Oathbreaker (Legend of the Gods Book 1)

by Aaron Hodges

  Glancing back out over the ocean, Devon scanned the skies, but they remained empty. He breathed a sigh of relief—he had no wish to go up against the creature again. A shudder went through him as an image of the dragon flickered into his mind, its blood-red scales glowing in the light of its flames. Shaking his head, he turned his thoughts back to escaping the beach.

  The ground over which the creek ran looked soft and unstable, but the broken trees and branches lining the stones offered a better path. Taking a firmer grip on Alana, he started up the trail.

  He was halfway up the ramp of wooden detritus when Alana suddenly began to thrash in his hands. A sharp shriek echoed off the gravel walls. Cursing, he tried to set her down, only to catch an elbow in the face. The blow knocked him backwards, sending them both crashing into the creek bed. The stones crumbled beneath him and he began to slide. His hand shot out and wrapped around a fallen tree branch, the other snatching at Alana before she tumbled away.

  “Alana?” he panted, lying back on the shifting stones.

  Alana didn’t reply, and he saw that her eyes remained closed, her eyelids fluttering with untold dreams. A low muttering came from her lips, but he couldn’t make out the words. Devon swore and pulled them both back onto the broad branch of the fallen tree.

  Taking a moment to catch his breath, Devon sat up and looked down the gully towards the sea. They could be anywhere in Lonia now—or in Northland, for that matter. He had no way of telling which until he had a better look at their surroundings.

  His heart twitched as he thought of Kellian and the others. There had been no sign of anyone on the beach—not even the crew. He tried to think back to the ship, whether anyone else had made it off, but his memories were foggy. Only the image of the dragon remained crisp in his mind. Shaking off his melancholy, Devon stood, dragging Alana up with him.

  There was nothing he could do for the others now. If they survived, they would head north. If not…he shook his head and pushed the thought away.

  At the top of the gully, he found himself amongst the trees of a youthful forest. Looking around, he glimpsed larch and juniper trees; all species among the first to colonise barren land. Spotting a few oak and hickory trees, newcomers which only grew beneath the shade of older trees, he guessed the forest was probably fifty years old. That, along with the gravel cliffs, told him they were still south of Fort Fall – still within the realm of the Tsar.

  His eyes turned eastward to the ocean. The waters and sky remained empty, but there was no telling how long this would last. They needed to get going before someone or something came looking for them. Settling Alana on his shoulders, he started off towards the north, keeping the treeline in sight but never venturing too close. If the dragon was nearby, he had no wish to be spotted by the beast.

  Devon’s thoughts drifted as he walked, turning to Kellian. Had his recklessness finally gotten his friend killed? He thought back to the night at his friend’s inn, when he’d insulted the royal guard and left him unconscious in a pile of garbage. If only he’d left things alone, they would still be in Ardath now, beyond the Tsar’s knowledge.

  Instead, he was carrying a fugitive through an unknown forest, his friend lost, probably dead. Stalkers and demons and dragons were hunting them, and there was little sign of hope. The odds were impossible, the challenge unassailable.

  Despite himself, Devon found himself grinning as he walked. He remembered the look in the demon’s eyes as he struck it down.

  The stuff legends are made of!

  Late in the afternoon, the trees finally began to thin, the taller trunks giving way to scraggly bushes of mulberry that offered little shelter. Devon continued casting glances at the eastern horizon, but it seemed the beast had given up for the moment. He wondered if that meant Braidon had been captured.

  His heart sank at the thought of the boy, the weight of Alana pressing down on him. Imagining Alana’s face when he told her the boy had been lost sent a shiver down his spine. He would rather fight ten demons than face the young woman’s anger again. She would not be stopped, not by anyone. If the boy had been taken, she would turn around and march straight back to Ardath and demand his return. Silently, he prayed to the Storm God, Jurrien, that the boy was safe.

