Legend

he next few days were a sleepless blur. Kyn worked feverishly to finish his recreation of the Potion of Youth, I put every ounce of my college student skills into learning alchemy, Carina and I poured over the real Rei’s notes on the other world alchemy, and the king was away making calls on various important people trying to win favor in the Council of Lords. That left Gaz, Arnya, and Gwyn to train.

A few times during my brief breaks, I would go outside to watch the three. Gaz could defend herself, but it was clear she wasn’t a trained fighter, so the really interesting matches were Gwyn vs Arnya.

Gwyn, a trained knight, was a skilled fighter. But during those brief sessions outdoors, I could not take my eyes off the princess. I had never really seen Arnya fight. Yes, she had trained with dogmen guards around the castle, but those were more like drills. But now, faced with a skilled opponent, I could watch her go all out. It was, in a word, mesmerizing.

By my estimation, she was far stronger than a slim woman could possibly be; I bet she outmatched my world’s powerlifters in pure strength. She combined that with acrobatic ability rivaling Olympic-level gymnasts. The only reason Gwyn could keep up at all was that he was insanely athletic himself and had the better technique that came from years of actual combat experience; even then, he lost more than he won.

My alchemical progress, too, increased by leaps and bounds. Several times, Carina mentioned that I was learning in days what usually took months. I think I had an affinity for it; even though back in my world I had been a physicist, not a chemist, all science came naturally. And alchemy was science, as testable and concrete as any other field. Mix certain ingredients in a certain order with certain Infusions, get a specific result. Of course, it wouldn’t work in my world, but here it was as solid as Newton’s laws of motion.

But it wasn’t enough. I knew that. I might now be a competent amateur alchemist, but traveling to another world required far more than competence. And as our five-day deadline approached, I could still only barely understand the beginnings of the process. Carina fared little better.

I was roused from a nap with my face on the desk by the interminable butler who informed me the king had returned and wished us all to join him for dinner. I was too tired to argue, but Kyn declined, saying he was on the verge of finishing the potion.

The tables in the dining hall were heavily burdened with a sumptuous feast. As usual, the king sat at the head of the table, a goblet already in hand. “Come, my friends!” he boomed. “Tonight we feast!” Everyone else—Arnya, Gwyn, Carina, Gaz, and several other important people around the castle—began eating with gusto.

Catching my confused look, Arnya explained “in our world, it is traditional to feast before going to war.” I didn’t miss the implication that we were on the verge of a war, metaphorical or literal.

The food was excellent, and the others were true to the tradition, eating and making merry. Well into the evening, the king was laughing, face red from wine. He came to my seat and flung his arm around my shoulder, speaking into my ear louder than quite necessary. “If you’re really a different man, you’ve never heard the tale of the Elves or the story of how I met Arnya’s grandmother, have you my boy?” I nodded. It was one of the little mysteries I was genuinely curious about.

With a satisfied smile the king returned to his own chair. He clapped and a servant brought a stringed instrument. He strummed it as he began speaking in a melodious, almost rhythmic way. “Long, long ago the elves moved freely among the lands of men, marrying and being given in marriage. Sorcery runs through the blood of an elf, and their descendants, too, became sorcerers.

“But soon the hearts of men grew proud, and they waged war on each other with the gifts in their blood, laying waste to the land. And what these sorcerers did not destroy, their armies of dogmen, innocents twisted into monstrous forms, raided and razed. Few could oppose the sorcerers, for the elves were peaceful and ordinary humans could not stand up to their powers. These wicked sorcerers were known as Witches. Only a single man and the order he founded, the Witch Hunters, stood against them.”

I must have expressed shock at hearing the Witch Hunters mentioned in a positive light, because Carina shushed me.

The king continued “so the elves made a great pact. They would smite the Witches, then leave the human realm, swearing never to spawn another sorcerer. So the elves left our lands.

“Yet there were always stories of a few elves who still fell in love with humans or dogmen. Many decried this as fancy, but as a boy, I always believed those stories.

“Arrogant though it may be to say, I grew into the strongest warrior in the land. Even the most skilled alchemists—who at that time could practice freely—could not face me.” Here, the king paused to laugh ruefully. “And yet I hungered for more adventure and more glory, those twin sirens of gifted youths. So my wanderings took me far afield where I challenged evildoers in defense of the innocent.

His music took on a somber note. “And how did it end, you ask? How most stories of such youths end. I leapt into a fight I could not win and was struck down with a deadly wound.” Without pausing the music, he shrugged off part of his robe, revealing his chest to show a massive scar directly over his heart.

“As I lay there dying, I beheld an apparition.” Here his instrument almost fell silent. “A woman, young yet ageless, ministering to me. I thought she was to take me to the afterlife, but when I came to later, I found no trace of such a woman other than my wound sorcerously cured. I had seen sorcerers cure others before—in times of war, it was all too common—but no human sorcery from the diluted bloodlines could heal such a mortal wound.

“Of course, I had fallen in love with that phantom, and at that moment I vowed to never rest until I laid eyes on her again.” Here his song swelled once again, becoming both mournful and heroic. “Five years I searched for her, ranging beyond the human lands deep into the wilds where at last I found her.

“Elloanwhae was her name, and of the elven royal line was she. Her father wished me banished from the elven lands, yet I refused to leave alive. Finally, she interceded on behalf of the human she had healed, and the king relented.

“Day and night I courted her for a year and a month, as is their tradition. She knew the laws preventing our union as well as did I, yet our love could not be denied. At last, she fled from her home, accompanying me to the border of the human lands, where I built us a house to live away from the world.

“But the world could not be denied, and neither could duty. A messenger from the kingdom found us only a year after our marriage, begging me to return. The king was mad, the realm wracked with civil war, the Council of Lords without leadership, and enemies pressed in from the outside. The lords needed a leader. Well,” he chuckled with a wry laugh, “in truth they desired a figurehead to blame for their failings, but that, too, is a type of duty. But due to the ancient oaths, an elf could not rule beside me.

“My love or my people? The choice was as obvious as it was painful. Elloanwhae returned to her people, and I returned to mine. The Council desired a figurehead, but by skill or by the favor of the heavens, I became a true leader and brought peace to the land.”

He stopped, drinking a long, slow draught of his wine before taking up his instrument once more. “I thought I would never see her again. But the night after my coronation, I awoke to see a phantom in my bedroom. It fled, and before I could give chase I was stopped by a baby’s cry. At the bed’s foot lay a basket containing a boy with green hair. Around his neck was a string with a note that held only three words, written in a hand I knew as my wife’s. It said ‘Darnyus’ and “I’m sorry.’” The king set aside his instrument, leaving silence in the hall.

Carina was clutching Gwyn, who had his arm around her. Gaz had her usual unreadable dog expression. And Arnya was smiling. When she saw me looking, she whispered “romantic, is it not?”

Romantic? I supposed it was, in a very traditional medieval way. But I just couldn’t see that kind of story appealing to a modern audience.

The door to the great hall slammed open. As all eyes turned that way, there stood Kyn, panting and holding two identical vials of yellow liquid. “You’re finished?” I asked.

In response, he presented them both to the king, who took one in each hand. He smelled and touched each one, inviting us to do the same. My senses confirmed what Kyn said: identical other than whether saltpeter was added before or after the 74th infusion.

“So my fate rests on the toss of a coin,” mused the king. “Ha! I’ve risked life on worse odds before.” He raised the vial in his right hand. “To the realm!” He downed the vial with one huge gulp.

We all waited breathlessly for a long moment as the king swallowed, eyes closed. For one long, silent moment, nothing happened. Then the king collapsed, coughing as foam and blood bubbled from his mouth.