Oathbreaker (Legend of the Gods Book 1)
Page 11
“And you decided to change that?” Braidon spoke in a low voice, his eyes wide.
“I have tried,” Tillie replied sadly. “But I fear it has been for naught. The trees are rooted deep. They resist mortal weapons. Fire can hurt them, but only magic has the power to kill the creatures. I have cleared them from the city and the Gods Road, but others still remain, hidden in the depths of the forest.”
“You’re a Magicker then?” Alana asked, her heart quickening at the thought.
The old woman didn’t look up from the flames. “That would make me a renegade from the Tsar, would it not?” she asked, her voice barely audible above the popping of burning wood.
No one spoke for a moment, and quietly Alana let the subject die. Her eyes drifted to where kanker lay in the dirt, and her thoughts turned to the question they’d been pondering before the woman appeared. Reaching out, she lifted the weapon and brushed it clean with her hand.
“How did Devon kill the tree, then?” she asked quietly. “He has no magic.”
“Alan,” Tillie replied. “The man was a mighty warrior, not just because of his strength and courage, but because his hammer was no mortal weapon. He married the daughter of a powerful Magicker. I don’t doubt the old man bound his power into the weapon kanker, to protect his son-in-law in battle. Though exactly what its nature is, I cannot tell.”
“How has Devon carried it for so long then, without coming to the Tsar’s attention?”
The priest chuckled dryly. “The Tsar may be a Magicker beyond compare, but even he does not possess all the secrets of magic. The power contained within the hammer is dormant. Other Magickers would not be able to sense it.”
Alana nodded, still processing the new information. Before she could reply, a cold voice came from the shadows.
“Thank you, priest, for answering that mystery.”
Chapter 15
Devon sat amongst the trees, his mind far away, lost in memories of his past. He could still hear the screams of men as they fell beneath his hammer, smell the stench as their bowels gave way, see the terror in their eyes at the approach of death. For years he had gloried in the triumph of battle, confident in his own invincibility.
Then the war had turned into a slaughter, and doubt had come gnawing into his mind.
Hero?
How could he call himself that, when his hands were stained with the blood of innocents?
Shivering, he clenched his fists, feeling the power in his meaty hands. He had never desired any other trade but war. He was bred for it, as his father and his grandfather had been before him. They had marched in the legendary footsteps of Alan, following Gods and Kings as they fought against the bandits and monsters who still roamed the Three Nations. Devon’s grandfather had even joined the Northland alliance to help cleanse the northern wastelands of Archon’s creatures.
Now an evil force had finally shown its face to Devon, and he had faced it down with courage. But he was afraid it had come too late. His soul was already stained, corrupted by the darkness of his past. He didn’t deserve to wield kanker, wasn’t worthy of his ancestor’s name.
“Drop your weapons!”
The voice cut through Devon’s melancholy, and he looked back to where the firelight glittered between the trees. He frowned as he saw shadows dancing there. Rising from the tree stump, he reached for his hammer, then swore as he remembered he’d left it behind.
Laughter whispered through the trees as Devon took a step towards the campsite.
“Move and you die!” a voice growled.
Devon stilled, but the words had not been directed at him, and after a moment he continued edging towards the camp. Treading carefully between the sticks littering the broken courtyard, he crept towards the fire. Ice slid down his back as he paused at the treeline and looked out at the men surrounding the campfire. The others stood beside the fire with the priest, but now they were surrounded by eight dark-cloaked figures, their swords drawn.
His friends had their hands on their weapons but had not yet drawn them. For a moment he wondered why, until he saw the man leading the intruders. He held one hand stretched out towards Kellian and the others. The tips of his fingers were obscured by a strange haze, and it was a moment before Devon realised the air itself changed there.
His eyes flickered to the man’s face, though he knew now who it was.
Quinn!
By the fire, Alana drew her sabre in a rush and charged the lieutenant. But before she could take two steps, there was a roar of air and then a great gale of wind caught Alana in the chest and hurled her back. Tumbling over the ground, she crashed through the campfire, scattering embers across the courtyard. Her brother leapt to her side and brushed her clear of the flames while she struggled to regain her feet.
“Anyone else?” Quinn’s icy voice carried across to where Devon hid in the trees.
He ducked lower, praying the shadows would conceal him from the prying eyes of the Stalkers. The company was smaller than he’d last seen it, and he wondered where the rest of Quinn’s men were lurking.
“What are you doing here, Quinn?” Kellian said, his voice hard and unyielding.
Quinn ignored the question. He stood motionless, still staring at the woman on the ground. “Alana?” he whispered.
Alana looked up sharply at her name, her eyes widening. She stood quickly and retreated a step, dragging her brother with her. “Stay back, Stalker,” she hissed. Her sabre had been lost when the wind struck her, but she drew a dagger and pointed it at the lieutenant’s chest.
Almost casually, Quinn flicked a hand. The wind tore at Alana, threatening to knock her flat. Screaming, she drew back her blade and hurled it at the lieutenant, but the wind caught the knife and tossed it far into the trees. Ignoring her warning, Quinn continued towards her. He wore a strange look on his face, his brow creased in a frown, but with the slightest of smiles on his lips.
