Legion of the Air

By Robert E. Vardeman

Having visited the Lord of Death and Life and learned the ways of dark magicks and the evil curse placed upon his shoulders, Brion Rouwen returns to the Kingdom of Gan seeking justice against his enemies in Legion of the Air, the second book in Robert E. Vardeman's Accursed trilogy. Armed with not only the knowledge of a spell book, but also his own battalion of airy warriors, Rouwen is finally ready -- with the exiled Queen Diarra in tow -- to put things right.

Rouwen's refusal to rest until King Priowe and his henchman Duke Sosler have been destroyed is still the engine that drives the narrative forward, but where most trilogies are content to slip into a midstream lull, Vardeman keeps excitement high by expounding on his mythology, drawing his central characters into even sharper focus, and incorporating twists that are equal parts fun, horrifying, and unforgettable. Even in the thick of it, The Accursed remains fantasy of the highest order.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Cenotaph Corporation
• Release date: Mar 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370058402

Book preview

Duty and Death

Head down to avoid the wind in his eyes, Rouwen continued along the road. At first he thought it only a figment of his imagination. A crowd cheered, roaring in approval and shouting words too muffled to be understood. Then Rouwen considered it a freak echo of the wind whistling past rocks and the distant surf smashing into weather-worn rocks. But when he topped a rise in the road and saw a small grove of linden trees to the side, he reined back and paid closer attention to what his ears reported.

Kill her! Kill the whore! came the cries tossing on the wind. He had arrived barely in time to save Queen Diarra from a fate worse than being stoned and driven from another town

Legion of the Air

The Accursed #2

by

Robert E. Vardeman

Legion of the Air

©1994 Robert E Vardeman

Legion of the Air originally published by

New English Library (ISBN: 0-450-58840-8)

This Smashwords edition published by

The Cenotaph Press © 2017

ISBN: 9781370058402

Cover © 2012 by Robert E Vardeman

illustration

dreamstime.com

If you’d like to learn more about the author, please visit the website at

CenotaphRoad.com

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Sample chapter: The Flame Specter

Author biography

Chapter 1

Bloodshed and Death

Rouwen shivered at the notion of having to return to Gan through one of the two tunnels beneath the Shield Mountains. Twice he had left the Kingdom of Gan through a tunnel, and twice the spirits of the dead migrating to Paradise had accosted him. Rouwen closed his eyes and tried to push the memory away. He knew the wraiths trapped there included his brother, Adan, and Nibbles, and they blamed him for their premature deaths. He could never face their spirits again, not until he, too, made his way to Paradise from the upper slopes of Mount Glid. Then and only then could he brave their rightful anger.

Rise, my warriors, rise and pirouette at my command! Rouwen laughed in delight and waved his hand at two columns of spinning air. The wind warriors continued their slow circuit of the beach, whirling to the bend of the island and then returning slowly, as if seeking something hidden from them.

Across the water. Go! Go to the. mainland! Rouwen frowned when the wind warriors resolutely disobeyed. What does it take to bend you to my orders? He stepped away from the beach as. one tornado whistled past, oblivious of its new master.

Rouwen crouched down and rested the golden, horn on his knee. He felt no great need to form columns with the magical beings and have them march to his command at the moment. Rouwen stood and went back toward the Lord's hut, taking a different path this time. The Isle of Passing was more desolate than he had thought originally, some of its lush vegetation undoubtedly conjured up by the dead wizard, but the island still had much to recommend it to him.

Unusual red-and-blue-striped fruits grew on low bushes, and of these Rouwen ate hungrily. The flavor reminded him of well-hung meat with just a dash of eng-spice for peppery contrast. Best of all, a double handful of the berries sated him completely. And along the path he found a small stream bubbling with pure water. Dropping to his belly, he cupped his palm and scooped water to his mouth. At first touch, the water tingled and caused Rouwen to recoil, then he tasted the wine-like flavor and was invigorated by it. As with the berries, a small amount satisfied him.

Rouwen rolled over and sat up, watching white clouds lazily move through the azure sky. The soft breeze blowing off the ocean caressed his face and caused him to drift off to sleep. He had been through so much, had endured so much pain and injury. He deserved the respite.

He came awake suddenly, as the soft whisper of breeze turned into an ear-splitting roar. It took Rouwen several seconds to realize that he heard one of the Lord's—his!—wind warriors whirling into the vegetation along the white strand facing the mainland. He pushed to his feet and settled the golden horn at his side, wondering if he should try blowing it. again to gain control over the thick column of rampaging air.

