The Sword of Light: The Complete Trilogy

by Aaron Hodges

  Jurrien scowled back, reaching deep for the strength he needed. He heard the silent cries of his people from all around, the pleading of the townsfolk suffering the wrath of this monster’s magic.

  “Are you ready to die, demon?” he growled.

  Thomas swung the Soul Blade in a lazy ark and yawned. “I’ll admit, Jurrien, I do enjoy the contest. Not many have held their own against me. Of all Archon’s warriors, I am the greatest. His champion, as Alastair once was to me,” he shook his head. “I am disappointed the old Magicker did not meet his end at my hand. Alastair deserved better than a death to one so low as Balistor.”

  Jurrien closed his eyes, the demon’s words drowning in the sea of misery echoing from his people.

  I cannot let my sister’s magic be perverted like this, the thought spurred him on.

  He launched himself at Thomas, lightning arcing from his arms.

  Thomas threw himself to the side, and his magic burned a path deep into the cursed forest. The Soul Blade flashed out, striking for Jurrien’s throat. He raised his spear, thunder crashing as the blades met. Then Thomas’ foot rose to smash Jurrien in the chest, forcing him back. He brought his spear up to block the next blow, but still felt the lick of the cursed steel on his cheek.

  Cold spread from the wound and Jurrien sensed another trickle of power sucked from his soul. This could not go on; his magic bleeding away drop by drop. He spun on his foot, summoning the wind to blast the demon. Thomas hurtled backwards through the air before a vine reached out to catch him.

  Magic surged as Jurrien spun the currents into a vortex, attempting to launch Thomas into the sky, away from the source of his power. If he could pin him in the sky, the demon could not avoid a killing blow.

  But more vines shot out and wrapped themselves about Thomas, pinning him to the earth. The ground beneath Jurrien split open once more, heat billowing up from the flames far below. He drew the wind back to himself and rose into the sky, feeling the whoosh of air as the crevice snapped shut below him

  “Nice try, old friend,” Thomas growled.

  Jurrien threw a bolt of lightning in response. He was tired of talking to the creature wearing his friend’s body.

  Thomas vanished and Jurrien threw himself to the side, already familiar with the demon’s trick. The hiss of the Soul Blade as it sliced past raised hackles on his neck, but his hands were already moving to strike back. He heard a satisfying crackle as his spear found flesh.

  Twisting, he attacked again, but Thomas had already retreated out of range.

  “You will pay for that,” Thomas growled, anger twisting his face beyond all recognition. Even the voice had lost all resemblance to Thomas’. “I grow tired of this game, Jurrien. It is time it ended.”

  Jurrien shivered. The demon’s cloak billowed out, growing until it seemed darkness itself clothed the fiend. The earth shook and Jurrien quickly summoned the wind to lift him to safety.

  Before he could rise five feet, a vine tore from the dirt to wrap itself about his wrist. He growled as thorns bit deep into his mortal flesh. Before he could swing the spear another snatched at him, and another and another, as a mass of cruel tendrils blackened out the sky. He struggled within the thicket as the thorns tore through his defences.

  Concentrating, he drew lightning from the air, magic flooding from his body. His skin crackled with energy, burning away the vines. Relief swept through Jurrien as they fell away like spent tinder.

  Then fresh panic surged as he felt the piercing sting of their return. He opened his mouth to cry out, but a thorny tendril wrapped about his head, cutting off his scream.

  Jurrien struggled to control his dread. The familiar magic of his sister surged around him, usually so soothing but tainted now by darkness. His own power coursed within, battling with the dark forces, drawing energy from the air itself to burn at his earthly entrapments. Yet his body remained imprisoned, the godly strength of the vines threatening to tear him apart.

  But that was not how the demon wished for him to die.

  “Do you see now, Jurrien? Do you see how weak you really are; how much stronger your sister was? Gentle, sweet Antonia. Always the light-hearted one, the beacon of hope. But this power of hers, it can level cities. How she must suffer, locked away in the blade, knowing the death her magic now brings.”

  The demon appeared through the thicket, the darkness around it merging with the forest Antonia’s magic had brought forth. The pale face looked up at him, blank eyes showing no hint of life.

  “But your power, your power will be welcome too.”

  Jurrien wanted to curse the creature, but the vines choked the response from him. He reached again for his power, to summon all his strength and strike him down. With shock he found only a tiny pool remaining. The rest had withered, trickling away with each drop of his blood, spent in the battle to free himself. There was maybe enough for one last attack, but he knew now it would be futile.

  “Relax, Jurrien, you must relax. It will not be so bad. You will have a blade all to yourself, see?” It held up a Soul Blade, the steel still black, empty. The demon grinned. “Now your sister, she fought it. The process did not go well for her.”

  Rage boiled up within Jurrien. He shrieked against the gag, teeth tearing at the vine. He tried to swing his arms, to kick out with his legs, anything to free himself. But his struggles were futile, the vines refusing to budge an inch. There was no escape this time, not for himself at least.

  Closing his eyes, Jurrien opened his spirit mind and soared into the sky, seeking the fellowship. Elation rose in his soul as he saw Enala and Eric had already fled. Following the scent of Eric’s magic, he found them racing across the farmlands to the south.

  Jurrien reached out with his mind to Eric. I am done, Eric. Do not turn back!

  His message sent, he turned back to the city. There he found the others still trapped by the forest, helpless before the demon’s magic. A shiver went through Jurrien’s soul. They had given everything for this quest. He must give them a chance to run. He had magic left for that, at least.

