Oathbreaker (Legend of the Gods Book 1)

by Aaron Hodges

  “Hey, no fair!” Alana laughed, chasing after him. “You get back here, you little brat!”

  “Ha!” Her brother glanced back and pulled a face. He ducked around a row of roses, placing the thorny plants between them. “Catch me if you can!”

  Alana gave a dramatic sigh, then darted towards him. Her brother’s laughter echoed off the high walls, drawing stares from the other occupants of the garden. Laughing to herself, Alana ignored them. It was good to have time with her brother, time to be a child, to run and play again.

  Ahead, her brother disappeared behind a line of trees. Picking up the pace, Alana darted to the left. She sprinted along the treeline until she found a gap between the broad trunks, then dashed through, ducking as the branches snapped at her face. Exploding back into the open, she spun in time to catch her brother mid-leap.

  “Argh!”

  “Gotcha!” Alana cried, a triumphant grin on her face.

  Braidon squirmed in her grip, but there was no breaking free. Finally, he gave up, his body going still. Looking up, he extended his lower lip in a pout.

  Alana laughed. “I told you there was no escape!”

  “How very true.”

  Alana froze as a cold voice came from behind them. Her heart, already racing from the chase, thumped hard against her chest. Warmth spread to her cheeks as she looked down at her brother. He stood frozen now, eyes fixed over her shoulder, hand gripped tight to hers. Swallowing hard, Alana turned towards the voice.

  The world seemed to spin as she moved. A collective groan came from the nearby trees, their branches suddenly becoming twisted and misshapen, their bark stained black. She shrank as they leaned towards her, their branches like limbs, reaching out to grab her. The sky above darkened, the warmth falling away, replaced by a chill breeze that swept through the garden, its touch as sharp as a knife.

  Amongst it all stood Quinn, the lieutenant of the Stalkers. He wore the same dark legging and jerkin as that day in the stepwell, only now a chainmail vest covered his torso. Folding his arms, he stared at her, a smile on his face.

  Alana’s eyes slid down to the longsword at his waist. She clenched her fists, feeling the hopelessness rising within. Empty handed, she moved between the Stalker and her brother.

  “What do you want?”

  Unfolding his arms, Quinn stepped towards them.

  “Such a warm reunion.” He shook his head, his eyes boring into Alana’s. “I’m sorry to break it up. Are you ready, Alana?”

  Chapter 10

  Devon looked back as the rumble of galloping hooves approached behind them. Overhead, the remnants of last night’s storm still darkened the sky, threatening rain. Open fields spread out around them, obscured by a low haze that had swept in overnight. Squinting, Devon tried to make out the oncoming horsemen. Beside him, Kellian loosened a dagger in its sheath.

  The wind swirled, the mists parting to reveal the dark-cloaked riders. Devon breathed a sigh of relief as he saw their helms were of black steel, rather than the gold of the royal guard. Coming to a stop, they watched as the riders closed in on them, their burly steeds moving at pace. Only when they were a few yards away did the men finally pull back on the reins, bringing their horses to a halt.

  The rider in the lead reached up and removed his helm. Devon swore beneath his breath as he found the cold brown eyes of his former comrade staring down at him. Silently, he cursed the ale they’d drunk last night. He’d spent his remaining shillings getting roaringly drunk with Kellian in celebration of their newfound ‘freedom’. As a result, they’d both slept long past the dawn. The sun had been high in the sky by the time they’d set off down the Gods Road.

  The slightest smile touched Quinn’s lips. “Devon, so good to see you again.”

  “Likewise,” Devon replied softly.

  While they’d fought together during the civil war, things had never been more than professional between the two warriors. Quinn had built himself a fearsome reputation with his blade during the war—and his magic only made him all the more formidable. Yet it had been Devon who’d been promoted to lieutenant, something that seemed to rankle the former Battle Magicker. Devon’s rejection of a commission after the war had only added fuel to the man’s hostility.

  “Kellian, too, I see,” Quinn added, looking down at the smaller man. “What brings two former soldiers so far from the capital at such an inhospitable time of year?”

