraid.

Were they your hand to lead?

No, Sire. But we were moving to a set position through land we were supposed to control. There should have been no opposition. The enemy outnumbered us. If we met them head on, we would have died and no one would have reported the lapse in our picket before the Quartati brought more troops through.

What did your commander think?

Our thumb wanted to lead us around the Quartati and make our rendezvous on schedule, report then.

Instead you took six men and killed how many Quartati?

Fifty, but only because I knew of an ambush point invisible from the Quartat approach. Easy kills for good crossbowmen. We took out the better part of an arm before they got word back that their plan had been compromised.

The king smiled then, and though I suspected He meant it as a friendly gesture, my guts turned as cold and watery as they had in the face of those Quartati. He gave me the good news and clapped my back. Shock reverberated through my body like a death knell.

I’m a thumb now, and tomorrow I meet the rest of my hand for a special assignment that I’m sure brings us back to the front, maybe even behind enemy lines.

I doubt I’ll be sleeping tonight.

#

Seventh of Remembrance

Forty-fifth Year of King Morann

Already on the road. I’ve got a small hand, three men, and a task that sounds simple: escort a wizard behind enemy lines. Officially I haven’t been told that Skelly is a wizard, but he is a bald little old man in a brown robe, with a walking stick and clean-shaven face. He is either a wizard or a priest, and I doubt there’s much strategic advantage to escorting a priest behind enemy lines.

He has the charm of a priest though. Skelly has this little smile always hovering around his lips and hiding behind his eyes. He speaks gently, he moves gently, he even eats gently. He ate less of our supper than I did, and I can barely keep food down right now.

Cordon ate enough for the three of us though. He wears on his back the biggest sword I’ve ever seen, which sounds fair because Cordon is the biggest man I’ve ever seen. Either that, or the king had someone shave a bear and strap a sword to its back. If the time comes for a ranged fight, I don’t know if Cordon will fire his crossbow or throw it.

Dirk looks like his namesake, slight and quick, with a slender sword and a half-dozen daggers that I can see. He brought down our dinner with a crossbow bolt through the eye of a ptarmigan and cleaned it faster than I can clean my sword. Good thing, too. As much as Cordon eats, I worry about having enough food for the return trip. Assuming there will be a return trip.

Lunn is the oldest of us, apart from Skelly. I think his scabbard is older than I am. Dirk looks at Lunn as though he expects him to fall over any moment, which just means he has yet to hear the stories. They say Lunn stood as champion for three different earls on the same day and won every duel. Lunn once turned a route into a victory by holding a pass against a hundred Yollish regulars. They say a lot more too, but when I asked Lunn how many of the stories were true he only said, Enough. I can’t understand why I’m thumb and he’s just a finger.

Anyway, a small hand but a good one. Too bad this is a suicide mission.

#

Eighth of Remembrance

Forty-fifth Year of King Morann

We’re already behind schedule.

Baron Carmigen, who detailed the route we are to follow, made clear to me that we were to cut directly across the chaparral to where it meets the river, then down to the woods. The first few hundred yards off of the road went up a steep slope, but hardened soldiers know that means having the afternoon sun on our backs instead of in our eyes. Simple enough path for a competent hand.

Apparently not so simple for an old wizard. Skelly’s pace may not disturb the ground, but I could have rolled up that slope faster than he hiked it. We had to stop every fifty yards to keep the old fool from falling too far behind. Cordon started snapping twigs off of limbs, tossing them into the underbrush. Dirk leaned against a pine tree, one foot on the bark, and alternated between drumming his fingers and checking and rechecking his daggers. Eight in all, unless there were a few he didn’t check. Lunn stood still as a rock while we waited. I’m not sure he even blinked.

The second time Skelly caught up to us, his lips relaxed into a smile and he said, At my age, hills don’t flatten out as quickly as they used to. Then he chuckled, as though he meant that to amuse us.

Can’t you just fly to the top? said Dirk.

I’m not that kind of wizard.

Could you become a bird? I tried to take control before Cordon picked the old man up