Stormwielder (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 1) (5 page)

Grimacing Eric did the same and urged Briar to draw alongside Alastair. He wobbled in the saddle as they drew opposite, then recovered and looked over at the old man.

Alastair had his good arm raised above his head, his fist clenched hard. The veins on his forehead seemed to leap from his skin as he strained to attempt some fresh feat of magic. A brilliant flash of light burst from his fist, forcing him to look away.

A cry came from behind them and Eric looked back in time to see their purser knocked from his saddle. Timber crunched as the man dropped into the dense undergrowth while his horse galloped on without him. Then Briar carried him out of sight.

A few minutes later Eric drew in a breath of relief and pulled back on the reins. Alastair did the same and they drew to a stop. Still gasping for air, Eric slid from the saddle. His feet crumpled when they touched the soft earth. A swarm of insects rose up to meet him. He ignored them, his mind still reeling with the shock of the attack, of their escape.

The damp ground felt reassuring beneath his hands, an anchor to reality.

Finally, he looked up at Alastair. “Who were those people?”

There was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He already knew the answer but could not bring himself to believe it.

“A raiding party – Baronian bandits from the black leather. A lot of them too. Gabriel and those men didn’t stand a chance, not after being taken by surprise.”

“And Oaksville?” Eric croaked.

Alastair shook his head. “That’s no doubt what drew them here – the smoke from the town. I don’t know. The town’s walls are high, but if the gates are open…”

A shiver went through Eric. For a pack of bandits to descend on Oaksville after the disaster last night – the chances were small the town would survive. Baronian’s were not known for their mercy. They were more than just outlaws; they were a godless, landless people. Some groups were peaceful, but most were ruthless killers who made their living off the misfortune of others. Patrols kept them from the main roads and cities but lately they had grown bold. Still, it was unheard of for them to attack a town the size of Oaksville.

“Is there anything we can do to help them?”

Alastair grabbed the bolt in his shoulder, grimaced, and tore it out. He groaned, wavering on his feet, then opened his eyes and stared at the bloody thing. The puckered skin of his shoulder was bruised and swollen, stained by the blood that had scabbed around the wound. Fresh blood began to flow from the tear the bolt had left. Alastair grunted and threw the piece of metal away.

His gaze returned to Eric. “No. I’m sorry Eric, but their fate lies in their own hands now. There is nothing either of us, in this state, can do.”

Eric stared up from the ground, eyes locked on the blood oozing from Alastair’s shoulder.

“You should do something about that,” he snapped.

Alastair glared back. Eric let the silence stretch out, unable to put words to the pain and horror he felt at this final blow to Oaksville.

Muffled by the forest around them, the dying sounds of the battle being fought on the road was an all too vivid reminder of Oaksville’s fate.

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

The air exploded from Gabriel’s lungs as he struck the ground. Pain shot through his chest and he struggled to draw breath. Beside him his horse kicked and screamed in agony, the black shafted arrow still sticking from its chest. His men stampeded around him, their formation turned to chaos. Leaderless and taken by surprise they were unable to fight back against whoever, or whatever, had attacked.

Gabriel scrambled in the mud for his sword. The press of horses threatened to crush him but he finally managed to scramble to his feet. Body aching, heart racing with fear, he looked around at the cacophony of men and horses. The rain of arrows had ceased but now men streamed from the trees, launching themselves at the panicked townsfolk. Each wore the black leather armour of the Baronian’s.

A shiver ran down Gabriel’s spine. There were too many. Already half his horsemen had fallen to arrows and the rest were quickly being dispatched.

Gabriel swore. How could this be happening? They had been so close, had the boy within their grasp. Now their quarry had disappeared in the chaos and his followers were dead, dying, or fleeing for their lives. At least the footmen they had left behind would be warned of the coming raid. They could to retreat back to the town and close the gates. Oaksville may still survive – if there were enough men left to man the walls.

The scream of a dying horse interrupted Gabriel’s thoughts. He turned in time to dive from the path of a battle-axe. He slammed into the ground and rolled, springing back to his feet with his sword at the ready.

The axe man grinned, his face black with soot to match his armour. He raised his axe and with a scream of rage, charged. Gabriel leapt backwards as the axe carved an arc through the space where he had stood. There would be no blocking such a blow with his tiny short sword.

As the axe swept past Gabriel rushed forward, sword stabbing out to disembowel his opponent. The axe man met him with a fist to the face that knocked Gabriel flat on his back. His vision swum. Instinctively he rolled and heard the thunk of the axe blade as it embedded itself in the soft ground. He kicked out at his foes legs and heard a satisfying grunt as the man fell.

Ignoring the pain throbbing from his nose, Gabriel threw himself atop his attacker. His sword had been lost when he fell so he smashed his fist into the axe man’s face. The man surged against him, but he was no match for the strength Gabriel had built as a blacksmith.

Grimacing, Gabriel gripped his black garbed foe by the throat and began to squeeze. He saw panic flash across the man’s coal speckled eyes. Arms flailed at him, struggling to break his iron grip. Veins popped on the man’s forehead and his eyes began to turn red.

Gabriel clung on, determined to destroy this man who had thwarted his revenge. His vision swept with red and his ears filled with a wild cackling. A madness swept over Gabriel, and he was suddenly sure it was the laughter of the demon boy, taunting him with his freedom.

When the laughter finally died away, Gabriel found himself strangling a dead man. Tears streamed down his face. He swallowed hard and stood, running his hands through his thick hair.
What is happening to me?