A sudden gust caused him to throw his arms up to protect his face as debris whipped past. Rouwen walked into the teeth of the gale and almost fell face down when the wind stopped suddenly. Curious, he walked back to the beach and hunted for his guardians. The four wind warriors he had summoned were far from the Isle of Passing, pulling skyward thick pillars of frothy sea water.

Why did they go away from the island? Rouwen squinted into the hot sun, then turned cold inside when he saw the boats making their way toward him. The dozen or more heavy craft filled with armed men looked like cargo barges Rouwen had seen in Mion's capital city of Tachre, but those had been festooned with gaudy banners proclaiming landings at myriad ports. These vessels had been stripped bare, save for a single colored signaling flag at the prow of each.

Invaders! Rouwen turned to shout for the Lord and warn of the attack on his pleasant little isle, then remembered how the wizard had died. Rouwen was alone on the island. If he wanted to hold the invaders at bay, the endeavor was up to him. He forced himself to be calm and make a more complete reconnaissance of the invading forces. He watched the wigwag signals pass from one barge to another and quickly recognized the battle code as belonging to King Nishor of Mion.

Rouwen shook his head as he stared at the twenty barges laden with more than two thousand soldiers. Why would Nishor risk so many men in what might be a suicidal mission against a powerful wizard? There was no way the king could know the Lord was dead.

Then the answer came to him. King Nishor was not the architect of this assault. Duke Sosler had sent these troops. If the invasion failed, Nishor would be seen as the loser. If the king's hold on his kingdom was weakened as a result, this left Sosler and his Mionese crony, Duke Drioway, in a stronger position to seize both Mion and Gan. And if the soldiers conquered the Lord of Death and Life, that victory would give impetus to the conquest of Valley Gan. No matter the outcome, Sosler triumphed.

Rouwen cringed when one wind warrior dashed across the surface of the water and caught up the leading barge in an airy embrace. For a moment it appeared that the tornado grew arms to hug the barge to its bosom, and a face with a gaping mouth opened. Then the image vanished amid a rain of splinters and sundered bodies.

The faint screams reached Rouwen as he stood on the beach, but a shower of blood told of the deaths meted out by the wind warrior. And the whirling column of air was not content with only one boat. It bobbed and wove its way toward another boat. Rouwen saw dozens of soldiers abandon the barge, leaping overboard into the seemingly tranquil water. He wanted to call to them, to warn them of the strange and vicious fish protecting the Isle of Passing.

The sea roiled with new blood and froth as the carnivorous fish feasted hungrily. And then new debris became airborne as the Legion of the Air found three new targets and demolished them. Rouwen couldn't see even splinters left behind in the wake of the deadly tornadoes.

In spite of the carnage, the barges pressed on. With only four wind warriors trying to destroy an entire fleet of invaders, one barge had to get through. And it did, not a hundred paces down the beach from where Rouwen watched with a mixture of awe and revulsion.

The soldiers tumbled onto the beach, eager to be off what they now saw was an easy target rather than a means of transport. One officer shielded his eyes and pointed at Rouwen. Get him! There's the wizard! Kill him! Double the bounty if we get him!

Rouwen touched the dagger sheathed at his waist and swung about slightly, feeling the weight of the sword at his left side. The weapons were substantial and bloodied in combat, but Rouwen knew better than to challenge a hundred soldiers. He backed away, cast a quick glance at the battle still being fought between the invading barges and the wind warriors, and knew more of King Nishor's soldiers would beach soon. The tornadoes wrecked one after another of the barges, but there were too many invaders and too few airy minions of death.

Rouwen turned and dashed for the cover of the long-armed willow trees bending low over the beach. He swung around and waited to see how many of the soldiers followed. Too many. Rouwen whipped out his sword and prepared to meet the two troopers who had outdistanced their comrades, eager for combat and honor. With two, he could cope. Possibly their deaths would cause the others to hesitate in their headlong rush to kill him.

He could only try.

