Stormwielder (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 1) (12 page)

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the beast disappeared. 

Her horse ran on. Desperately she tugged at the reins, eager to slow their pace in the treacherous terrain. Here the ground was a perilous tapestry of rocks, scree and petrified trees. The gelding plunged onwards, oblivious to everything but its terror.

Suddenly, the horse collapsed beneath her and Inken was flying from the saddle. The earth rushed up to meet her. She raised her arms to protect herself, and then came the jarring thud of impact. She heard something go
crack
, followed by searing pain as rocks slashed and stabbed through the flesh of her stomach and chest. She tumbled head over heal, the rocky ground scraping skin from bone.

The horse screamed again, struggling to rise behind her. Inken shuddered with pain, a moan growing in her chest. She glimpsed the terrified animal from the corner of her eye. Its leg bent at a sickening angle.

Inken felt herself slipping away and gladly gave way to the abrupt relief of unconsciousness.

When she woke, the horses screaming had ceased. She looked across to see its still body lying next to her, its glassy eyes staring into nothing.

Inken closed her eyes, willing strength into her shattered body. The pain was unbearable. Summoning every ounce of her courage, she struggled to regain her feet. Agony lanced through her right arm and leg and she knew they were broken. The rest of her was a red and purple mess, as though the skin had been flayed from her body. Her nose throbbed and she reached up to twist it back into place. The cartilage gave a sickening crack, but the relief was almost immediate.

Somehow, she had pulled herself to her feet. Somehow, she had hobbled on her left leg back towards the road, evading the beasts for Gods only knew how long. Somehow, she had survived.

But now she was finished. She could no longer muster the strength to stand. The pain was unbearable, her energy long since melted away by the heat of the sun.

Her body still found the water for tears.
Fool,
she cursed herself.
How could you have been so arrogant? So foolish?

Lying helpless in the cooking sun, Inken waited for death. It didn’t seem right for it to end like this. She had yet to reach her twentieth birthday. Of course, life was never fair. She knew that better than most. Fair would have been two loving parents, rather than a mother who abandoned her to an abusive father. The evil old man would be laughing now; he had always said she was nothing without him.

The clatter of hooves on rock came from away to her left. Her eyes shot open. She turned her head and squinted into the painful light. Two horses were riding past not five yards away, their riders talking softly in the dying light.

“Help!” Inken tried to shout, but her throat cracked and the word came out as a whisper. She swore silently to herself.

“Help me!” the call was louder this time. “Please!”

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

“Alastair, why did my magic only... awaken... when I turned fifteen?” the question had plagued Eric for a while now.

“So late?” Alastair asked. He sat on a rock opposite Eric where they had stopped to rest the horses.

Eric nodded.

“Most develop earlier, but then that is in families with a long lineage of magic,” he closed his eyes, his brow furrowed in thought. “Magic always awakens on the anniversary of our births, but which birthday depends on each individual and the environment they’re exposed too. The more magic you come into contact with in your childhood, the faster your own will develop.”

Eric shook his head, still coming to grasps with the intricacies of the mysterious force. “Okay.”

Alastair stood, brushing crumbs from his cloak. “We’re running short of water and supplies, but there is a spring ahead. If we make good time, we should be able to reach it by nightfall.”

Eric rolled his shoulders and groaned. The riding was slowly growing easier, but his body still ached from the long hours in the saddle. “Alright then, well we’re not getting any closer sitting here I guess.”

They mounted up and rode on, pushing their horses to a fast trot. The rocky miles wore away beneath pounding hooves, as the sun slowly dropped towards the distant horizon. The land around them was silent and still. The burning sun stung their eyes, leaving them squinting into the distance in search of danger. 

At last, the sun touched the horizon behind them, and Alastair slowed their pace to a walk. It would be easy in the lengthening shadows to make a mistake on the rough terrain.

“It won’t be far now,” Alastair reassured him.

Eric did not reply, drawing his horse to a stop. He listened to the whisper of the wind through the rocks around them. He thought he had heard a cry. The leather reins scrunched in his hands. His eyes roamed the landscape, searching for movement. The creatures attack the night before was still fresh in his mind.

“Help me!” the call was so soft Eric would have missed it had he not stopped his horse.

“Help!” it came again.

He turned his head, trying to identify the source. Hairs prickled on the back of his neck as he considered the possibility of a trap. The voice was distinctly human though,
and female.
Yet he could see nothing amidst the tumbled rocks and petrified wood adjacent to the trail.

Eric shook his head, wondering if his mind was playing tricks. Then one of the rocks seemed to move and he realised he had been looking straight at her. The dull brown of her leather jacket and leggings blended in with the dirt and baked stone, camouflaging her into the desert.

