The Blackstar Legacy
Copyright© 2026 by Lumpy
Chapter 1
“Faster. You have to react faster,” Rowan said as his sword passed within inches of Osric’s face.
Osric danced back and feinted left, then quickly changed direction, trying to catch Rowan when he was off balance, on his back foot. Or so it had seemed to Osric. Rowan’s wrist pivoted, turning to parry the attack, but then Osric moved. The attack had been a second feint. He ducked under Rowan’s guard and struck, his practice sword connecting solidly with the ranger’s side.
“Damnit,” Rowan said, stepping back.
The stag-folk stamped their hooves in appreciation, their way of cheering. Osric stepped back, a grin spreading across his face as he lowered his weapon in an overly fancy bow.
During the past month, waiting for the Sage of Avendell to translate the ancient document they’d found, he had not spent his time idly. Although Osric had learned a lot about fighting ‘on the job’ as it were, he had no formal training. Osric had been brought up to be a blacksmith’s apprentice, and knew more about forging a blade than wielding it.
That time of his life was over, and it looked as though he would never make it back to Eldham and Master Ironhand. Ever since finding the ancient artifact and the quest that had begun from that discovery, Osric’s life had changed. He’d been in more life-and-death situations in that time than most soldiers would go through in their entire lives. He’d fought warriors of a secret order known as the Brethren and creatures from the other side of the veil, monsters outside of his understanding.
And he was sure to be fighting more before long. Jasper, who, besides being a cleric of Heathus, had studied the veil nearly as long as the sage had, both as part of the Brethren and on his own after leaving them, had told him he thought they were close to having the whole document translated. If the sage was right, it should tell them how they could stop the veil from breaking entirely. Considering the creatures he’d seen that had already slipped through, Osric was certain that the veil breaking was something he did not want to happen.
So, he took the time to practice with Rowan. The ranger may have been more proficient with a bow than a sword, but he still knew a sight more than Osric did, having trained with the Greenwood Rangers for years before being allowed into their ranks.
“It’s about time you finally got through my defenses,” Rowan said, rubbing his side where Osric might have whacked him a little too hard.
Osric wasn’t one of these hulking giants, but he’d spent a lifetime, or at least his lifetime, at the forge, hammering away at iron and steel, and sometimes he forgot his own strength.
“Thanks,” Osric replied, catching his breath. “I’ve been working on that move.”
“It was a good strike, but remember – in a real fight, that opening you created could have been deadly.”
“What do you mean?”
“When you ducked under my guard, you left yourself exposed,” Rowan explained, demonstrating the movement. “A more experienced opponent could have seen that and struck while you were vulnerable. I didn’t happen to catch it this time, but I did notice it just after the opening closed. You won’t always be so lucky.”
“I see,” Osric said, his enthusiasm dampened slightly. “I’ll work on that.”
“Don’t be discouraged. You’re improving rapidly. Just keep in mind that in battle, one mistake can be your last. Don’t get so wedded to an idea that you don’t adjust for the realities of the combat at hand.”
Osric nodded, processing what Rowan had said as he glanced up, trying to catch a faint sign of the sun, to determine its position in the sky and how far it had traveled.
Rowan followed his gaze and chuckled. “Go on then. I know you’re eager to see her before she finishes for the day.”
“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“There’s no use denying it. You’ve been watching the sun’s progress all afternoon.”
“Am I that obvious?”
“Only to anyone with eyes,” Rowan teased. “Now go. You’ve had enough for today, and I’m sure Talia could use a break from her studies as well.”
“Thanks, Rowan,” Osric said, already hurrying out of the practice area, waving at several of the stag-folk as he passed.
They’d quickly taken to coming to watch Rowan train Osric, and on lucky days Valen, or one of the others who’d actually engaged in combat on the borders of their lands, had offered their own pointer or two. Most of the denizens of Avendell were magical creatures with no use for weapons or even language, but the stag-folk were surprisingly similar to most of the people he’d known back home in Eldham.
Well, a little similar, at least.
The walk through the forest was peaceful. The ethereal light filtered through the canopy with the occasional glimpse of shimmerlings as flittering lights further away, and a creature Valen had called a glom silently ghosted by in the distance. The creatures of the forest seemed enchanted by the presence of humans and were never far away. They kept their distance, except for the stag-folk, and there were always more just out of sight.