“It was smart, hiding in the city so long,” he whispered, “but it’s over now. You must come back with me, before it’s too late.”
The look on Alana’s face had turned from shock to confusion now. She stared back at the lieutenant, mouth agape, fingers clenched tightly on her brother’s cloak. With obvious effort, she bared her teeth, eyes flashing. “We’re not going anywhere with you.”
The smile left Quinn’s lips. “You cannot stop me.” He started towards them again, but the priest stepped between them.
“That’s far enough, young man.” Her voice was soft as a summer breeze, but there was iron in it.
Quinn blinked, as though seeing the priest for the first time. “Who are you, old woman?”
“A priest of the Goddess, Antonia,” Tillie replied. “This is her temple still—you are not welcome here.”
The Stalker took a moment to look around, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. “This pile of rubble?” He laughed, the sound harsh and mocking. “I did not realise your order had fallen so low, priest.” His tone hardened and he took a step towards her. “Now get out of my way, before I make you.”
Amongst the trees, Devon’s heart sank as he studied the men surrounding the campfire. Anger flared in his chest. Between himself and Kellian, they might have stood a chance—although eight men would have been difficult even for them. But Quinn’s magic put the contest out of reach. They were helpless against his power. He turned his gaze on Alana, wondering what Quinn wanted. If he was not mistaken, the lieutenant knew her. If that was true…Devon didn’t like to think of the consequences.
Either way, he was better off minding his own business. He had done his best to avoid drawing the Tsar’s attention since his retirement, and he had no wish to break the pattern now. Whatever Alana and her brother had done, this was their fight. The thought of surrendering them to Quinn made his gut squirm, but there was no help for it. Clearing his throat, he stepped from the trees and waved at the Magicker.
“Well met, Quinn,” he grunted, walking slowly towards the group standing around the fire.
“Cold night for riding,” he said softly. “What brings you and your men into this cursed forest, Quinn?”
Quinn narrowed his eyes. “Dark magic.”
Devon nodded. “Might be I know something about that.”
“Oh?”
Turning toward the man, Devon nodded. “Ay, I do. Perhaps you’d like to put away your magic, and we can talk like men?”
A dark smile twisted Quinn’s lips, but after a moment he lowered his arm.
Nodding, Devon went on. “The priest called them the Arbor—demonic trees that feed on human flesh. Something the Stalkers should have dealt with a long time ago, I would have thought.”
Quinn’s eyes hardened. “What my men and I do is the Tsar’s business,” he spat. “And the trees might have drawn us here, but I see now it is you I have been hunting. Did you really think you could keep a Magicker from the Tsar?”
Devon reeled back at Quinn’s words. “What?”
A sneer appeared on Quinn’s lips. “Do not play dumb with me, Devon. Now stand aside.”
Before Devon could react, a blast of wind caught him in the chest and hurled him backwards over the fire. The breath hissed from his lungs as his bulk struck the ground. Gasping, he hauled himself onto his hand and knees, and began to cough.
He looked up in time to see Kellian leap to the attack, a dagger glinting in each hand. Steel flashed as one flashed towards the Magicker’s throat, but a flick of Quinn’s wrist sent it whirling away. Before Devon’s friend could reach the Stalker, another breath of air sent him hurtling sideways into the priest. The two went down in a pile of thrashing limbs.
Quinn laughed and turned on Alana and her brother.
On the ground, Braidon straightened and lifted himself to his feet. He stood over his sister, blue eyes flashing. Screaming, he threw out his hands at Quinn.
In an instant the courtyard descended into chaos. Light flashed from the boy’s hands, and a great, awful howling rent the air. The ring of Quinn’s men scattered at the sound, weapons raised to fend off the sudden attack. The very air seemed to vibrate, and with each flash of light, thunder crashed deafeningly. Even Quinn was shaken by the attack. Staggering back, he held up his hands before him. Wind swirled around his body, forming an evanescent shield.
Shocked by the explosion of magic, Devon crouched frozen on the ground, watching in horror as the black-garbed men retreated from the violence of the boy’s power, their faces a picture of terror. Quinn retreated to join them, but a loose brick caught his foot and sent him crashing to the ground. Instantly, the howling wind died away.
“Come on!” Suddenly Alana was at Devon’s side, her eyes wild, hair turning from blonde to black with each flash of light. She shoved kanker into his hands and hauled him to his feet. “We have to get out of here!”
Spinning on her heel, she disappeared into the flashing light. He saw her an instant later, grabbing her brother by the waist and heaving him over her shoulder. The flashing light faded away as he collapsed against her, leaving shadows of its presence burning in their eyes. Half blind, Devon stumbled after them, listening as the screams of the Stalkers turned to shouts of confusion.
Without looking back, Alana darted for the broken doorway, her small size belying her strength. The strange old woman followed, and Kellian had already vanished. Around them, the Stalkers were in disarray. Heart hammering in his chest, Devon raced after his friends.