  As the last of the trees fell behind, Devon’s eyes were drawn out across the plains. Ahead, the coast twisted inwards on itself, the cliffs growing into the towering expanse of The Gap. There, lifting above the granite cliffs, were the immense walls of the greatest fortress ever constructed.

  Fort Fall.

  For more than five hundred years the fortress had stood in defiance of the north, the first and last bastion of the Three Nations against the ragged wasteland. In all that time, it had fallen only once, when the dark Magicker Archon had used his power to sweep the defenders from the walls. Eventually the Gods had defeated him, but even with their powers, they had only been able to banish him to the wasteland.

  A hundred years later, he had returned. Only this time, Fort Fall had held, the courage of men prevailing, restoring the power of the Gods and casting down the dark Magicker.

  Afterwards, the Gods had brought peace between the Three Nations and Northland. With peace had come trade and prosperity, and soon the borders had opened. Then there had been no more need for the great fortress.

  Now Fort Fall stood empty, the gates torn asunder, the ancient walls unguarded but for the ghosts of long-dead warriors.

  Looking at it now, Devon shuddered, the tales of his ancestor rising up from his childhood. His hand drifted to the haft of his hammer. It was on those walls where the legends of his ancestor had come to an end, as Alan stood in defiance of the dark Magicker’s power. Already a legend amongst the Lonians, his strength faded with age, Alan had stood with kanker in hand and fought the enemy until his dying breath.

  It was said he had fallen on the first wall, holding it with a handful of men against the dark Magicker’s beasts, allowing the bulk of the army to retreat to the second wall. His sacrifice had saved hundreds of lives, keeping the defenders from being overtaken by Archon’s vile beasts.

  Devon’s heart twitched as he thought of his own deeds, of the hundreds of souls who had fallen beneath the same hammer his ancestor had wielded in defence of the Three Nations.

  In his arms, Alana twitched and moaned. A shiver went through her, and, touching a hand to her forehead, Devon cursed as he realised she had grown cold. Knowing where he was by Fort Fall’s proximity, he set off across the open landscape.

  He found the pools a few minutes later, their crystal-clear waters untouched by the darkness that had once come creeping into the land. Setting Alana down, he pulled off his jerkin and covered her with it. Quickly, he set about collecting dry wood for a fire.

  Chapter 28

  Stones crunched as the Ice Queen ground its way up the beach, the wooden boards quivering beneath Quinn’s feet before coming to a halt. Without waiting for a gangplank to be lowered, Quinn moved to the bow and leapt down onto the gravel shore. The loose stones slid beneath his feet as he landed, but he quickly straightened and looked around.

  The burnt and blackened remains of the Songbird lay scattered along the beach, interspersed here and there by silent corpses. He walked away from the Ice Queen while his men disembarked, his eyes scanning the wreckage for signs of life. Here and there he found injured sailors, their chests still rising with the breath of life. Those who were unconscious he killed quickly. Those who were awake he questioned, but none had seen what had become of the Stalker’s prey, and they soon followed their comrades. Beyond the wreckage, three red specks circled on the horizon.

  The sun rose higher in the sky as he continued along the coast. His heart sank as the amount of debris from the sunken ship grew thinner. He could hear the crunch of his Stalker’s footsteps as they spread out behind him, but he ignored them. His movements became more frantic as the wreckage finally came to an end, and he looked out over empty gravel.

  “Where are they?” he m
uttered into the wind.

  Unable to turn back emptyhanded, Quinn marched on, his hopes fading with each footstep. In the distance, the red specks grew larger as the dragons approached. His stomach coiled into knots at the sight, and he picked up his pace, desperate for some sign, some hint Devon and his party had survived.

  His eyes scanning the coastal cliffs, Quinn almost tripped over an indentation in the gravel shore. Stumbling, he cursed and righted himself. He was about to press on when he noticed the slight depressions of footsteps leading away from him. Looking down, he saw now the hollow beneath his feet matched the shape of a large man.

  Devon.

  A smile tugged at his cheeks as his eyes followed the footsteps to where they led up a break in the cliffs. So the big warrior had survived. If that was true, there was hope that Alana and her brother might also live. Glancing back, he found the eyes of his men watching him.

