Stormwielder (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 1) (11 page)

For every step they took, the skeleton took two. The click of its bony joints echoed amid the sound of creaking rocks. Then with a mighty roar, half the cliff face broke away. The cursed skeleton had only a second to turn and roar its defiance, before a tonne of rock smashed down on it. It disappeared beneath the rubble.

Thomas and Alastair stumbled for the exit, the landslide rumbling its way towards them. They passed beneath the arch and the mist rose up to meet them. At its soft touch, the sound behind vanished.

Safe,
the word echoed through Alastair’s mind.

Blazing light lit the world, banishing all sight. When if faded, the citadel of Kalgan had materialised before them.

Alastair looked around, taking in the great grass lawns within the walls of the keep. The night sky was clear overhead, revealing a full moon that lit the world beneath. The seamless granite walls of the inner citadel stood before them, the only entrance a pair of massive steel doors.

Somewhere in the darkness, an owl began to hoot. The chirping of crickets soon joined in. A cool sea breeze touched Alastair’s face, bringing with it the tang of ocean air. The scent of fresh baked bread hung in the air, its source somewhere in the city outside the walls. They had returned to the real world; it was almost enough to wash away the debilitating pain of his wound.

Almost.

The citadel was dark, its doors barred shut. The building stood empty, the people long gone north to the battle for The Gap.

It did not matter. What mattered was the crystal case that stood centre stage of the lawn. Within, throbbing with a dull white glow, was The Sword of Light. It stood tip down, its three-foot blade silver in the moonlight. He knew that with the coming of dawn, the blade would turn the softest gold. Leather wrapped around a two handed grip below the hilt, although the blade was lighter than any short sword. A smooth diamond decorated the pommel of the blade, shining like a tiny sun.

A shriek pierced the night’s silence. “
You made it!”

Antonia came sprinting across the lawn towards them. For a second it looked like she would make a running leap at the two men. He braced himself for the impact, angling himself to protect his wound.

At the last moment Antonia skidded to a stop. She eyed Alastair, concern replacing joy. “Are you okay?”

Alastair grunted, fighting to stay conscious. His legs buckled, but Thomas kept him upright.

The king answered for him. “He’s been stabbed.”

Antonia nodded and moved to stand with them. She laid a hand on Alastair’s wound. Warmth flooded his side. He watched the concentration etched on the young girl’s face and kept his eyes averted from his wound. The sight of his own flesh knitting itself back together tended to make him retch.

When Antonia finally removed her hand, Alastair allowed himself to look down. The jagged hole in his side was gone and the pain had vanished. He sighed and took his weight off Thomas.

“Thank you, Antonia,” he looked across at The Sword of Light. “What now?”

“Now...” the Goddess hesitated.

“Now Thomas must take up The Sword. If Darius meant anyone to use it, it would be the kings of Trola. I know your father tried, Thomas. But age had stripped him of his strength and I believe you are strong enough to succeed where he failed. If you can wield its power, together we will have the strength to stop Archon,” a man’s voice spoke.

Alastair glanced up as Jurrien strode into view. The Storm God had seen better days, but looked more alive than the last time they had met. Exhaustion still lined his face, but determination shone from his ice blue eyes. There was a spring to his step now and some black had returned to his greying hair. His clothes were blood stained, although he did not seem to notice. The musty scent of fresh rain clung to the air around him.

He drew up beside Antonia. “You must do it now, Thomas. The two of you have been gone for over an hour. Chole won’t last much longer.”

Thomas nodded, eyes locked on the Sword of Light. There was a determined set to his jaw. He knew the risks. If Jurrien was wrong, the Sword would burn through the king to dust.

Alastair turned back to the Gods, his chest tight with fear for his friend. “Is there anything you can do to protect him?”

Antonia shook her head. There were tears in her eyes.

“It doesn’t matter,” Thomas walked towards the case. “If we cannot use the Sword, we all die.”

Thomas carried Alastair’s sword in a tight grip as he walked. A powerful spell had been cast on the crystal to protect the Sword of Light, but Alastair’s blade was infused with spells of its own. Thomas lifted the weapon above his head and brought it down on the case. Light flashed, and then came the tinkling of a thousand tiny crystals falling to the ground.

Thomas let Alastair’s sword fall to the ground. Slowly he reached out a hand. His fingers wrapped around the leather hilt of the Sword of Light. He lifted it from the case, hands shaking with reverence. He stood for a moment, eyes closed and brow furrowed as if he fought some great battle within his mind.

When his eyes finally opened, he wore a smile on his face.

The tension fled from Alastair’s muscles. He grinned back at the young king.