He looked up at the crunch of nearby footsteps. Another axe man approached, a grim look on his face. Rust speckled the blade but it looked as sharp as any he had seen.

Gabriel swept up his sword and regained his feet. He sidestepped the man’s first blow but this time was more cautious with the counter attack. Their weapons clashed, sparks leaping between them. The sounds of the battle faded away until there was only the ring of their weapons, the crunch of their boots, and his opponent’s laboured breath.

The axe man raised his weapon again and Gabriel caught the flash of blue eyes staring out from beneath bushy eyebrows. He ducked forwards without thought and the decapitating swing passed over him. His shoulder struck the ground but he rolled forward and regained his feet.

His opponent’s eyes widened in surprise. He struggled to bring his weapon about to defend himself, but Gabriel’s blade was already in motion. It plunged through the man’s leather armour and deep into his chest. A rattling sound grew in the man’s throat. The axe slipped from his fingers as he fumbled at the blade impaling him. His legs gave way beneath him and he slumped to the ground.

Grabbing the hilt of his sword with both hands, Gabriel tore the blade free. He stumbled as his vision swam again. Now a dark ghost of man seemed to hover over him, hands reaching out for him. The spectral mouth opened and the soft whisper of words touched the air. The language was strange and foreign to him. The figure leaned closer, and then vanished.

Gabriel shook his head, trying to shake the apparition. The battle had moved on without him. The Baronian’s had forced his remaining men farther down the road towards town. There were only a dozen or so left standing. They fought hard but they were on foot now, their horses long dead. It would not be long before the Baronian’s trampled the last of them into the ground. As he watched another villager died, a sword spearing through his chest.

The dead and dying covered the road, most his own men. Far too few of their black cloaked enemy lay amid the fallen. Riderless horses wandered aimlessly amid the corpses. There was no trace of the boy or old man. They had vanished and so must he if he wanted to live. If he wanted to catch them.

Gabriel slipped away into the forest, casting one last glance behind him. Through the press of bodies, the raised blades and falling leaves, he saw his last man fighting against the tide. Across the distance their gazes caught.

Gabriel choked and looked away. He had not missed the accusation, the question.
Why are you alive, while we are dead?

When he looked again there was only the black and bloodied Baronian’s. Other than the few who had fled, his men were all slain.

He moved further into the forest. For now he would hide. Later he would return to the road. There was only one way his quarry could run now. And he would be waiting there for them.

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

Gabriel sat on a cool stone pedestal amongst the trees, the rain falling around him. It had long since soaked through his coat and filled his boots. Yet still he sat here. The strength and determination that had driven him this far had fled, leaving a dull emptiness within him.

The patter of rain on leaves grew stronger. Water had begun to gather in the small recesses of the pedestal on which he sat. With each drip ripples raced across the puddle, reflecting and multiplying in on each other.

Gabriel watched the ripples with detached curiosity. His hands were pale with cold and every few seconds an involuntary shiver would shake his body. His sword stuck from the ground a foot away, in reach if the need arose.

Gabriel shivered again, but not from the cold. There was a voice in his mind.
Beautiful, aren’t they?
So complex, yet so predictable. Each path can be tracked, followed, foreseen.

Gabriel groaned. He shut his eyes and put his head between his hands. The voice hissed through his mind, slivered into his every thought. It had started as a whisper as he fled from the road – now it filled every recess of his conscious.

His head ached, throbbing with each new word. What would make it stop? What did it want?

“To help you.”

His eyes shot open. This time the voice had not come from within.
It was real!

Gabriel reeled back as he took in the shadowy figure towering above him, tumbling from the pedestal in his panic. He opened his mouth to cry out but no sound escaped. Shaking with fear, he looked up, praying he had imagined the apparition.

The thing loomed – not just over him but the whole clearing. The great trees of the forest shrank before it, the dark presence withering their ancient strength. The rustling of leaves, the shrieking wind, the pitter-patter of rain – all seemed to flee before this being’s presence. Dark silhouettes raced about the spectres body, clothing it in a cloak of living death.

It’s not there,
he insisted to himself.

“You are correct, but that does not mean I am not real,” its voice was a roar now, deafening.

Gabriel’s mouth opened and closed. Finally he found his voice. “What do you want with me then, evil one? Out with it!”

A shrieking laugh filled the clearing. “Evil? Who are you to judge me of that? You know not who or what I am.”

Gabriel swallowed hard but did not reply. He knew what he felt,
what he saw.

“
What do you want?”
he demanded once more.

“To help you on your quest.”

“Why? Why would you want death for your fellow demons?”

“My reasons matter not. Why do you care? Is not the death of these demons all that matters to you now? I ask nothing in return, nor will I take anything from you.”

“And why would I need your help?” Gabriel found courage in his anger.

It laughed again, now a soft, crackling sound that reached through the air and clawed at his sanity. There was a creeping corruption in the laugh that sent tendrils through his very soul. It called to him, begged him to join the rancid laughter. He had never been so glad as when it stopped.

“Look around you. Your men are dead. Your town a ruin. And here you sit, freezing in the rain, while your quarry draws ever farther away.”

Gabriel shook his head. How could this creature help him? And even if it could he was not so naïve as to believe there would be no cost.

“What help could you possibly offer me?”

“Immunity from their magic, and the means to track them down.”

Uncertainty gripped him then, for what it offered would guarantee his success. Without their magic they were only mortal men. And he had already proven he could handle mortal men. They would not escape justice this time.

He looked again at the source of this gift, at the demon towering amidst the clearing. What would it gain from their deaths?