Oathbreaker (Legend of the Gods Book 1)

by Aaron Hodges

  “What do you want with me, Quinn?”

  “You truly do not know?”

  She shook her head, lips pursed. “I only know you tried to kill me.”

  “That…was not me. The Tsar was…desperate not to allow you to escape his realm.”

  Alana laughed, the sound echoing off the stone walls. “The Tsar, desperate?” she shook her head. “What are my brother and I to the ruler of the Three Nations?”

  Quinn sighed. “Let us find out, shall we?” He stepped aside, waving a hand at the open doors through which he’d entered.

  Alana narrowed her eyes. Hesitantly, she stepped around him, and saw two guards standing in the corridor, waiting for them. Gripping her sword tightly in one hand, she considered charging them. Perhaps she could slay one and then flee before Quinn could react…

  “Coming?” Quinn asked lightly, stepping past her.

  Watching him join the guards in the corridor, her shoulders slumped. He would not let her escape. Even if she could slip past the guards and Quinn’s magic, the citadel was full of armed men. It wouldn’t be long before they all came hunting her. No, no one could escape this place without the Tsar’s leave.

  “Would you like to come willingly, or be dragged before the Tsar in chains?” Quinn asked, his voice still light, as though discussing tomorrow’s weather.

  Alana flashed him a glare, but she gave a curt nod. Ignoring the three men, she stepped out into the corridor.

  “Which way?” she all but spat.

  Chuckling to himself, Quinn moved around her and took the corridor to the right. The guards fell into place either side of Alana as they started off. They looked at ease, as though Alana posed no more danger than a child. She grated her teeth. Was that why Quinn had returned her sword? Did they truly consider her so little a threat?

  Moving through the long corridors, Alana studied her surroundings, seeking potential escape routes. At every branch in the passageway, a pair of guards stood in full armour, equipped with spears and short swords and daggers. It would have taken an army to escape through the halls they walked along.

  When they finally reached the throne room, Alana could hardly bring herself to step through the golden doors. She knew Quinn was marching her to her death, that she would likely never leave this place again. Perhaps the Tsar had invited all his nobles and courtiers to attend her execution, to remind his followers of his power, of what became of those who defied him.

  Yet, as Alana stepped inside, she was surprised to find the throne room almost empty. Open space stretched out from her, marked only by the scarlet carpet leading up to a raised dais. A dozen guards stood there, the bulk of their armour shielding the throne from view. On either wall were enormous silken tapestries, each depicting a scene from the second battle of Fort Fall, when the men and women of the Three Nations had made their last stand against Archon.

  In the tapestry to the right, she glimpsed a giant figure standing atop the walls, a familiar hammer in hand. Her heart ached as she thought of Devon, Kellian, and her brother. Silently, she prayed Quinn had spoken the truth, that they lived.

  Movement drew her gaze back to the raised dais. The ring of guards shifted, parting slowly to reveal the throne behind them. A tremor went through Alana as her eyes alighted on the man who sat there. Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet.

  The Tsar was not a large man, standing only a few inches taller than Alana, but about him he carried an undeniable power, a sense of invincibility that could not be denied. His jet-black hair had been slicked back close to his skull, and while there were streaks of grey there, his face was unmarked by the passage of time. His eyes flickered down, catching her in an ancient stare.

  Alana froze, her body suddenly quivering, as if struck by an invisible bolt of electricity. Her mind ground to a halt. It felt as though, with a single glance, she had surrendered all control of her body to the man on the throne. Unbidden, her legs started down the red carpet, past Quinn and the guards, across the empty room. The blue eyes followed her every step as she approached the dais. Only at the stairs did she finally stumble to a stop. With a half-choked cry, she fell to her knees.

  Chainmail rattled as Quinn joined her, bowing low. “Your majesty, I have returned her.”

  Returned?

  Movement came from the dais, and Alana watched as the Tsar started down the marble stairs. A shiver swept through her, an awful terror rising in her throat. Yet she remained on her knees, unable to move, trapped in the cold gaze. Looking into their eerie blue, Alana imagined herself in the grips of some ancient power, her mortal strength nothing before the man’s might. She felt death staring back from them.

  And still Alana could not look away.

  She knelt, frozen, as he walked down the steps and approached her. So close, she could feel the power radiating from his body. It seemed to ripple the very air around him, to distort the essence of reality. It reached out for her, and Alana gasped as she felt something inside her respond. Opening her mouth, she tried to scream, but no sound came out. Fire sprang to life in her chest, swirling, writhing, reaching out for the power emanating from the Tsar.

  As quickly as it had appeared, the pain vanished. Tears streaming down her face, gasping at the sudden release, Alana looked up and found the Tsar standing over her.

  Wordlessly, the Tsar reached out a hand. His skin was warm to the touch as he wiped the tears from her cheeks. Alana shivered, unable to move, struck now by the unexpected kindness of the gesture. His touch was soft, almost familiar, as though this scene had played out many times between them.

  A smile touched his lips, transforming his face. Gone was the coldness, the silent judgement, the executioner. In his place was a friend, a comrade, a hero. Silently, his warm hand cupped Alana’s cheek and drew her to her feet.