Antonia broke the silence. “Okay, we must be quick,” her voice was all business. “Thomas, all we need is for you to link the power of the Sword to ours. We will do the rest.”

“How?”

“Spread out,” Antonia and Jurrien stepped back, so that the three of them made a triangle. Alastair backed away.

“You should be able to call on the Sword’s magic the same way you do your own, Thomas. When you feel the Sword’s magic respond, focus it into the centre of the triangle. Like this.”

Her face closed over, her lips drawn into a grimace. Alastair shivered, feeling the power emanating from her tiny body.

Antonia raised an arm and green light flowed into the centre of the triangle. The pure embodiment of the Earth flowed like water, rolling across the grass. As he stared into its depths, Alastair glimpsed images of great forests and rolling hills.

Jurrien did not bother raising an arm. Blue light seeped from his body, joining with the Earth magic sweeping across the grass. It swirled between them, mixing, but never becoming one. The image of a stormy sky over a raging sea appeared in Alastair’s mind.

He watched Thomas close his eyes, his breath slowing. For a long while there was nothing, though his face shone with sweat. Bathed in the glow of the God magic, Alastair held his breath and waited.

The glow from the Sword of Light flickered and grew brighter. Thomas opened his eyes. Arm shaking, he pointed the blade towards the centre of the triangle. The air crackled with energy and a beam of pure white light poured from the Sword. It joined the whirling tide of magic.

The conflagration flicked, colours changing now. At once it was white, then green, then blue. The magic began to bubble and steam, leaping and pushing against invisible barriers, seeking escape. It grew higher, towering above them, a column of pure, unimaginable energy.

“Now!” yelled Antonia.

The column burst. Light shot upwards into the sky. A thousand feet above there came another explosion, and a million colours flooded the sky. The magic spilled outwards in all directions, burying the stars.

In that instant Alastair thought he glimpsed a shadow sliding towards the trio. He took a step towards them, but it vanished before the flickering glow of the magic above. Shaking his head, he dismissed it as a trick of the light. He looked up at the sky, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders. This was the end of Archon. With the Gods power over the three elements restored, they were invincible. It was time to stop jumping at shadows.

The dream ended and Eric woke.

Antonia sat at his side. The fire had died, leaving the night in almost perfect darkness. “Did you see?”

Eric nodded. “I did. You saved us all. But how does that explain Alastair’s purpose today?”

“Ask him. For now, you have seen what you needed too. Don’t worry, the answers will come soon. Now sleep.”

She stood. Eric made to follow, but his legs refused to obey. A great weariness settled over him and he fell from the log. His eyelids felt like lead.

“Good night, Eric,” Antonia whispered.

Eric was already asleep as she vanished. This time, there were no dreams.

Eric woke to a long wet tongue dragging across his face. Choking in disgust, he rolled away from the unknown assailant. Opening his eyes, he saw the long snout and friendly eyes of the two horses staring down at him. They shook their heads and snorted, the sound almost like laughter.

Eric found himself laughing as well, glad to see they had returned in the night.

“Good morning, Eric,” Alastair called. “How was your night?”

Eric’s smile widened when he spotted Alastair standing over a fresh fire, a rack of sausages hanging over the flames. Eric’s mouth began to water as he smelt the cooking meat. His stomach rumbled with hunger. The sun hung low on the horizon behind him, colouring the sky bright orange. The morning was still young, but he could already feel the heat of the desert searing his skin.

Walking across to the old man, Eric drew him into an embrace. His eyes stung, but he did not cry. There had been enough tears the night before. Pulling away, he grinned at Alastair.

Alastair smiled back. “Glad to see you too, Eric. I take it we had an unexpected visitor last night?”

Eric nodded. “Unexpected doesn’t begin to describe it. You didn’t tell me you were on a first name basis with the Goddess of Plorsea!”

Alastair laughed. “We have a complicated past.”

Eric stilled. “I know,” he hesitated. “She showed me Archon’s war. Who knew you were so
old
!”

Alastair scowled. “Old and a great deal wiser than you, boy. How much did she show you?”

“Until Thomas and the Gods cast the spell to banish Archon.”

“I see. Did you see what happened after Archon had been banished?”

Eric shook his head.

“Typical Antonia, always forgetting the finer the details. It was the clash between Archon and the God magic that created
those
,” his hand swept out to encompass the trio of volcanoes marring the horizon. “The collision of magic tore the crust of the earth, releasing the pent up forces beneath. The three cursed peaks were what resulted.”

Eric shivered, remembering the power the Gods had unleashed. “I see.”