  Devon narrowed his eyes as he looked around the gathered horsemen. They had formed up in a semicircle around the two travellers, leaving them only one direction to flee. His fists tightened as he saw several hands resting on the pommels of swords. He returned his gaze to Quinn. The man spoke as though he’d expected to find them out here. Suddenly, Devon wondered whether the royal guard had sent the Stalkers after them. He quickly dismissed the idea—Quinn and his men had no interest in petty squabbles.

  “Thought Lon might have better prospects for work,” Devon answered. He cleared his throat. “And what brings the legendary Stalkers riding so hard down the Gods Road?”

  “Hunting,” Quin replied with a grin that sent ice trickling down Devon’s spine. The Stalker studied the two men a moment longer, before swinging down from the saddle. He was shorter than Devon by a head, but he carried himself with the authority of a much larger man. Stepping in close, he looked up at Devon. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  Devon frowned. This time there was no need to fake the expression. “Hunting?” He spread his hands. “Afraid not. I keep myself well clear of anything magic related. Bad for my health.”

  “The couple we hung a few days back, they came to you for help. Do you deny it?” Quinn replied, his eyes hard and unblinking.

  “They did,” Devon replied, unsurprised by the man’s knowledge. He didn’t need to ask how Quinn had come by the information. “I told them they should hand their son in to the Tsar.”

  Quinn nodded slowly. “Didn’t think you needed to share your information with the authorities, though?”

  Devon clenched his jaw. “Guess it slipped my mind.”

  The Stalker jabbed a finger at Devon’s chest. “I could put you away for that.”

  Anger flaring, Devon moved in close to the dark-cloaked man. “Is that so, lieutenant?” he asked quietly. His eyes flickered around the ring of horsemen. There were twelve of them, all armed with sabres. His gaze returned to Quinn. “Are you sure you brought enough men for that?”

  Quinn didn’t flinch, but Devon could see the sudden fear in his eyes. A smile spread across the hammerman’s unshaven cheeks. The lieutenant’s face turned red and he straightened, a sneer appearing on his lips.

  “Did you suddenly find your manhood then?” he laughed, nodding to the hammer on Devon’s back. “Or were you intending to hide behind your friend’s skirt?”

  Iron bands wrapped around Devon’s stomach. He bared his teeth, his hand moving unbidden to the haft of his hammer. Quinn’s eyes widened, but this time he did not move. Gripping kanker more tightly, Devon stared down at the man, feeling the rage burning through him. The moment stretched out, the air taut as a wire. Around them, the other Stalkers watched in silence.

  Finally, Devon let out a long breath and released his hammer. He took a step back, adding breathing space between himself and the lieutenant.

  “At least I haven’t made a living murdering women and children,” he muttered.

  Quinn bared his teeth, his hand dropping to his sabre. “You’d better show some respect, coward.”

  “Respect is earned, sonny,” Devon replied.

  “Earned?” Quinn said dangerously. Now it was his turn to step forward, his hand still wrapped around the hilt of his sabre. “Have I not earned your respect with all my years of service? For the decade I have spent serving our Tsar, protecting our nation from the scourge of wild magic?”

  “That couple was no threat to anyone.”

  “Their son was,” Quinn replied, eyes glittering. “Or did you not see wh
at he did at the stepwell?”

  “Ay, and what became of him, I wonder? Is he sitting in some dungeon now, or did you kill him yourself, lieutenant?”

  A smile appeared on Quinn’s face. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, big man,” he whispered. “But I digress. Where is the Magicker you’re hiding?”

  “There is no Magicker,” Devon growled. He spread his arms, as if to show he wasn’t hiding anyone up his sleeves. “Unless you think I suddenly developed the gift.”

  Quinn snorted. He stared at Devon for a long moment as though weighing him up, searching for some deceit or trick that would reveal the truth. But for once, Devon had nothing to hide. A smile twitched on his lips as the Stalker finally turned his attention to Kellian.