  “My daughter,” his words echoed in the silence of the throne room. “Welcome home.”

  Enjoyed this novel? For free books and news on the upcoming release of book two, Shield of Winter, don’t forget to join Aaron’s VIP group by following the link below!

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  Note from the Author

  Wow, what a rush, going back to epic fantasy and the Three Nations! For those of you who didn’t realise, Oathbreaker is not the first tale to be told in this world. In fact, there is an entire trilogy, set a hundred years beforehand! If you haven’t read them already, go check them out while you wait for book two! It should be published by June 2018, but don’t rely on Amazon letting you know – I’ll be giving updates on social media, just pick a channel below!

  If you’re interested in where I get the inspiration for my scenery, I was travelling through India, Turkey, and Italy while writing Oathbreaker. I loved the desert forts of Rajasthan, India, along with the ruins of Pompeii and Rome – all fascinating places I’ve always wanted to visit. I expect as my travels continue, this world of mine will only grow more detailed. I hope you’re enjoying it!

  By the way, you can read on below for a free excerpt from my bestselling Sword of Light Trilogy.

  FOLLOW AARON HODGES:

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  Also by Aaron Hodges

  Legend of the Gods

  Book 1: Oathbreaker

  Book 2: Shield of Winter

  Book 3: Dawn of War

  The Sword of Light Trilogy

  Book 1: Stormwielder

  Book 2: Firestorm

  Book 3: Soul Blade

  The Praegressus Project

  Book 1: Rebirth

  Book 2: Renegades

  Book 3: Retaliation

  Book 4: Rebellion

  Book 5: Retribution

  Read on for free samples from my other works…

  STORMWIELDER

  If you’ve enjoyed this book, you might also like

  my original novel: Stormwielder

  When Eric was young a terrible power woke wi
thin him. Horrified by the devastation he had unleashed, Eric fled his village, and has spent the last two years wandering the wilderness alone. Now, desperate to end his isolation, he seeks a new life in the town of Oaksville. But the power of the Gods is fading, and in their absence, dark things have come creeping back to the Three Nations. Civilisation is no longer the safe haven he once knew, and Eric will soon learn he is not the only one with power…

  Prologue

  Alastair sat alone in the darkness, staring into the flickering fire. Holding out his arms, he let its heat wash through his rain sodden cloak. The autumn storm had caught him in the open, drenching him to the skin before he could guide his horse to the shelter of the nearby trees.

  A rumble of distant thunder echoed through the trees, and shivering, Alastair shifted closer to the flames. He stifled a groan as his old joints cracked with the movement.

  Adding a fresh stick to the blaze, Alastair watched the greedy tongues of flame lick up its length. Wind rustled in the dark branches overhead and the fire flickered, its feeble light casting long shadows across the tiny clearing.

  A head appeared in the nearby trees, its long face stretching out towards him. Alastair’s heart clenched and he reached for his sword, before he realised it was only his horse. Snickering, his mount shook its head and retreated into the shadows.

  Shivering, Alastair released his sword hilt and cursed himself for a fool. He knew all too well the dangers of the night, the creatures that stalked the shadows of the Three Nations. Once he had been one to stand against such things. Now though…

  He shook his head, forcing away the morbid thoughts. He was still a warrior; his name was feared by the beasts of the dark.

  But he could not dismiss the whispers of his own doubt. It had been decades since he’d last fought the good fight, and the long years between had stripped him of his strength. The old man shivering at autumn shadows was a spectre, a ghost of the Alastair that had once battled the demons of winter.

  And now the demons had returned.

  “If only,” he whispered to the cold night. The words carried with them the weight of regret, the sorrow of wasted decades.

  If only he had known.

  If only he had prepared himself.

  Instead, the great Alastair had settled down and put the dark days behind him. And in his absence, the dark things had come creeping back. Now their shadow stretched across the Three Nations, threatening to shatter the fragile peace he had worked his whole life to create.

  It was only when Antonia came to him that he had realised his folly. Her reappearance shattered the peaceful world he’d built for himself, and dragged him back to a life he’d thought long buried.

  “Find them,” she’d ordered, and he had obeyed.

  Yet things never were simple when she was involved. For two years now he had searched, seeking out the family he had helped to hide so long ago. But the trail was ancient, and his quarry had long since perfected the skills he’d taught them.

  He had tracked them as far as Peakill before the line vanished. For all he knew, they were all gone. He prayed to Ansonia it was not so.

  The wind died away and the chirp of crickets rose above the whisper of the trees. The fire popped as a log collapsed, scattering sparks across the ground. He watched them slowly dwindle to nothing and then looked up at the dark canopy. Through the branches, he glimpsed the brilliance of the full moon.

  Alastair gritted his teeth. She would come tonight. His hands shook as a sick dread rose in his throat. The world would feel the consequences of his failure.

  “Not yet, there is still time,” the soft whisper of a girl’s voice came from the shadows.

  Antonia walked from the trees. A veil of mist clung to her small frame, obscuring her features. But her violet eyes shone through the darkness, the firelight pale by comparison. Those eyes held such power, such resolve, that Alastair shrank before them. The scent of roses filled the grove, cleansing the smoky air as she strode towards him.