Osric couldn’t fault them for being skittish. The majority of the humans they’d dealt with were interlopers. Brethren scouts, treasure seekers lured by tales of fabulous wealth beyond their imagination, and mages who could feel the power of the place and desired to be a part of it. Then there were the hostiles who wanted to hurt the inhabitants and take from them.
Osric gave himself a rueful headshake. It was a marvel how quickly he’d grown accustomed to the otherworldly beauty of the place. What had been unbelievable the first time they’d come here had now become ... expected.
As he approached the clearing where Talia practiced with the druids, Osric slowed his pace. He didn’t want to disturb their lessons, but he couldn’t resist watching for a moment. Talia stood in the center of the glade, her ‘concentration’ face in place as she wove intricate patterns in the air.
Osric leaned against a tree, smiling slightly as he watched her work.
“Caught you staring again,” a voice said behind him.
Osric didn’t jump. He’d gotten used to Grace’s idea of fun, sneaking around, getting close before she revealed herself.
“I’m just watching,” Osric said, not turning to look at her.
“Sure you are,” she said, coming to stand next to him. “You’ve been ‘just watching’ a lot lately.”
“It’s not like that.”
Grace arched an eyebrow. “Whatever you say, Osric.”
Ignoring her, Osric turned his attention back to the clearing, where the druids were wrapping up their session. Talia lowered her hands, the light fading from her fingertips, and she wiped her brow, clearly exhausted from the exertion. As the druids began to disperse, she caught sight of him and waved, a tired smile on her face.
Osric waved back, feeling an inexplicable warmth in his chest. He could hear Grace snickering behind him, but he didn’t care. He felt ... happy.
He knew it wouldn’t last. Once the document was translated, they would be back on the road, chasing after whatever they said would fix the veil. Assuming the sage and Jasper were right about what it contained. He pushed the thought down. For now, he would savor these last moments of peace.
He approached the edge of the clearing as Talia made her way over, still looking a little worn from her practice but smiling nonetheless.
“Did you finish your training?” she asked.
“Yeah. I scored a hit against Rowan.”
“Really? That’s great.”
“He says I did it in a way that opened myself up to getting hit back, so ... still more work to do. You look pretty tired.”
“It’s nothing. Just ... stretching my limits,” she said, brushing a stray lock of her wild red hair from her face.
Talia had been pushing herself harder in this downtime than any of the rest of them. She’d always loved magic. He hadn’t even known his friend was learning from Elder Miriam, but it had become clear on their adventure together how important it was to her. When she’d learned that she was damaging the world, the veil, every time she used magic, it had been a serious blow to her. So when she had the chance to learn how to use magic without damaging the veil, she’d jumped into her studies.
Pushing herself hard.
“You’re really getting good at this,” he said.
Talia laughed and said, “You say that every day, Osric.”
“And it’s true every day.”
She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t hide the pleased expression on her face. “It’s not just about weaving spells, you know. The real challenge is learning to be gentle with it. It’s all about precision. You have to feel their tension, their give. One wrong tug, and you could tear something, break something.”
“How do you know which ... threads to pull?”
He didn’t really understand magic. Talia had tried to explain it to him, Elder Miriam had explained a bit, even the sage and Jasper had tried. But Osric was more comfortable with steel and sweat than with pulling fire or whatever from the air around them.
“It’s all about recognition. Each type of energy has its own ... signature, I suppose you could call it. Once you learn to identify them, you can start to manipulate them without damaging the overall structure.”
She demonstrated, her fingers moving in intricate patterns. For a moment, Osric thought he saw faint lines of light tracing her movements, but they vanished as quickly as they appeared.
“See? If I were to just grab at the energy,” Talia continued, making a sudden grasping motion, “it would be like yanking on a thread. You might get what you want, but you’d damage the whole in the process.”
“I can barely wrap my head around it.”
Talia gave a shrug. “Well, I’ve had good teachers. The druids here, they understand magic in a way that’s so different from what Elder Miriam taught me. It’s like ... they’re part of the weave themselves.”
“I’m still impressed.”
“Thanks,” she said softly, shyly touching his arm and looking down at the ground.