“Alastair, wait!” he pulled on Briar’s reins, sending the horse off the trail.

The young woman’s hazel eyes followed him as he approached. Eric shuddered as he took in her injuries. He could not imagine the pain she must be suffering. Her bright red hair was thick with dirt and dried blood ran down her forehead and neck. Tears in her jacket revealed bloody wounds and purple bruises and her leg was twisted at a horrific angle. The relentless sun had burned the skin of her face bright red. Her eyes were swollen with exhaustion and her whole body shook as though she were outside on a winter’s day.

Eric watched her struggle to sit up as he approached. He was shocked by the courage the feat must have taken. It was not enough though, and as Eric leapt from his horse she slid back to the ground. Her eyes closed as she slipped into unconsciousness.

Alastair dismount behind him and the two crouched beside her. Alastair pulled his water skin from his belt and held it to her lips. Cradling her head, he trickled a small amount into her mouth.

After a few swallows she started to cough and Alastair pulled the skin back. “Don’t speak, girl. Save your strength.”

Eric pulled a blanket from his saddle and covered her, hoping it might help protect her from the sun. He wondered what horrific accident had befallen her. She carried no food or water and her only weapon was a knife strapped to her side.

Alastair gave her another gulp of water before capping the water skin. “That’s enough for now. Anymore and you’ll be sick.”

“Thank you,” somehow she managed a smile, her dried lips cracked and bleeding. “I’m Inken.” Her eyes closed again.

“Eric, help me with her. We will have to be very careful, who knows what injuries she may have. I’ll ride with her on my horse. We need to get her to the spring. She needs water and broth to replace the salts she’s lost in the sun.”

“Will she make it?”

“I don’t know. Her best chance is if we can get her to the spring. It’s not far now,” they knelt either side of her and placed her arms over their shoulders. “Careful, this arm is broken. We’ll need to do this very gently.”

“What do you think happened to her?”

“We’ll have to ask her when she wakes again. Now help me get her to Elcano.”

Eric carefully took her weight on his shoulder. For a small woman she was heavy. He wondered again who she was, what she had been doing in the desert alone.

Together they managed to get her slung over Alastair’s saddle. Alastair climbed up behind her, while Eric helped rearrange the limp woman so she would not fall. She did not stir through the entire ordeal.

Alastair took up his reins while Eric mounted Briar. He patted the horse’s mane before they set off, knowing the horses needed the water as much as they did. They rode into the night, the horizon behind them stained red with the dying sun.

Eric poked restlessly at the fire with a stray piece of wood. Dust and sand had worked its way into every seam of his clothing and the rocky ground dug into his backside whichever way he sat. He was relieved to be free of Briar’s bouncing saddle, but now he found himself on edge, his eyes constantly searching the darkness around them.  He could only imagine what dread beasts might be staring back.

At least they had found the spring. A trickle of water ran down a nearby rock face and slowly gathered in a bowl of loose soil at its base. They had almost emptied the pool filling their water skins, and now Briar and Elcano stood waiting patiently for their turn to drink.

A rocky escarpment hemmed them in on three sides, hiding their campfire from prying eyes. The sun had set long ago, stealing away the world beyond the firelight. An eerie silence settled on the campsite, disturbed only by the crunching of their footsteps on the rocky ground. Eric’s dread grew with each passing minute.

At least Alastair said they would arrive in Chole by noon the next day. He would not be sorry to see the last of the arid wasteland. Although the thought of entering the city was worrying in an entirely different way. Alastair had taught him the basics of magic, but he still knew nothing about controlling it.

The girl, Inken lay opposite him, shivering by the fire. They had covered her with blankets and managed to feed her more water, but she had not stirred since they arrived. Her hair blazed red in the firelight, its glow intoxicating. The hard lines in her young face had softened with sleep.

They had cleaned the sand from the worst of her wounds and bound her broken limbs to branches they had scavenged from the long dead trees which scattered the desert. There was little more they could do until they reached Chole and found a healer.

Alastair sat stirring the pot of stew he had just taken from the fire. Earlier he had added the last of their food; a sprinkling of hard vegetables and salted pork. If Inken woke, she would need whatever they could get into her to restore what had been lost to the unforgiving sun.

Alastair placed the pot back over the fire. “It still needs some more time. I’m going to check our fire is properly hidden. I don’t want any surprises this time; we might not get so lucky twice.”

Eric chuckled softly. “Okay, I’ll keep an eye on her. Be careful.”

He watched Alastair disappear into the night, and then returned his gaze to the young woman beside the fire. A thousand questions were bouncing around in his mind. What had she been doing out here? While a few inches taller than him, she could not be much older than his own seventeen years. He looked closely at the burns marking her skin and shuddered. The only part of her untouched was the fiery red hair, and even that was tangled and filthy.

