Stormwielder (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 1) (10 page)

He turned right as they reached the ground, following the base of the wall. Long grass grew from the packed earth, giving way beneath their booted feet. Alastair’s eyes swept the granite blocks of the wall. It had been years since he’d contemplated the mystery of The Way and he did not want to miss the entrance. He trailed his fingers along the cool stone as he walked.

They moved faster, the buildings nearest pressing in. Each house was packed with families, refuges from the surrounding towns and villages. They had come here to escape Archon’s roving armies; now they were trapped like rabbits. If the city fell, it would be a massacre.

A war horn sounded from above, followed by the muffled war cries of enemy warriors. Alastair’s keen ears picked up the twang of bowstrings as the defenders unleashed their first volley. Time was running short.

Alastair cursed as his hand caught on a thorny vine. Drawing to a halt, he held up his hand to inspect the damage. Blood dripped from his fingers. Rubbing it on his cloak, he stared up at the dark surface. Thick vines hung like snakes from above, swaying gently in the breeze. Their bright green leaves hid the stone beneath them. Tiny white flowers blossomed between the thorns, adding their rosy tint to the air.

Sword blades rung out overhead. The enemy had made it to the top of the ladders. The screams of dying men quickly followed.

“Hurry, Alastair, Chole does not have much time. The wall will not last the night if this continues.”

Alastair nodded. “I know. It would fall within minutes if Archon unleashed his beasts. It’s a good thing he enjoys toying with his food. But I am afraid we have arrived, and my knowledge cannot take us any further. Your magic is needed now. These vines are a part of an ancient magic the founders of Lonia put into the walls of Chole, before it became a part of Plorsea. Only those with power over the Earth can command them to reveal our path.” 

Thomas nodded. His magic gave him control over living things; he would have little trouble with the vines. They both knew the real test would come later.

The king stepped up to the wall and took hold of the nearest vine. His face revealed nothing as the thorns pierced his skin. Thomas closed his eyes, his breath softening. The vines began to ripple and a faint green glow lit the dark alley. Slowly they curled back on themselves, slivering upwards, retreating from Thomas’ touch.

Beneath was not solid stone, but an empty abyss stretching away into oblivion. A strange light shone from within, bathing them in its power. Alastair felt the dark pull of the shadows in his soul. The world around them began to fade, until only the abyss remained.

Beware, Alastair,
he heard Antonia’s voice in his mind. He shook himself and shouted a warning. “Beware, Thomas. The ancient magic is corrupted. Keep your soul closed or it will destroy you.”

Thomas nodded grimly. “Where does it lead?”

“Follow and you will see,” Alastair’s voice was bleak. There was little chance they would see the other side of the portal.

Taking a deep breath, Alastair stepped forward into the abyss. His doubts did not matter now. All his energy must go to seeing Thomas safely to Kalgan. It was their last hope.

As he crossed the threshold a twisted rainbow streaked across his vision. The world spun and his mind burned. Gravity vanished and then suddenly pulled him skyward. He spun, a terrible screeching tearing at his ears. Blood ran from his nose and his stomach churned. Gritting his teeth, he endured.

Thunder clapped and all sensation vanished. An instant later, he struck the ground. 

Alastair groaned, struggling to keep himself from throwing up. Slowly his senses returned. He opened his eyes, looking around for Thomas. His eyes returned only blurred images, before the world around him clicked into sharp clarity.

Around him lay the bones of long dead men and women. The empty eye sockets of human skulls stared at him, toothy grins fixed to their stark white faces. No trace of flesh or cloth remained. Thomas sat nearby, his eyes wide with shock.

Alastair shook his head, pulling his wits together. A blood red sky stretched overhead, its infinite expanse unmarked by cloud, sun or stars. Stark peaks rose all around, their bleached white cliffs hemming them in in all but one direction. A path led through the piles of dead. The bones grew thinner as it wound its way down the hill. Obviously most did not survive their first step into this strange world. There was not a living thing in sight. The air was deathly still.