  “They’re alive,” he said softly.

  Before he could continue, a sharp crack came from above them, and a shadow fell across their company. Quinn caught a flash of red scales and the stench of rotting meat, before the dragon crashed down. The force of its impact sent gravel flying, and he quickly turned away as the hard stones pelted him.

  The humans live?

  Quinn shuddered as the dragon’s words reverberated through his mind. There was a madness to its voice, a terrible hate for the creatures standing before it. For centuries the Red Dragons had loathed mankind, slaughtering any who ventured into their territory. Only the Tsar’s power kept the creatures in check.

  Swallowing, Quinn looked up into the beast’s golden eyes. The scarlet scales shone in the morning sun, the muscles beneath rippling with pent up power.

  “It seems that way,” he said, struggling to keep fear from his voice.

  Where? The dragon growled, its great talons tearing up the gravel in emphasis of its question.

  “We will find them,” Quinn replied quickly. “You and your…offspring, should remain here.”

  No. The great head leaned closer, its breath like the bellows of a furnace. We shall follow you, Stalker.

  Suppressing his anger, Quinn blew out his cheeks and nodded. “At a distance,” he countered. “So you do not give away our position.”

  The golden eyes stared down at him for a long moment, as though appraising him. The slits of the beast’s nostrils widened as it sucked in a breath.

  Your magic is diminished, Stalker, the dragon replied finally. Turning, it moved away along the beach. Call us when you fail.

  Quinn gritted his teeth as the beast spread its wings and leapt into the air. Dust swirled across the stones as the great wings beat down, hurling it into the sky. Fists clenched, he turned back to his men and saw the disdain in their eyes. Cursing inwardly, he straightened.

  “What are you standing there for?” he snapped. “Get moving! Devon cannot be allowed to reach Fort Fall!”

  Chapter 29

  Alana woke to the crackling of fire and the acrid smell of smoke. Wrinkling her nose, she lay still, eyes closed and mind racing as she tried to recall how she’d come to be there. The memories returned slowly, images swimming past her eyes before receding back into the fog of her past. She saw a garden, its leaves and flowers strangely aglow, the colours over-bright, then a ship at sea, its sails full and oars pounding the smooth waters. Drawing closer to the ship, Alana saw herself with Devon on the bow. Darkness fell, and her eyes slid closed, fading into sleep.

  The image drifted away, then snapped back into sharp focus—only now the ship was ablaze, the mast burning, the flames creeping closer. And overhead…

  With a scream, Alana jerked upright, her arms thrashing to escape the flames. Her eyes shot open, taking in the fire dancing in the darkness. She scrambled backwards, her hands digging like claws into the soft earth.

  “Alana, stop!” Devon’s voice called through the black.

  Her eyes swept up and found the hammerman standing nearby, his brow furrowed with concern. She shuddered, her heart still pounding. Slowly, she looked around, taking in the small blaze of the campfire and the stars overhead. A few yards away she saw the glint of water in the firelight.

  “Devon?” she gasped, her throat feeling like she’d swallowed sand. “Where are we?”

  Devon moved across to where she lay and lowered himself down onto a log beside the fire. “A day’s walk from Northland.”

  Alana nodded. Placing a hand on her chest, she willed her heart to slow. A few more breaths and she finally started to calm. She fixed her eyes on Devon.

  “Where’s my brother?”

  “I don’t know,” Devon replied, looking away. “The others…I’m not sure if they made it off the ship.”

  A lump lodged in Alana’s throat, robbing her of words. She swallowed. “No,” she croaked.

  Something about his words seemed wrong. Sitting up on her knees, she closed her eyes and saw the dragon again, its scarlet scales flashing in the night sky.

  A dragon!

  The memory sent a shiver through her soul. Only the Tsar himself could have sent such a creature. Why was the man so determined to stop them from escaping? Her stomach chilled at the thought of what he would send against them next.