  “It doesn’t matter. They’re gone, and I’m not strong enough to continue. Find someone else to fight this battle, I’m done!” He lowered his gaze, unable to meet her eyes.

  “There is no one else. You were there at the beginning – now you must see things through to the end,” her voice shook with anger. “Look at me, and tell me you would abandon everything we have worked for!”

  Alastair glanced up. “I abandoned my family for your cause,” he ground out the words. “I have sacrificed everything for you, what more do you want? It’s over, they’re gone.”

  He stared at Antonia, expecting anger, scorn, disappointment. She smiled. “It’s not over, Alastair. There is still hope. Elynbrigge has found them.”

  The breath caught in Alastair’s throat as he stared at the Goddess. “Where?” he choked.

  Antonia laughed, the sound like raindrops dancing on water. “The trail was old, but they are alive and well in Chole. You will find them there. He will watch over them until you arrive.”

  Alastair jumped to his feet, scattering firewood into the flames. The blaze roared, leaping to devour the fresh meal. He ignored it. The fire be damned, they were alive!

  “Wait,” Antonia’s tone gave him pause. “First, you must go to Oaksville. There is someone there who needs you. When you find him, take him with you. Be quick; Archon won’t be far behind.”

  “Who is in Oaksville?” The town was close, but the detour would cost precious time.

  “Eric.”

  Before he could question her further, she was gone.

  For a long time Alastair stood staring at the space where she had stood. Her words trickled through his thoughts, banishing his guilt, his anguish. In their place, a fragile spark of hope lit the darkness.

  He didn’t sleep that night. Instead, he mounted his horse and rode through the darkness, into the dawn. As the sun rose into the sky and drifted towards noon, he topped the rise over Oaksville and looked down on the town.

  Below, Oaksville lay nestled in the crook of a valley. Sickly pillars of smoke curled up from behind its walls, obscuring the rooftops.

  Alastair kicked Elcano into a gallop.

  Chapter 1

  A pillar of smoke rose from the burning house. Flames roared and heat scorched his eyes, but he could not look away. The blaze lit the night, chasing the stars from the sky.

  Amidst the fire, the silhouette of a boy appeared. He stumbled from the wreckage, clothes falling to ash around him. Sparks of lightning leapt from his fingertips, leaving scorch marks on the tiled street. Soot covered his slim face, marred only by a trail of tears running down his cheeks. The wind caught his mop of dark brown hair, revealing the deep blue glow of his eyes.

  He wore an expression of absolute terror.

  “Help me!”

  Eric screamed as he tore himself from the dream. Gasping, he fumbled for his knife, fear rising to swamp his thoughts. The blade slid clear of his belt, and then tumbled through his hands. Diving forward, he caught it by the hilt and rolled to his feet.

  A wall of vegetation rose around him, sealing him in. The dark fingers of branches clawed at his clothing as he spun, scanning the clearing. But there was no one there.

  He was alone.

  His shoulders slumped as the last traces of the dream fell from him. He sucked in a breath, his heart still thudding hard in his chest. Returning the blade to his belt, he cast another glance around at his surroundings.

  The clearing was unchanged from the night before. The trees still stood in a silent ring, their leaves speckled with the red and gold of early autumn. Where the canopy thinned overhead he could make out touches of the blue sky, but below the dark of night still clung to the undergrowth.

  Eric shivered as goosebumps prickled his skin. Rubbing his arms, he wished for the thousandth time he possessed more than a holey blanket and worn leather jacket to fend off the cold.

  Reaching down, he stuffed the blanket into his bag with the rest of his measly possessions –
dried meat, a waterskin, and a holey change of clothes. He wore the steel bracelet his parents had given to him as a child around his wrist. The familiar dream clung to him as he moved, the boy’s face lurking in the shadows. He knew that face. It was his own.

  He shivered again and flung his bag over his shoulder with a little too much force. Pushing aside the dream, he pulled on his travel worn boots and brushed the leaves from his hair, determined to forget the bad omen. Just a little way through the forest was the Gods’ Road, and about a mile along its rutted surface was the town of Oaksville. There he planned to make a fresh start for himself. And he wasn’t about to let a bad dream stop him.

  Straightening, he squared his shoulders and started off through the trees. Excitement quickened his pace – this was it. Today he would end his self-imposed exile. In the two years since his fifteenth birthday, he had wandered alone through the forests and plains of Plorsea. In all that time, he had kept his own company, speaking only occasionally to strangers he encountered on the road.

  The isolation had very nearly driven him insane.

  He paused at the edge of the Gods’ Road and crouched down in the shadows. Looking left and right, he waited, checking for signs of movement. Even in daylight, the wilderness was not safe for a lone traveller. Just the day before he had been forced to hide as a troupe of Baronian raiders rode past.

  Once such a sight would have been rare anywhere in the Three Nations. But lately the nomadic bandits had grown bold, pushing closer and closer to major establishments such as Oaksville. The king had sent soldiers to dispatch them, but so far all efforts to apprehend the Baronians had been unsuccessful.