With luck though they would find a healer among Antonia’s priests in Chole. The temples of the Earth were renowned for their healers, although whether the temple in Chole still survived was another matter. The Earth element held little sway in the Wasteland.  

Eric added their last stick to the fire. Alastair had hacked the branches from one of the fallen trees. The heat and dust of the desert had turned the ancient logs the colour of rock, but beneath they were still wood, desiccated by time and heat into the perfect firewood.

“Who are you?”

Eric jumped, his reaction prompting a chuckle from the pile of blankets. The laugh was rich and good-natured, but ended with a groan of pain. “Oh, I shouldn’t have done that!”

Eric stood and walked around the fire to sit beside her. By the firelight, he saw one on the gashes on her face had split and was bleeding again. He offered her the water skin, and then gently pressed a damp cloth to her face to stem the bleeding.

She grasped the skin and took a long swig. She sighed as she finished. “Water never tasted so good.”

Eric removed the cloth as she took another mouthful. Then she handed it back, her eyes now sharp and alert. Eric could almost see the questions ticking over in her mind.

“Thank you, kind stranger,” her big hazel eyes stared up at him. “May I ask who you are?”

Eric grinned. “My name is Eric and my old friend is Alastair. We’re travelling to Chole. You’re lucky we saw you as we passed.”

Inken offered him her good hand, although it was still scratched and torn. Eric took it gently.

“Thank you, Eric. I owe you and Alastair my life. I’m Inken. I made a foolish mistake deciding to travel to Oaksville by the desert path. I was lucky my mare was able to outrun the desert beast that attacked us. Sadly, before I could stop her she tripped on the uneven ground, nearly killing the both of us.”

Eric stilled at the mention of Oaksville. He scarcely heard the rest of her story, his heart sinking at the thought of breaking news to her. He could already see the grief and tears on her face, and wondered who it was she had risked so much to visit.

Everything seemed to come back to that single, horrific mistake.

“I’m sorry, Inken. I don’t know how to say this, but we came through Oaksville. There wasn’t much left of the town,” he spoke the words softly.

Inken nodded and her eyes closed tight with pain. “Argh, everything hurts. I know what happened to Oaksville. The towns Magistrate sent a letter. He offered a lot of gold for the head of the one who did it. I was planning on claiming it.”

Eric’s blood ran cold. He gaped, the muscles of his neck growing taught. He shivered, suddenly seeing Inken in another light. The lines of her face seemed to harden, a dark glint appearing in her eyes. He saw now the thick muscles of her arms and shoulders as those of a warrior, of a hunter.

His eyes flickered to the dagger at her side. Her fingers lingered near its hilt. He wished now they had disarmed her while she lay unconscious. An icy hand seized his heart.
What if she finds out who I am?

He realised she was staring and that he had not said anything for some time. He gave himself a mental shake. “You are a brave woman. The wreckage that was left in Oaksville,” he shook his head.

Inken chuckled. “I’m no longer sure if I was brave, or stupid. Trying to tackle the desert alone was certainly a bad move. I had given up hope when you appeared. I certainly don’t have a chance in hell of claiming the reward now.”

“Perhaps it’s for the best. How could you have killed such a powerful demon?”

Inken absently flicked a strand of hair from her face. “Demon, Magicker, or mortal, an arrow from the shadows will kill most things.”

Eric gulped, his voice deserting him.

Alastair’s return saved him. He reappeared without warning, his footsteps somehow silent as he walked across the gravel. He sat down opposite them, letting a pile of firewood tumble to the ground. 

“Hello, you must be Alastair,” Inken greeted him.

Alastair smiled. “I am, and you are Inken.”

She nodded. “So why are the two of you travelling to Chole?”

When Alastair did not answer, Eric spoke. “You’ll have to weasel that out of Alastair, I’m just tagging along,” he hesitated. “Perhaps you should get some sleep for now though,” Eric no longer felt much like talking. Being around someone looking to kill him had robbed all the enjoyment from the conversation.

Moving away, he lay down on the hard ground and closed his eyes. The world seemed to rock beneath him. He struggled to ignore the queasy feeling in his stomach. Alastair had mentioned the motion of the horses could linger sometimes after a long ride. It would pass though – he only had to endure.

He heard Alastair move over to the fire and stir the pot of stew. The flames crackled as he added more wood to the fire. Eric licked his lips, stomach growling. He hoped the food would be ready soon.