“Do you see the greater lesson there though?” Alastair probed. A gust of wind toyed with his thin grey hair.

Confused, Eric shook his head.

“Even pure magic, cast with the best of intentions, can have disastrous results. Nature is an infinitely complex force, and magic is only a small part of that complexity. The smallest act can set in motion a chain of events not even the wisest of Magicker’s could predict.”

“Was that how this desert formed?”

“That is a part of it. The peaks created a rain shadow over Chole, cutting it off from the moisture laden air blown from the ocean. But the severity of the desert was Archon’s last curse. The God magic was enough to banish him and shatter his armies, but without complete control of the Light, it was not enough to remove all trace of his presence. Here was where his army made camp and where he cast his magic. Their evil still lingers here, cursing the land and everything in it. Maybe if Darius were to return, it would be different. But without his true mastery of the Light, here it remains.”

Eric shivered, glad the light of day had returned to the desert. His thoughts turned to the young king who had risked everything to wield the Sword of Light. “What happened to Thomas?”

“He lived a good life and then he died,” Alastair said softly.

“But what about his life?” the tales spoke little about the king after the war had been won.

Alastair sighed. “He was a good king and a good friend. He travelled the Three Nations for many years, visiting the new kings and helping the lands to rebuild after the war. He led several hunting parties after the last of Archon’s creatures. And he visited the wildlands of each nation, even Dragon country for a time.”

Eric sat up at that. “Why?”

“With his Earth magic, Thomas could befriend most creatures.”

“Was it the dragons who killed him?”

“No, but it was there that he died. I was not with him at the time, but I had left him well protected. Yet when his party reached Malevolent Cove, where they were to meet one of the great dragon tribes, something went wrong. When they did not return as expected, I set out at once. I found them there on the shoreline. Some had died by the blade, others had fallen without a mark on them. Thomas was not among them. I searched for weeks for a trace of my friend, but to no avail.”  

Eric swallowed. “And the Sword of Light?”

“It passed to his children, and grandchildren after that, and so on until today.”

There was a sense of finality in Alastair’s words. Eric fell silent, his mind conjuring images of events long since passed. At last he rose to his feet and wandered over to the horses. Reaching out to stroke Briar’s long snout, he pondered again the question he had asked the night before. Antonia’s story had not given an answer.

Across the camp, Alastair began to pack the last of their food into the saddlebags.

Eric took a deep breath and asked the question before his courage deserted him. “What is your purpose, Alastair?”

Alastair grew still. His head turned slowly to lock Eric in his steely gaze. “Antonia did not tell you?”

Eric shook his head. “No.”

For the briefest of seconds, confusion swept across Alastair’s face, and Eric wondered if he would answer.

“I am looking for a family.”

“Who? Why?” 

“You don’t need to know just yet. Now let’s get moving. We still have one more night in this hellish desert, let’s not make it two,” he finished strapping the last of the saddlebags to Elcano and swung himself into the saddle.

Eric sighed. Scrambling onto Briar’s back, he glared at Alastair. “Any idea when I
will
need to know?”

The old man laughed. “When you’re ready. Now, let’s ride!”

He gave his horse a quick kick. Elcano leapt forward in response, steel shoes slashing into the scorched earth. Splinters of rock flicked up behind him as he galloped away.

Briar pranced about in the dust cloud Elcano left behind. Eric coughed, hacking up the mouthful of dust he’d swallowed. He struggled to point Briar out of the dust cloud and then turned the horse to follow. Ahead Alastair had already checked his speed, and as Eric bounced in the saddle the distance between them quickly evaporated.

Eric groaned as his bruises began to throb. Resigning himself to another nightmarish ride, he locked his eyes on the volcanic peaks and prayed for them to grow.

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

Gabriel jogged across the barren plain, buoyed by a newfound energy. He carried his sheathed sword in one hand, his water skin in the other. It was easier than having them slapping at his side and catching between his legs. The skin was already half empty, but the wolf had promised it could find more water.  

The burning sun engulfed the horizon, stained only by the dark peaks far to the east. He squinted into the distance, although he knew his quarry was still at least a half day ahead. If only he had not lost his horse. The wolf loped effortlessly along beside him, tongue panting in the boiling air. It was never far from his side now.

They had started out an hour before sunrise, Gabriel’s impatience eventually winning out over caution. The night had been a long one, his sleep racked by nightmares. Face flew through his mind, the ghosts of people he had once known, spirits demanding revenge. One by one they had faded away, leaving only a burning hatred to fill his heart. 

They came across the campsite around midday, but Gabriel could make little sense of what he saw there. Three distinct sets of footsteps were evident in the loose gravel. From the size of the third step, they could only come from by a bare footed child.

