Dawn of War (Legend of the Gods Book 3)

by Aaron Hodges

  Braidon wanted desperately to tear his eyes away, to turn and flee back into the sanctuary of the inn, to the half an hour earlier when he had sat enjoying a warm meal with his friend. Instead, he stood and watched as Devon battled on. He would not run while the man fought for their very lives, would not leave the hammerman alone to face the Baronians.

  In the first clashes of the battle, the two giants had seemed evenly matched, but as the fight drew on, it seemed to Braidon that Devon was gaining ground. Joseph’s blows had lost some of their power, and his movements were growing slower, even as Devon ploughed on with seemingly endless vigour. A slight sheen of sweat on his brow was his only sign of exertion, while lines had crept into Joseph’s face, as though the fight had aged him a decade. Even the white in his beard appeared more prominent.

  The crowd was silent now, the black-cloaked Baronians watching on in awe of the two warriors. Another clash echoed from the settlement as axe and hammer met, the combatants spinning away, each unharmed. They paused, eyes glittering as they faced one another. Then with a dull thud, the steel blade of Joseph’s axe cracked in half and fell to the ground. The Baronian stared dumbly at the weapon for a moment, then up at Devon.

  Adrenaline surged through Braidon’s veins and he lifted his fist in triumph. “Finish him, Devon!” he yelled, his voice strained to a shriek by the stress of the fight.

  Below, the hammerman looked up at him, his face still impassive. They shared a glance, and then Devon returned his eyes to the Baronian. He lowered his hammer and gestured at his opponent.

  “Time for a water break, don’t you think, sonny?” he asked, panting softly.

  Joseph stood fixed in place, the broken haft of his axe still in hand. After a moment, he nodded. “Good idea.”

  Tossing aside his broken weapon, he gestured to a Baronian. The man raced forward with a water skin, and wordlessly the axeman pointed at Devon. After a second’s hesitation, the Baronian offered the skin to Devon first.

  On the porch, Braidon looked on, mouth wide, heart in the pit of his stomach. He shook his head, unable to understand what Devon was doing, why he was sparing the thug’s life.

  Below, Devon nodded his thanks and placed kanker on the ground beside him before accepting the water skin. Lifting it to his lips, he took a long swing and then handed it back to the attendant. The man scampered across to Joseph, who drank deeply as well.

  Afterwards, the Baronian gestured at his broken axe. “Mind if I find another weapon?”

  Devon grinned. “Won’t help you much, sonny,” he replied, “but by all means.”

  Joseph laughed, and shaking his head, he wandered around the circle of Baronians, inspecting their weapons until he found one that suited him. One look at the owner was all it took for the man to hand it over. Hefting the new axe, he returned to the centre of the ring and faced Devon.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Ay,” Devon replied, and the battle resumed.

  Anger burned in Braidon’s chest, and he looked away, cursing Devon for his stupidity. With their lives on the line, the hammerman had thrown away an opportunity to save them both. Worse than that, Devon had given the Baronian time to rest, when it was obvious he was on his last legs. Now Joseph was fighting with renewed vigour and Devon had lost his advantage.

  “Noble man, your friend,” Selina said from beside him.

  Braidon jumped. He’d been so engrossed with the battle he’d forgotten she was there. Shaking his head, he looked up at her in disbelief. “Noble? He had the man! Why did he throw away his chance?”

  “Because it wouldn’t have been honourable,” she replied, her thin lips drawn back into a smile.

  “He’s fighting a thief!” Braidon countered. “There’s no honour amongst such people.”

  Selina raised an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t judge so quickly, young man. Whatever he might appear, Joseph has a code of his own, twisted as it might seem to some. He protects his people, whatever the cost. That is why he is here, why he will continue this fight, even if he may have bitten off more than he can chew.”

  “Baronian scum,” Braidon spat. “I’m glad m…the Tsar drove them from our land.”