The first soldier lumbered past on beer-keg-thick legs, oblivious to his presence. Rouwen swung his sword hard and caught the thickset soldier just above his ornately engraved gorget. Rouwen's blade nicked the heavy metal neckpiece, then glanced upward under the chin strap holding on the man's pockmarked steel battle helm. A clever twist of Rouwen's wrist caused his sword to insinuate itself under helmet and over gorget, slicing the soldier's throat and producing a fountain that shed forth to stain the Mionese green-and-gray uniform with gushed gore.

Stepping away, Rouwen set his feet to engage the second trooper. This one wouldn't be as easy a target. Rouwen saw officer's insignia gleaming on the man's shoulder and helm and knew an easy kill would be denied him.

You are the wizard? the officer called, swinging his long sword with contemptuous ease. Rouwen let the man flaunt his prowess. . Such wide slashes with the heavy blade could only tire him. Rouwen's lighter sword might not be a match for the thick blade he faced, but his skill was greater than any Mionese swordsman. Not for nothing had Brion Rouwen been a Captain of the Intrepid Guard and the best swordsman in all Gan.

As the officer whipped the blade around to bring it down in an overhead slash, Rouwen drove forward, getting under the blade and driving the tip of his sword upward. He felt ring mail yield and his sword enter the officer's body.

What? The officer's eyes widened in surprise, as if he couldn't believe he had died this easily. He tried to chop at Rouwen and lacked the strength. The Mionese officer stumbled and fell to one knee, then died. His heavy sword dropped to the ground behind him, never again to be hefted in battle.

Death, that's what, panted Rouwen, staring at his fallen foe. Shaking himself out of the daze of fatigue descending on him, he looked back down the beach and saw that slower soldiers were almost on top of him. The fight against the first two had been quickly decided, but he had misread the other troopers' determination to take the island—and him.

They think I'm the Lord, he said, shaking his head in wonder. How little they knew. Rouwen saw a tall pillar of air whip along the edge of the beach, scattering a few of the obstinate fighters making their way toward him, but not enough to matter.

Rouwen wiped his sword on a tuft of grass and ran for the island's interior. He knew the geography better than those so hot in pursuit, even if he had only seen much of it a single time. They might turn wary of traps and fall even farther behind. Or so he hoped.

Without their officer, the soldiers proved far more reckless than he would have thought possible. Perhaps the sight of the wind warriors frightened them into agitated action, or they had been promised a fine spot in Paradise if they died nobly. Whatever the reason, a full score found the path Rouwen had taken and pounded hard after him, caring nothing if he had set trapfalls.

Sprinting until he was winded, Rouwen found the small spring with the intoxicating water. He dared scoop another palm laden with the precious liquid and again experienced invigoration as it touched his lips. A second drink made him feel as if he could take on all of Nishor's men and best the lot.

Careful, he warned himself, knowing he had to guard against the water's magical effect. He had rested, but no one could fight an entire army and hope to win. Rouwen pressed himself against the bole of a large tree a few feet from the spring and heard the angry shouts of his pursuers. In a way, he reveled in this chase. At long last he was able to fight back, even if it was against overwhelming odds. Before, in Gan, with Nibbles, against Sosler and Drioway and Kwuway, he had always played against his enemies' strength. With a sword in hand, he could beat any man—any two.

A dozen. I can best the lot of them. Bring them on! he heard himself cry aloud. Rouwen clamped his mouth shut when he realized his excitement had boiled over and made him reveal himself like a tyro going into battle for the first time. It might have been the water or simply his own buoyant spirits after victorious combat. Whichever had caused him to act thus, it betrayed his position.

There! There he is. Get him, a Mionese soldier cried hoarsely. But the soldier's voice dropped, he licked his lips in anticipation, and a sly look crossed his leathery, sun-baked face.

How much are they offering for my head? asked Rouwen, astutely understanding the cause of the soldier's sudden silence as he advanced. His opponent was already spending his blood money. A few pieces of gold? A dozen? More?

A duchy, the soldier said, moving carefully now to avoid any traps Rouwen might have set. There had not been time for such to be laid, but his slow advance gave Rouwen the opportunity to evaluate his opponent. The first soldier he had slain had been young, brash, thoughtless in his headlong rush to cut his own throat on Rouwen's sword. The officer following him so quickly to Paradise's lush, gentle green fields had been overconfident, thinking a big sword decided any dispute.

Rouwen now was paired off against a battle-hardened veteran who knew the penalty for even the smallest mistake. The sure movement of his feet, the slow flicker of his sword tip as he advanced, the wary expression and the fixed stare all told of many battles fought and won. The promise of becoming ennobled added to the soldier's desire for victory, if the thought of dying did not.