What was a child doing here, of all places?

Gabriel pondered the question a moment before casting it aside. There were more important things to consider.

There were also obvious signs the camp had come under attack during the night. Blood had splattered the ground and congealed into a pool in one place. Gabriel wondered if anyone could lose so much blood and survive.  There was no sign of a body or grave.

Strangest of all was the bush that stood in the centre of the campsite. Pink flowers were sprinkled amidst the green leaves, glowing in the noonday sun. Breathing in the sweet scent, Gabriel felt a fluttering in his chest. For a fleeting second the hate that gripped his heart melted away and he felt the pain of all he had lost seep through.

Beside him, the wolf began to growl.
They have already left, hours ago on horseback. We must move if we are to catch them.

The tendrils of hate snapped closed. Gabriel nodded grimly, fingers running across the hilt of his sword.

They set off once more, picking their way through the rocky desert. The path threaded its way among the boulders and petrified trees, often splitting in two or disappearing altogether. The wolf led the way without hesitation, leaving Gabriel no choice but to follow in frustration.

The wolf whispered as they walked, always in this mind.
Yes, they came this way. Just a few hours ago now. Keep moving. We’re close.

Yet even Gabriel’s newfound strength was fading beneath the heat of the midday sun. As the day wore on, he found himself slowing, his sword growing heavy. By mid-afternoon his legs burned and his calves were beginning to cramp, making every step an agony. Still he pushed on, determined to claim a few more miles before the sun set.

In his mind, an image flickered into life. He found himself in a tiny room before a great fire, his arms up to their elbows in a pair of thick leather gloves. In his hands he clutched a heavy pair of tongs, a horseshoe glowing in their iron grip. A man larger than life stood beside him, his giant grin hidden beneath a woolly beard. The roar of the furnace rang in his ears and the smell of burning metal touched his nose. His chest swelled.

The image vanished. Gabriel groaned, finding himself on his knees, the wolf growling at his side.

He closed his eyes, searching for the picture, for whatever he had felt when it had come to life.
Was it a memory?

They are escaping.

Gabriel swore, remembering his quarry. He leapt to his feet, exhaustion forgotten. He still remembered one thing. He could see their faces with crystal clarity.

Kill the ones who hurt you!

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

Inken lay on the hard desert ground. The jagged rocks stabbed through her clothes and dug into her skin. The pounding in the back of her head was growing worse, leaving her thoughts jumbled and confused. Her mouth was as dry as the parched desert soil. A groan came rumbling from deep in her throat at the thought of water. Her muscles ached and her skin burned beneath the hot sun. She could no longer muster the strength to stand.

The shortcut across the desert had been a foolish move. No one came this way anymore, and certainly not alone. Yet the reward had been too tempting. Just three nights ago, the messenger pigeons had flown into Chole. Within hours the city’s underground was alive with the news – of the reward offered for the head of the demon boy said to have burned Oaksville to the ground.

At first most had scoffed at the news. The letters must be a hoax; there was no demon, no boy, no attack on Oaksville. But other birds soon followed and the news spread that Oaksville had been attacked; first by magic, then by Baronian raiders. No one could say whether the city still stood, but the bounty stood regardless.

Inken had wasted a day dithering before she finally decided to pursue the bounty. Unfortunately, by then half the bounty hunters in the city were already out to find the ‘demon boy,’ leaving her far behind the pack.

She knew most would not dare the ride through the desert. The short cut would take at least a day off the ride, allowing her to comfortably overtake the other hunters. She scoffed at the superstitious fear which blinded the others, confident that with her longsword and bow she could fend off any trouble.

How arrogant she had been, how foolish. The childhood tales of the monsters that lurked in the desert should have warned her. The people of the Chole made no secret of the dangers lurking outside their city walls.

It had not taken long for her to discover the truth behind those tales. She had never even seen the beast. The first she knew of the danger was when her gelding suddenly reared up on its hind legs, its steel-capped hooves flailing. With a terrified scream the horse bolted, leaving her clinging desperately to the saddle horn. Even then, the beast almost had them.

Just a few feet from the path, the beast exploded from the earth. It ran on all fours, short yellow fur bristling over its catlike body. Powerful muscles propelled it after them, its claws digging deep into the hard ground. On four legs, it was almost as large as her horse, with a mouth large enough to crush her skull. Giant teeth bristled as it roared, sending ripples of terror down her spine.

The chase seemed to last hours, with only inches separated the two beasts. Hungry jaws snapped at her gelding’s tail. She spurred her horse on, although it hardly needed the encouragement.