  The innkeeper sighed. “So judgmental for one so young,” she said softly. She gestured at the crowd. “Yes, they call themselves Baronians. But look at them, youngster, look at them closely. You think they chose this path, wandering these backroads in the middle of winter, with hardly a cloak between them? Most of those you see here are refugees, runaways from Trola or the capital, where the Tsar’s taxes drove them to the edge of poverty. Joseph found them, brought them under his wing. Yes, they might be bandits, but they are only what desperation has made them.”

  “You defend them?”

  Selina shrugged. “Five years ago, before Joseph, the people in this settlement could barely go a month without someone coming under attack. These forests were filled with bandits—vicious, warring factions that were merciless to their victims. Then Joseph came. The worst of the bandits were driven off or brought under his rule. This village, and many like it, came to an arrangement with them. We pay them a small fee, and he and his people do us no harm, nor any harm to those travellers who visit with our permission. It is an unusual arrangement, I admit, but twice as many people live here now, than before the Baronians came.”

  A cry rang out across the square, and Braidon whipped around, his heart racing once more as he remembered the battle taking place below. Sunlight flickered on steel as the two warriors battled on, but now Devon was being forced back. Joseph’s battle cry echoed around the square as his axe rose and fell.

  Growling, Devon deflected a wicked blow with his hammer, but using his awesome strength, Joseph wrenched his weapon back and struck again before Devon could counter. The hammerman sidestepped the blow, but lost his footing and stumbled. Joseph rushed forward, his shoulder catching Devon in the chest and hurling him to the ground.

  Kanker flew across the dirt. Unarmed, Devon rolled as Joseph’s axe bit the earth where he’d fallen. Joseph hefted his axe for another blow, but as Devon scrambled for the hilt of his hammer, he seemed to hesitate for half a second. It was enough, and gripping kanker tight, Devon surged back to his feet.

  The Baronian snarled and swung his axe, but the blow was wild and clumsily made. Devon deflected it easily and then thrust out with his hammer, catching the black-garbed man in the chest. With its blunted head it did little damage, but in Joseph’s tiring state, it was enough to throw him off-balance.

  Leaping forward, Devon attacked again. The axe lifted to counter, but Joseph had misjudged his aim, and instead of catching the hammer with the blade, Devon’s weapon crunched home into the Baronian’s wrist.

  A scream of pure agony rang out across the square as Joseph staggered back, the axe toppling from his hand. Then his mouth clamped shut, cutting off his cries as he cradled his right arm against his chest. Head bowed, he sank to his knees in front of Devon.

  “Do it quick,” he croaked through clenched teeth.

  “Ay,” Devon replied.

  His boot lashed out and caught Joseph in the side of the head. The Baronian toppled silently to the ground, unconscious. Around the square, not a soul moved, as the Baronians stared on in silence.

  Devon looked back at them, lips tight, eyes hard. He lifted kanker above his head and let out a cry. “Your leader is defeated,” his voice boomed. “If any one of you wishes to join him, step forward now, and I will gladly oblige.”

  Whispers spread around the square as the crowd shifted, the black-garbed watchers sharing glances. Braidon sensed the mood turning dark, the anger of the Baronians building, as hands clenched at sword hilts. Fear gnawed at Braidon’s stomach as he watched Devon standing defiantly against the horde. The hammerman could not face them alone, and they knew it. All it would take was one…

  Silently Braidon closed his eyes, and allowed his consciousness to plunge inwards. His breath settled into a gentle rhythm, concentrating his mind, carr
ying his thoughts away to the nothingness within. In an instant, he found himself drifting in the peaceful black at his core, felt the weight of his body falling away. Time seemed to stand still…and then the light of his magic appeared in void.

  It formed before him, twisting and morphing into the familiar Feline. Once, the sight of it had filled him with terror, sending him fleeing through the darkness. Now though, need gave him courage, and reaching out, he gripped it with his mind, banishing the beast with the force of his will, making its power his own.

  Opening his eyes, Braidon looked out over the square. Only a moment had passed, but he could sense the impasse coming to a close. There were only seconds to spare.

  An image flickered into Braidon’s mind, of Devon the night he’d appeared beside his campfire. The man had loomed out of the darkness like a giant from of legend. A smile came to Braidon’s lips.