  Gritting her teeth, she forced her fear aside and concentrated on the memory. She saw again the dragon flashing from the sky, felt the impact as Devon tackled her from the path of its flames. She was about to speak, to thank him for saving her, when the sight of Kellian, Tillie, and Braidon diving over the railing emerged from the fog.

  “They made it off the ship,” she said as relief flooded her.

  “You’re sure? All I can remember when I think back is the dragon,” Devon replied. He lifted a hand to his forehead. “Do you know how I struck my head?”

  “Nope,” Alana replied straight-faced, deciding the hammerman didn’t need anything else on her. “Probably something fell from the rigging. I had to drag you off the ship and halfway to shore.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Really?” he murmured.

  Alana laughed. “Anytime, big man,” she shot back, then added, “Well, maybe lose some weight first.”

  Devon snorted. Unstrapping kanker from his shoulders, he placed the hammer beside him and stretched his legs out towards the fire. His amber eyes did not look at her, but she could see his hands were trembling.

  “What do we do now?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “Now?” he sighed. “Now we cross into Northland. We’ll be safer there. If the others survived, they’ll be heading in the same direction.”

  Gathering herself, Alana started to rise. Her legs ached as though she’d been running all day, but she managed to stumble to her feet. Devon stared up at her, open astonishment on his face, and then he started to laugh.

  “Princess, I’ve been carrying you all day. I’m not going anywhere tonight unless you’re returning the favour!”

  Alana stood looking down at him, as though considering the idea. In truth, she was shocked at the pain radiating through her body, and, despite her need to find her brother, she knew she wouldn’t make it far either. At least not without risk. After a moment, she sighed and sat back down.

  “Alright, big man,” she said with a grin. “You’d better be able keep up tomorrow, though.”

  Amusement danced in Devon’s amber eyes. “Without your dead weight, princess, I could walk all day!”

  Laughter bubbled up from Alana’s chest, joined a moment later by Devon’s. The sound whispered out into the darkness, light and filled with an unknown joy. When it finally died away, they sat in a companionable silence for a while.

  “I’m glad I met you, you know,” Devon said after a while, his eyes on the flames.

  Alana smiled. “Me, too.”

  She lay back, staring up at the stars glistening in the night sky. They weren’t half as bright in Ardath, where the lanterns dimmed your vision and masked the night’s beauty. Here, though, their number seemed infinite, a million, million
tiny pinpricks of light. Her eyes slowly drifted closed, her mind strangely at ease despite her brother’s absence. With Devon at her side, she felt safe, as though no harm could come to her and no task was too great.

  Tomorrow they would enter Northland and find her brother. Tonight, she could rest.

  A soft curse from nearby pulled Alana back from the brink of sleep. Sitting up, she found Devon standing, pulling off his jerkin. His amber eyes saw her looking and she could have sworn his face reddened in the darkness.

  “Sorry,” he murmured, “it’s the salt, itches like the devil. I’m going for a swim.”

  Alana raised an eyebrow as he stripped down to his undergarments. “You’re going to freeze!” Beyond the heat of the fire, a frost was beginning to gather on the grass.

  “Probably!” Devon muttered.

  He moved towards the glimmering pool, muscles rippling along his shoulders and arms. The fire lit his skin, showing long white scars where swords and axes had cut him. She shivered, remembering the man he had once been, the tales told about his bloody conquest over the Trolans. The way the bards put it, Devon had won most of his battles single-handedly.

  The splash of his body hitting the water sent waves sliding out across the icy pool. Alana shook her head as he surfaced and began to curse. Laughing softly to herself, she lay back down and closed her eyes.

  But as she lay there, she now felt the itching Devon had described, the dry rubbing of her clothes against her skin, an irritation on her scalp. She gritted her teeth, trying to ignore it but knowing it was useless. Now he had pointed it out, the sensation had become unbearable. Swearing, she sat up and began to strip down.

  “Don’t look!” she shouted as she made her way to the pool in nothing but her underclothes.