  “And what about you, Kellian?” he snapped.

  Kellian laughed. “Still just a simple innkeeper, I’m afraid.”

  Sneering, Quinn shook his head. “I heard the Firestone burned down. That would make you just a simpleton then, I guess?” Ignoring Kellian’s sudden loss of colour, Quinn looked back at Devon. “You had best watch yourself, Devon. Lots of accidents can happen on the road. Would be a shame if something happened to our cowardly hero.”

  With that, the man turned his back and returned to his horse. Mounting, he placed his fingers to his lips and let out a shrill whistle. The squadron surged forward, the massive horses racing around Kellian and Devon before setting off down the Gods Road at a trot.

  When the horsemen had faded back into the fog, Devon shook his head. “What do you think that was all about?”

  “I don’t know,” Kellian replied, his voice hollow, “but they’re out for blood. I hope those two kids aren’t on the road when they ride past.”

  The afternoon found Alana and her brother on the road, already half-a-dozen leagues from the Scarlet Feline. Alana had spent much of the night imagining the Stalker lieutenant she’d glimpsed in the stepwell chasing her and her brother through the gardens of her dreams. No matter how she tossed and turned, she could not escape him, couldn’t keep from returning to that same scene, that same question.

  Are you ready, Alana?

  No!

  How could she ever be ready to face such a man? She was good with a sabre, but the Stalker had access to magic, had been trained since youth to use it. She’d watched Quinn smash aside the young Magicker’s feeble flames and knock him unconscious in a matter of moments. What chance did a mere mortal like her stand against him?

  Unable to sleep any longer, Alana had risen with the first crow of the rooster and dressed quickly. Waking her brother had been difficult. He hadn’t been eager to leave the comfort of his bed, but in the end, she’d forced him, dragging him out from beneath the duvet and dumping him on the floor.

  He walked sullenly beside her now, his head down, lips pursed tight. He had hardly said a word all day, but she was just glad they’d gotten away without seeing Devon and his friend again. She’d been afraid they’d offer to join them on the road. She still had her reservations about the man’s apparent change of heart, but it was her brother that concerned her more. He was untutored in his power. What if he accidentally revealed it to the two men? Friendly as they now appeared, Alana knew she couldn’t trust such a secret to strangers.

  As they walked, she scanned the roadside, her eyes travelling out over the rolling farmland in search of danger. Here the land was used for pasture, the bright grass reviving the memory of her dreams. Sheep and cattle dotted the fields, heads down as they grazed. Earlier they’d walked past fields of maize and wheat, their long fronds obscuring her view. Even now a fog covered the ground, and she could only see several dozen yards in either direction. Away to her left she could just make out the towering treeline that marked the banks of the river Lon.

  Eventually they would have to cross the river to enter Lonia, but for now Alana was happy to follow the road as far north as they could. They would have to make the crossing themselves—after last night’s stay, there was no way they could afford another ferry. But there were bound to be narrow points they could ford.

  She paused midstride as dark shapes appeared through the fog ahead. Her heart started to race, but a moment later she let out a sigh as she realised they were only trees. Ahead, the open fields gave way abruptly to the twisted mass of a forest. Beside her, Braidon continued on with his head down, ignorant to their surroundings. Racing to catch up, she gripped him by the arm and nodded at the trees.

  “I think that’s Sitton Forest,” she murmured.

  His eyes widened as he looked up and saw the waiting trees. Shadows clung to the earth beneath their twisted trunks. Mould had turned their bark black, giving them an otherworldly look. Where the Gods Road met the trees, it split in two, one heading east around the forest, the other straight through. Small saplings sprouted from the overgrown path leading through the trees, and roots riddled the hard-packed earth.

  “Are you sure you want to go through?” her brother asked, his anger apparently forgotten.

  The fog seemed to press in around them as they came to a stop at the fork in the road. Alana swallowed, eyeing the trees. The sun remained hidden behind the clouds, but they still had several hours of daylight left. Not so in the forest. Beneath the canopy, darkness reigned. Biting her lip, she looked at her brother.