  Reaching across with his power, he wrapped loops of shining white around Devon, altering his image, changing the appearance of reality.

  In the light of the burning fires, it seemed the hammerman grew larger as he stood there. Darkness cloaked him as his iron gaze scanned the watchers, promising death. To every eye in the square, it was no longer a mortal who stood amongst them, but a demigod, his power unrivalled. A crackling filled the air as overhead, thunder boomed, blue fire lighting up the sky.

  It was all only illusion, a manipulation of the Light, but it was all Braidon could offer his friend. Looking down at the circle of Baronians, he prayed it was enough.

  Chapter 16

  Exhaustion weighed on Alana as she pushed through the trees, struggling to keep pace with her grandmother. Ahead, Enala threaded through the dense undergrowth as though she were born to it, seemingly untouched by the clinging vines and vicious thorns.

  The explosion of Light magic had returned some of the vigour to the old woman, and now it was Alana who was flagging, the endless journey through the dark forest sapping her energies. Several of the cuts on her neck had opened again, and she could feel the steady trickle of blood down her back. Even so, she refused to slow, knowing if her brother had used his magic so blatantly, he had to be in trouble. He needed her, needed them both.

  The light of a new day was just beginning around them now, casting light across the forest. A hiss came from ahead as Enala tossed aside the burning torch they’d used to light their way, then stamped it out on the damp earth.

  Walking up beside her, Alana studied the woods ahead. Shadows still clung beneath the trees, but she could make out the ground clearly now. After spending much of the night being tripped by hidden roots, the sight was a relief. She could still sense the lingering tang of Light magic on the air around them. Its aftertaste was growing weaker by the hour, but they were close to its source now.

  “There’s still no way of knowing it was him,” Enala reminded Alana, though her face said she thought otherwise.

  Alana only nodded. Striding past, she took the lead. Whatever lay at the end of their journey, there was no turning back now. All through the night, they had forged their own path through the forest, unable to find a path leading in the direction the magic had come from. It was another hour before they finally came to a wider track of hardened earth.

  Enala loosened her sword in its scabbard. “Ready yourself, granddaughter,” she said quietly. “It’s not far now.”

  There was a hardness to her grandmother’s eyes, and Alana nodded her agreement. Her hand drifted to the hilt of her sword. The old woman’s lessons were still fresh in her mind, but she found herself now filled with doubt, with fear she was not the swordswomen she’d once thought herself.

  Nonsense, she growled to herself. You are the Daughter of the Tsar.

  Alana straightened her shoulders. “Let’s go.”

  It wasn’t far before the track widened again. Studying the ground, Alana was alarmed to find overlapping bootprints in the hard-packed earth. It looked as though a large force had passed this way not long ago. It was difficult to know their numbers, but she guessed there were at least a hundred. Her stomach clenched as she picked up the pace, her thoughts on her brother.

  Around a bend in the track, Alana stumbled to a halt as she found herself facing a small forest settlement. She paused, scanning the nearest buildings, looking for any sign of the owners of the bootprints in the earth beneath her feet. There was no sign of movement or damage, and she shared a glance with her grandmother as the old woman joined her.

  “Where is everybody?” she asked.

  “There’s one,” Enala replied, nodding at one of the buildings.

  A door had just opened in the only two-storeyed house in the settlement. A middle-aged woman appeared and started down the steps. Her eyes were on her feet, but suddenly they swept up and saw them standing on the other side of the square. She started, then glanced back at the door. It seemed she would retreat back inside, but then reconsidering, she continued her way down.

  Enala strode forward, making her way towards the woman. “Excuse me, ma’am,” she said, her voice loud enough to carry through the entire settlement. Catching herself, Alana started after her grandmother. “We were wondering if you might help us.”

  The woman made it to the bottom of the steps, but paused there, looking up at the approaching Enala. “Depends what help you’re looking for,” she murmured. “Do you need a room for the night?”

  Reaching the woman, Enala shook her head. Glancing around at the silent buildings, she raised one eyebrow. “What happened here?”