“What is this place?” Thomas’ voice shook. Alastair glimpsed fear on his friend’s face.

“The Way,” he said, standing. “And we had better move quickly. Time passes differently here and there’s none to waste.”

Thomas stood, brushing off the dust of the dead. His hands trembled, but there was determination in his eyes.

“This way,” Alastair waved at the path. “Stay alert, who knows what lurks in this realm.”

Alastair began to pick his way amidst the bones, Thomas following close behind. His boots crunched on sharp gravel and shards of bones. The sound echoed off the surrounding cliffs.

“What happened here, Alastair?” Thomas’ voice had regained its composure.

Alastair sighed. “The Way is ancient, predating the Gods themselves. It served as neutral ground for negotiations between Lonia and Trola when the two nations were at war. Only a few souls can enter at one time, so there was no way one nation could ambush the embassy of another. It was obviously a much safer place then.”

“How-,” Thomas broke off, staring around at the red waste. “How did it become like this?”

“It was cursed. At first no one understood who would have the power to achieve such a feat, but we know now it was Archon. Dark magic has corrupted everything in this small land, sucking the life from it. Your magic is useless here, the raw energy of the Light is the only Element to still hold sway against the darkness.”

Thomas loosened his sword. “Then we must rely on your powers, and our steel.”

Alastair nodded. “Something waits out here. No one has passed this way in four hundred years and lived to talk about it.”

Thomas fell silent. They plodded on, their passage witnessed only by the glares of long dead souls.

******************

A granite arch stood guard at the end of the canyon. Flowers were etched across the stone, entwined one over another. A dull fog hung in the air beyond the arch, concealing what lay beyond. It could only be the exit.

Alastair’s blood was cold. Beneath the archway stood the embodiment of the curse. It grinned at them across the short distance, yellowed teeth jutting from milky bone. Empty eye sockets glared at them from the naked skull, held aloft by a crooked spine. Bone rattled as skeletal arms drew a rusty scimitar. The blade grated as it slide from its sheath. The skeletons bony toes gripped the rocky ground.

Alastair felt as though the canyon walls were closing in on him. He shivered, a cold darkness sweeping across his soul. A weight settled in his chest, freezing him in place. This creature had killed those hundreds who had come before him. Now it sought their lives and Alastair doubted there was much chance of survival.

“Whatever you do, stay behind me, Thomas,” he whispered the words from the corner of his mouth. His eyes never left the undead skeleton.

Alastair walked forward, his short sword sliding into his hand. “Out of my way, damned hell spawn,” his voice echoed back and forth off crumbling stone. Slowly the words died away, until it seemed they had been spoken by some feeble old man. Alastair felt his confidence wither.

The skeleton laughed, the soft whispering cackle of the dead. It raised its blade in mock salute.

Alastair braced himself, fear gnawing at his courage. The creature would not die easy.
Best not to go charging in,
he thought.

Instead, he turned his mind inwards, seeking out his magic. It leapt at his touch, an old companion eager to aid him. Its power flowed through his veins, giving strength to weary limbs. Time passed slowly here and it seemed as though they had trudged for hours through this grim land.

The magic focused his mind. With it, he reached out to the land around him. Rocks groaned. Small stones rattled and rolled as man-sized boulders took to the air. Soon a host of boulders hovered around him.

Pressure throbbed in Alastair’s head. He clenched his teeth and threw out his arm. The boulders leapt to obey, accelerating towards his dark foe.

The skull’s grin widened. It too raised its hand. Alastair’s projectiles hurtled onwards. Twenty feet, ten, five. Alastair grinned and gave one final push with his magic.

An earth-shattering crack ripped the air. The boulders exploded, turned suddenly to splinters that flew in all directions, burying themselves in the valley walls. The stench of burning stone filled the air.