His thoughts returned to the enigmatic Inken. Just thinking of her made his heart race. Beneath the burns and bruises, it was obvious she was a beautiful girl. And a very dangerous foe. Despite her seemingly agreeable nature, bounty hunters were notoriously ruthless. If she discovered who they really were, Eric had little doubt she would turn on them.

He found himself wondering whether they should just leave her in the desert. Then he shook his head, angry at the selfish thought. He could not leave an innocent girl to die, whether she wished to kill him or not. That would only make him as bad as the demon they thought him to be.

“It’s ready,” Alastair announced.

Eric opened his eyes and took the wooden bowl Alastair offered him. The thick stew gave off a rich aroma of meat and herbs, although there was little substance to it.

“Give it to Inken,” he said.

Eric gave a reluctant nod and moved across to the injured woman. From the slow rise and fall of her chest she appeared to be asleep, but her eyes snapped open as he approached. She offered a smile when she saw him. “Ah, my hero returns. And with
food
. The two of you are resourceful, aren’t you?”

Eric found his smile as he offered the bowl.

Inken reached out a hand to take it, then hesitated. Her cheeks flushed. “I’m not sure I can hold it,” she opened her hands to show the raw flesh of her palms. She hesitated. “Do you… do you think you could help me?” her face turned crimson. This was a girl used to taking care of herself.

Eric felt his own face grow hot. Just sitting near the young woman made him nervous. Sweat trickled down his neck. A confusing string of emotions ran through his head. “I, I…” he stuttered.

“Please, Eric?”

Eric looked at her, lying there helpless, begging for his help. She had come so close death in the desert and she was not out of the woods yet. Her broken arm lay limp at her side and he could see the muscles in her neck twitching with pain. The grazes on her hands were so deep you could almost see the bone.

He nodded at last, casting aside his doubts. “Okay.”

Digging into the bowl, he offered her a spoonful of broth. It disappeared into her mouth. She closed her eyes and chewed, making even that simple task look to be an effort. However, it did not take long for her to finish, so he offered another mouthful.

Eric found himself smiling. The whole situation was surreal. Here he was, spoon-feeding a woman hired to kill him.

Her burns were almost invisible in the dim firelight. Eric studied her as she ate, finding himself torn. He searched for a hint of the killer in the glint of her eyes, or the sharp curve of her cheekbones. Yet all he could see was her injured beauty. He could not connect the girl before him with the image of a ruthless bounty hunter.

When she had finished the stew, Eric stood and returned to his own patch of gravel. Alastair offered him another bowl and Eric happily gulped it down. His stomach rumbled as he ate, grateful for the meal.

“Eat quickly, Eric. You’ll need your strength. We have time for one more lesson before we reach Chole and I think we had better make good use of it.”

“Ssh,” Eric glimpsed at Inken to see if she had heard, but saw her eyes had closed.

Alastair waved a hand. “Don’t worry about her. I waited a while outside the firelight and heard you talking. I slipped a pinch of sleeping herb into her bowl. She’ll sleep through the night now.”

Eric took a deep breath to calm his frayed nerves. “What do we do with her?”

Alastair shook his head. “Nothing. I don’t believe she has made any connection between us and her quarry. So long as we’re careful, there shouldn’t be any danger. Now finish that stew. We have some real magic to learn now.”

Eric swallowed the last morsel and placed the bowl beside him. The meat had been tough and the vegetables tasteless, but even so he could feel the energy returning to his arms and legs. He hoped it would keep him going until they reached Chole.

Alastair walked from the firelight and into the night. Eric followed, eyes drawn to the deep shadows of the canyon. If any beasts were lurking, they had just moved into their territory.

Alastair stopped and faced him. “Okay. As you know, magic at its most basic level is controlled by the emotions. Fear, anger, love, hate; it will respond to each if not properly managed. To
harness
the power and bend it to our own will, you must discover how your magic and your emotions are linked. We achieve this through meditation.”

“Meditation?”

“Meditation is a technique apprentices usually learn at a young age, which allows them to develop control of the mind and body. Eventually, it allows a Magicker to find the link between their emotions and magic, and summon their powers at will,” he paused, his eyes growing unfocused. Around them pieces of gravel gently lifted into the air. “In other words, it will allow
you
to manipulate the weather, rather than your emotions.”

“Right now I’d be happy just to stop myself losing control,” Eric sighed.

Alastair smiled. “That will be a start. I hope with time you will be capable of far more than that. There are certain dangers to consider before then, but they are some way down the road. Now, let us begin. Sit down and cross your legs, laying your hands gently at your side,” Alastair moved into the posture as he spoke.

Eric copied the old man, the hard desert gravel digging into his backside. Grimacing, he shifted until he felt more comfortable, and then looked back to Alastair.