  “We’re full-up at the moment,” the villager replied, seeming not to hear Enala’s question, “if you’re looking for a room.” Her eyes distant, she turned and started back up the stairs.

  “We’re looking for a boy!” Alana shouted. “His name is Braidon.”

  On the steps, the woman froze. Glancing over her shoulder, she pursed her lips. “What did you say?”

  Alana’s heart quickened. “You’ve seen him?” she asked desperately. “Please, is he okay?”

  The woman bit her lip. “He’s alive,” she replied.

  “Where?” Enala demanded.

  The woman looked at them, then at the buildings surrounding the settlement. Alana thought she glimpsed fear in her eyes, but a second later it was gone. With a gesture, she continued up the steps. “Look, we’d best talk inside, okay?” she called down to them.

  Enala followed after the woman, but Alana hesitated, her heart palpitating painfully in her chest. Something about the settlement seemed wrong. Where had all the people gone? Why had her brother been here? Why had he used his magic? The woman had already disappeared into the door at the top of the stairs, and Enala was drawing close.

  Swallowing her doubt, Alana raced after her grandmother, catching her just before she reached the doorway. She stepped past her and entered the inn, dropping her hand to the hilt of her sword. Though it was daylight outside, the interior was still dark, the lanterns unlit. In the gloom, Alana could just make out the shadow of a bar and several tables and chairs scattered about the room.

  “Light a lantern would you?” Alana asked, searching for the woman who had invited them in, but she was nowhere in sight.

  A bang came from behind them as the door slammed shut, plunging the room into pitch-black. Alana started back towards the door, when a sudden light erupted through the room. Shocked, she stumbled sideways, struggling to shield her eyes.

  “Wha—?” she cried out, as shadows flickered through the room.

  Blinking, she strained to see through the brilliant white. Movement came from the tables as black-cloaked men rose from their seats. Her hand was still scrambling for the hilt of her sword when a cold voice spoke from behind her.

  “Alana, how good it is to see you again.”

  Sitting in the darkness, Quinn allowed himself a smile as Alana and the old woman came blundering into the inn. The innkeeper had done her job well, as he’d known she would. After all, her life depended on it. Alana and the old priest were nothi
ng to her; she’d had little choice but to accept Quinn’s proposition.

  Not that it would have mattered in the end. Whether the innkeeper lured them inside or not, he had the numbers to ensure success. Taking them by surprise simply meant a cleaner victory.

  His only regret was that they’d missed the boy. Braidon had miscalculated, using his magic on those outside the shield that protected him from magical sight. But at least his mistake had allowed Quinn to flush Alana and the old woman out of hiding.

  He’d already sent for the Tsar the night before. Now he had only to capture Alana in preparation for her father’s arrival.

  Rising, he shielded his eyes and gestured for his Stalkers to make their move. A brilliant white lit the air, illuminating the room and blinding the two women. Silently Quinn moved behind them, cutting off their escape.

  “Alana, how good it is to see you again,” he whispered when she staggered towards him.

  She spun, her hand going for her sword, but Quinn was faster still. His fist flashed out, catching her hard in the base of the skull, and she collapsed without making a sound.

  He looked up as warmth bathed his face. Flames crackled in the old woman’s hands as she stepped towards him, her face contorted with rage. Quickly Quinn drew his blade and pressed it to the unconscious Alana’s throat.

  “Enough, woman,” he hissed. “One more move, and your granddaughter dies.”

  “Go ahead!” Enala growled, the fire in her palms leaping higher.

  Quinn smiled. “Look around you, woman. You’re surrounded. Give up, Enala.”

  Blinking in the light of his Stalker’s magic, Enala hesitated. With fire in both hands, she looked for all the world like an avenging demon, but Quinn knew better. She was weak, the same as her brother. He watched as her gaze swept the room, taking in the dozen Stalkers Quinn had stationed inside the inn. Half stood with crossbows aimed, the other six with magic crackling in their hands. The fight went from the woman’s face, but she did not lower her hands.