Alastair staggered back, the aftershock of his failed magic tearing through him. His mind reeled from the force of the creatures counterattack. He started to fall. Strong arms reached out and caught him. Through the pain he could hear the creature’s mocking laughter.

Alastair struggled to regain his feet. Footsteps crunched as the monster walked towards them. He cursed and pushed Thomas behind him. Bracing himself, he summoned his magic again. It came faster now. He screamed his anger, arms swinging out. The magic surged through his mind.

The skeleton rose ponderously into the air. Alastair gave a violent gesture, hurling it into the canyon walls. Dust exploded outwards, the crash deafening in the narrow canyon. The skeleton vanished into the dust cloud.

When the air cleared, it was still coming.

Alastair gritted his teeth in frustration. His attacks had not even phased it. He saw now the hardened blood that coated the scimitar. Now he knew how his fellow Magickers had meet their end. He realised with dreadful certainty this creature would not be defeated.

He took a firmer grip of his short sword. “We cannot win here, Thomas. I do not have the power. I will keep it distracted. You must make a break for the gate.”

Thomas frowned. He opened his mouth to speak, but Alastair cut him off. “It is our only chance. At least one of us must reach Kalgan.”

Thomas scowled. He edged away to the right, and Alastair could only pray he had listened.

The skeleton halted a few steps away. “Yield, and your deaths shall be quick,” its rusty voice grated like nails on a chalkboard.

Alastair answered with steel.

Their blades rang as they met, sparks flying in the dry air. Alastair jumped back as the scimitar reversed its cut. The tip tore through his shirt, narrowly missing skin. He swore and slashed out. The rusty blade spun to block. The shock of the collision rattled Alastair’s sword arm.

The creature pressed forward, but Alastair dove to the side. Its blade whistled over his head. Rocks ground through his cloak as he rolled to his feet. His foe turned to follow him and Thomas darted past.

Alastair allowed himself a smile and almost lost an arm for it. Time disappeared, as he found himself locked in desperate battle with the monster, all thought driven from his mind. His sword became a blur; each movement made through sheer instinct. Even so, it was not enough. The scimitar came closer and closer, tearing shallow slices down his arm and chest.

Another attack slipped past his guard. The rusted tip flashed out. The blunt tip lanced into his side, tearing through chainmail and driving into flesh. The shock forced him back a step. Pain struck, forcing a scream from his lips that he quickly cut short.

The blade began to twist in his side, and this time he could not bite back his cry. The blade burned and the strength fled from his muscles. His sword fell from limp hands. He collapsed to the ground. The skeleton jerked back its bloodied sword and raised it over his head.

The rattle of gravel was all that gave Thomas away. With a hiss the skeleton spun, parrying Thomas’ desperate attack. Its blade flashed out at Thomas once, twice, three times. On the third blow, Thomas’ blade shattered. The creature was angry now. Its scimitar rose, aimed now at Thomas’ head.

“
No!”
Alastair flung what little strength he had left at the skeleton. A last, desperate attack.

The magic swelled and rushed at his foe. It struck the skeleton, sweeping it backwards into the canyon wall. The blade slipped from its hand, tearing a gash down Thomas’ cheek as it spun through the air.

Thomas ignored the wound. He rushed to Alastair’s side and hauled him to his feet. With his spare hand he swept up Alastair’s fallen sword. Alastair hung one arm over Thomas’s shoulder and the two of them stumbled for the exit. The distance seemed to grow with each step; the skeleton would be on them at any moment.

Alastair felt Thomas’ strength fading beneath his weight. “Leave me you fool!”

Thomas took no notice, staggering on towards the great archway.

From behind them came the scrambling of bone on rock. Their deathly foe stepped back into the light. Air hissed between its teeth. Alastair closed his eyes and hobbled faster.

“
For that, your deaths will take an eon,
” the ground shook with the creatures rage.

Above, the rocks began to creak. Dust seeped into the air. Alastair glanced up and saw cracks racing along the weakened cliff face. The rattle of stones as they shook loose came from overhead.