  “I—” She broke off as the sound of hooves pounding earth carried to them.

  She spun around, eyes searching the fog for sign of the horsemen. Her heart hammering in her chest, Alana shared a glance with her brother, but there was no telling who approached. The thick fog pressed closer, concealing everything more than a few feet from them.

  “The forest!” Alana hissed. Grabbing Braidon by the shirt, she dragged him down the path. “Come on, before they spot us.”

  An icy breath slid down her back as they staggered down the Gods Road and ducked into the trees on the side of the path. Crouching in the leaf litter, Alana stared back towards the south, seeking out the first sign of the riders. Her breath quickened as she glimpsed shadows through the blanket of grey-white. Blood rushed to her ears, deafening her. She held her breath, trying to still her nerves. Reaching out, she gripped her brother’s hand tight.

  As the horsemen neared, she began to make out details. They wore dark cloaks and black helms, the markings of the Tsar’s Stalkers. Alana crouched lower in the foliage and sent up a desperate prayer to any deity who might be listening. The blood froze in her veins as she recognised the face of the leader; the same face that had haunted her dreams.

  Quinn.

  His presence could not be a coincidence, surely? Did the Tsar have the power to reach out into her very mind now? Had his power led the Stalkers after them? The thought sent a shiver down to her very soul. Breath held, Alana watched them come, expecting the racing horsemen to plunge straight into the trees after them.

  The horsemen slowed as they approached the fork in the road. Alana cursed herself for rushing down the path without taking care to hide their tracks. The light was dim, and she prayed they would not spot any sign left by the two travellers.

  Quinn pulled his horse to a stop not twenty feet from where they hid, his eyes fixed to the ground. The other horsemen gathered behind him, their eyes on the forest and surrounding farmland. A frown furrowed Quinn’s face as he studied the trail, the gelding jostling beneath him. Its snorts were audible from Alana’s hiding place, and she could see foam flecking the coats of their horses. It was clear these men had been riding hard. Closing her eyes, Alana waited for the inevitable shouts of discovery.

  She caught the murmur of voices, and looked up again in time to see the lieutenant point his horse down the other trail. “We’ll take the ring road. If there’s still no sign of this Magicker by the time the paths re-join, half of us will head back through the forest, while the rest recheck the Gods Road.”

  Without waiting for a response from his men, Quinn kicked his horse. The beast leapt forward, racing down the path away from the forest. Alana let o
ut a breath as the other men followed suit. Slowly, the pounding of hooves faded into the distance. Sitting back on the damp ground, she looked at her brother with a smile.

  “Guess we’re going through the forest,” she panted, her heart still racing.

  Braidon said nothing, only nodded, and she read the fear in his eyes. The Stalkers had been so close, that a single movement might have given them away. She could only guess how the hunters had discovered them. The Tsar was said to have power beyond any ordinary Magicker, but surely if he knew their location, the Stalkers would not have ridden past them. She could only assume that meant the riders had no way of magically locating their prey.

  Alana had no intention of making the chase any easier for them. From here on out, they would keep off the road. If they walked amongst the trees alongside the path, she was confident they could find their way, and still prevent the riders from taking them by surprise again. It would make for slow going in the gloomy light beneath the canopy, but at least they’d be safe.

  Standing, Alana pulled Braidon up with her. “Come on, the faster we move, the more distance we put between us and them.”

  “Didn’t you hear what they said?” Braidon hissed. “They’re going to ride back through the forest.”

  “Yes, but they won’t see us,” Alana replied with a confidence she didn’t feel. “We’ll stick to the trees, follow the path from a distance.”

  She felt her brother trembling as he took her hand. “The trees?” His voice shook as he glanced around.

  Alana tried to keep the fear from her face as she followed his gaze. The innkeeper had been right, there was a weirdness to this forest, a wrongness she couldn’t quite place. But there was no movement beneath the canopy, no sign of danger—just twisting branches and curling green vines that crawled along the forest floor.