As they emerged from the doorway onto the road, the thunder of horses came from to their right. Devon spun, hefting his hammer, only to find Kellian bearing down on them riding a stolen mount. He held the reins of two more tightly in one hand. Alana leapt forward, pulling herself into the saddle and dragging her brother up with her. Offering his hand, Kellian helped the old woman into his own saddle, while Devon took the reins of the last horse.
He shared a glance with his friend. There was no need for words. The second the Stalkers had walked into that courtyard and found them with the boy, their fate had been sealed.
They were dead men now.
Knowingly or not, they had harboured a Magicker from the Tsar. The Stalkers would hunt them to the ends of the earth to see his justice carried out.
There was no time to linger on that thought now though, so, kicking his horse, Devon turned it towards the north. Alana gave a shout, her horse leaping beneath her as she led the way. Anger flared in Devon’s chest as he followed her. Alana had known, Quinn had said as much. She had led the Stalkers straight to them, and sentenced Devon and Kellian to death alongside her.
Chapter 16
They’re gone, sir.”
Quinn stared at the scout, jaw clenched, fist wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword. He was still raging at his own foolishness. He, more than anyone, knew how dangerous wild magic could prove to be. His home town of Oaksville still told tales of the boy Magicker who’d all but razed the town to the ground.
Yet he had stood and talked with them, instead of eliminating the threat posed by the boy. It had been a costly mistake.
He sucked in a breath to quell his racing heart, then grated out a response. “How?”
The scout swallowed, his eyes flickering to the other men before returning to the lieutenant. His fingers fiddled absently with the button of his coat. The man was a veteran of five years with the Stalkers, but even he had been shaken by the boy’s attack. His magic had come from the Light element—pure and powerful. It was a miracle they’d all survived.
“The horses, sir,” he managed finally. “We’ve rounded up five of them, but three are missing. Seems they managed to steal them in the chaos.
Quinn gritted his teeth. “Which way did they go?”
Silently he cursed himself for allowing Devon to distract him. He had humoured himself, gloating at the man’s folly, in the thought of finally bringing the coward to justice. But the boy had always been the true danger.
“North, sir, as far as we can tell in the dark,” the scout replied.
Quinn allowed himself to suck in a long breath. If they’d gone north, they were heading straight into the path of Vim and his men. The deputy would be outnumbered, but he trusted his experience. With luck, they could capture Devon and his friends quickly. At the very least, they would slow the fugitives’ flight.
Letting out his breath, Quinn’s anger flowed away, replaced with a steely resolve. “Good.” He glanced around at his other men. They were missing three horses now, and riding double, they would never catch their quarry. He clenched his fists, testing the strength of his magic. It burned in his chest, a deep well of power, only slightly expended by his earlier use. Nodding to himself, he pointed to the three men who’d lost their horses. “You men will return to the capital and report to the Tsar.”
“What should we tell him, sir?” the first asked.
“Tell him we’ve found them.”
Chapter 17
Alana closed her eyes as the horse finally came to a stop. Sliding from the saddle, she stifled a moan, exhaustion weighing on her like a cloak of lead. Patting the horse’s neck, she led the beast into the trees, her legs trembling. They had ridden through the night as hard as they dared, praying to the Gods the road remained passable, that no unseen tree root or torn up ground would trip their horses. Somehow, they had made it. Now the sun had begun its slow crawl into the sky, and neither they nor their horses could go any further.
Working by instinct, too tired to process what she was doing, Alana found a low-hanging branch and tied the horse’s reins to it. Exhausted by the use of his magic, Braidon had passed out during their flight, and reaching up she lifted him carefully from the saddle. Lying him on the ground nearby, she returned to the horse and dug into the saddlebags, coming up with a blanket. She began to towel down the stead’s sweat-soaked rump
while doing her best to ignore the sounds of the others as they gathered nearby.
“Do you know what you’ve done?” Devon snapped finally, impatient, his voice trembling.
Closing her eyes, Alana summoned her last reserves of strength and turned to face the giant warrior. She glimpsed his face, the amber eyes filled with rage, teeth clenched, the muscles on his neck popping, and quickly looked away.
Swallowing, she tried to find her voice. It took several attempts before the words came out. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
“Didn’t mean what?” Gravel crunched as Devon stepped towards her. “Didn’t mean to see us dead?”
Anger lit in Alana’s stomach. “You think we asked for this?” she growled. “You think I wanted any of this?”
“I don’t care what you wanted, princess,” Devon roared. He gestured wildly back the way they’d come. “I don’t want anything to do with you and your magic! This isn’t my fight. You and your damned brother have nothing to do with me.”
“Coward! I thought you were a hero, that your ancestor’s deeds meant something to you?”
“A pox on my ancestors,” Devon hissed, stepping in close. “I am my own man—and I say you had no right to drag us into this. I knew Quinn once. He’s a man of iron. He won’t give up until you and your brother are on your knees before the Tsar. I don’t know who you are, princess, but I want nothing to do with this business.”
Alana snorted. “Yes, I wouldn’t expect someone like you to care whether we live or die.” She shook her head, squaring off against the towering giant. “I never believed the rumours about you, but I see now they were true. You don’t have the stomach to fight for what’s right.