That's a hefty reward for a lowly soldier such as L. Rouwen circled, keeping a sharp lookout for other Mionese fighters. I am nothing but a cashiered officer, a former captain in the Gannian Guard.

You're not a wizard? Surprise vanished and a broad grin crossed the soldier's face. Then you must be Rouwen. You're worth a principality!

Sosler values me that highly? Rouwen didn't know whether to laugh or spit. The Lord of Death and Life merited only a duchy but he, a peasant with aspirations to nobility, would win this soldier a chance at the throne?

You must die!

Rouwen parried easily and stepped back, his sword lowered into a comfortable en garde.

What did Sosler really promise you? He thinks to put himself on the throne—the throne of a kingdom combining the lands of Mion and Gan. There is no place for a peasant in his plans, other than himself, that is. Rouwen riposted and drew a tiny crescent on the soldier's cheek. He had no desire to play with the man; from his deft movement, the soldier was a good fighter.

Why do you keep naming the Duke of Gan? The soldier thought to weave words as well as steel to gain his kill. Duke Drioway, acting for King Nishor, has pledged his solemn word on ...

Rouwen saw the slight hesitation on his opponent's part, the smallest misstep possible, and then the fight ended. He drove his blade inward as hard as he could and tore through the light steel chain mail until he found a vital organ. The soldier gasped, gurgled and died. Pink froth bubbled from his lips for a moment longer, and then there was no remaining sign of life.

Through the lung, Rouwen said, pitying the soldier. There were better ways to die. He had seen too many of his own soldiers die from sucking chest wounds.

The rustling of leaves startled Rouwen. The Mionese soldiers had completely ringed him, their swords and lances pointed at him. While he had fought, they had taken their positions.

Now it was his turn to die.

Chapter 2

Wind and Wave

What are your orders? Kill me or capture me? Brion Rouwen asked, hoping to engage the soldiers in dialogue rather than mayhem. He winced as a lance tip nudged his ribs.

You are the Lord of Death and Life? The query came more as a statement, though there was an element of uncertainty in the words. The ranking Mionese soldier, a sergeant from the look of his insignia now partially covered with dirt, shifted uneasily. He glanced around at his comrades, as if they might provide him with a glimmering of an answer. He wanted to know if he faced a wizard and was in danger or if Rouwen was merely a peasant doing a wizard's bidding.

No, I'm not the Lord, Rouwen said, mind racing to find just the right words to disarm the soldiers. Fighting his way out of the ring of steely points around him wasn't possible. That didn't mean he couldn't get away if he kept his wits about him. I can summon him, though, if that is your wish.

No!

The sergeant's sharp command came too late. Rouwen had already placed the golden horn to his lips and let forth a long, low, musical note that rolled across the Isle of Passing and seemed to grow louder as it echoed into the distance. The soldiers tensed but did not spit Rouwen on their swords, uncertain about what he had done with his call. He paused and looked around, worrying that the horn no longer summoned the Legion of the Air.

Don't try that again, the sergeant said nervously. Men, get him to the barges. I don't think he's the one we're looking for, but ...

Immense roaring drowned out the sergeant's orders. Rouwen knew what to expect and dived to the ground, burrowing through fallen leaves and seeking any depression, no matter how slight, in the soft dirt. He found his hiding place barely in time to ride out the blast of wind whipping across the land.

The tornado had formed not a hundred paces away and took a few seconds to bounce and slide along the fragrant, leaf-strewn forest floor in Rouwen's direction. As if fingers of air ripped at his back, Rouwen felt his tunic being caught up and pulled from his body in tatters that snapped like battle flags. But the carnage being wrought on the Mionese soldiers was far worse than the minor damage Rouwen sustained to his uniform. They had remained on their feet—until the wind warrior struck them.:

Screams of agony as the men were lifted off their feet reached Rouwen over the whine of the whirling column of air. Protecting his eyes with his arm, he chanced a look up through the tree limbs to the murky pillar filled with spinning soldiers. As he had seen before, the wind warrior spun faster and faster until the men blasted apart into bloody fragments.

The rain of gore and human parts came down around him, forcing Rouwen to bury his face in the soft dirt. And then a sudden silence descended, making him wonder if he had gone deaf. Wiping off the bloody film from his face, he blinked