  Summoning the final reserves of his strength, Jurrien sent lightning rippling through the forest beside the company. Such an easy task, yet exhaustion swept through him as the last drop of his magic trickled away.

  As the energy burnt its way through the nightmarish trees, Jurrien plummeted back to his body.

  He gasped as pain exploded from his chest. A cool black tide swept into his body, seeking out his soul. In despair he reached for his magic, desperate to resist, but found only emptiness.

  No! he screamed in the confines of his mind.

  Then Jurrien slumped against the black blade piercing his heart.

  And the Storm God’s soul went screaming into the Soul Blade.

  Ten

  “What do we do now?” Enala shouted over the howling wind.

  “I don’t know,” Eric called back, fighting to keep the despair from his voice. Jurrien’s final words rang in his mind. “We were meant to head for Ardath, but I don’t think I can take us that far.”

  Eric could sense his pool of magic shrinking; keeping them airborne was sapping his strength at a shocking rate. But at least they were making good time. They had already travelled over a league upriver, although it was difficult to tell for sure in the darkness. The stars glittered overhead, but the half-moon failed to cast enough light to illuminate more than the dim reflection of water below. It was eerie, flying through the night, unable to see where they might end up. At least Eric could not tell how high they were; somehow that seemed to have kept his fear at bay.

  “It may have been a trick,” Enala suggested. He had told her of Jurrien’s message.

  Eric shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. If it was the demon, it would have told us to turn back. No, Jurrien is gone,” he closed his eyes, his heart twisting as he thought of Inken and the others. He should not have left them, should have found a way to save them all. But there was no turning back now. “We’re on
our own now.”

  “They may have escaped, Eric,” there was strength in Enala’s voice, enough to almost give him hope.

  Tears spilt from Eric’s eyes. Angrily he wiped them away. “I don’t see how; if Jurrien could not even save himself.”

  How could you have left them? The question raced through his head, haunting him.

  Clenching his fists, Eric forced it to the back of his mind. He had to focus, think of what to do next. They had to assume the demon now had Jurrien’s magic. That meant it could wield the God powers of the Earth and Sky. No one could stand against such forces. Their only chance was to put as much distance between themselves and the demon as possible.

  “If it has Jurrien’s power, will it be able to fly now?” Enala asked.

  A chill swept through Eric. “Maybe. Let’s just pray it first has to learn how to use the Sky magic. That could be why it hasn’t shown its face until now; it had to master Antonia’s powers first.”

  Enala nodded. “That makes sense. But when it does, it will head this way. It knows we have to go to Kalgan; the Sword is there. Do you think we can outrun it, once it learns to wield the Sky magic?”

  “No,” Eric’s power was still fading fast. The God magic would not have the same limitations. “In fact, I don’t think I can carry us much further.”

  “How long can you last?”

  “Maybe another hour, no more than that,” Eric shrugged. “We won’t get as far as Ardath.”

  He caught the glimpse of water away to their right and altered course to keep with the river. So long as they followed it, they would eventually arrive in the lake city of Ardath, capital of Plorsea. But if the demon knew their plans, it would be on their trail within hours. Even without mastery of the Sky, intuition told Eric it would catch them long before they reached the city.

  Eric coaxed a little more magic into the winds, driving them faster. Emotion swirled in his chest, fear and sorrow battling within. He closed his eyes, seeing again Michael’s face as he pushed Eric from the path of the blade. The short smile of farewell. He had sacrificed himself to save Eric, and who knew whether the others had followed him.

  I left them to die.

  Eric glanced up at a squeeze from Enala’s hand. “It was their choice, Eric. Whatever happens, we have to honour them, Michael and the others. We will make it to Kalgan, and turn the Sword against that demon and whatever other creatures Archon sends,” Enala drew a deep, shuddering breath. “We will not let their deaths be in vain.”

  Tears blurred Eric’s eyes again, but in the darkness he no longer cared. “Okay,” he whispered, the winds whipping the word away.

  “So do we go to Ardath?” Enala asked.

  Eric swallowed, thinking hard. “No,” he replied. “The demon must know we would head that way. If it can fly now, it would overtake us within hours.”

  “Then where? We have to get to Kalgan and the Sword, and Ardath guards the only passage through the mountains for leagues around. What other choice do we have?”

  Frowning, Eric searched for an answer. A chill iced his heart as the answer came to him. There was another way to Kalgan, one that did not pass through the mountains. Antonia had shown him the way, in the vision of Alastair and Thomas fighting during Archon’s war. There was a secret passage to Kalgan, one guarded by a creature which might prove more dangerous than the demon behind them.

  “We must go to Chole,” Eric whispered.

  “What?” Enala shouted back, confusion sweeping across her face. “Chole is in the wrong direction!”

  “Exactly. The demon will never guess to look for us there.”

  “But the Sword of Light is in Kalgan.”

  Eric nodded. “I know. But there is an ancient passage between the two cities, a magical path called The Way. Unfortunately, as far as I know, only two people have used it in the last five hundred years and lived.”

  Enala fell silent. Finally, she turned to him. “Who were they?”

  “Alastair and Thomas.”

  Enala gave a grim nod. “Okay, we go to Chole.”

  Eric’s sense of dread grew. Silently, he reached for the winds and directed them away from the river. The image of the skeleton’s grin as it attacked Alastair appeared in his mind’s eye. He fought down his fear, but in truth he did not hold out much hope for their new plan. His mentor had only survived through sheer luck. What chance did they have?

  But then, they didn’t stand a chance against the demon either.

  Eric closed his eyes and sent a desperate prayer to whatever entity remained that Inken and the others had survived. Every inch of his being screamed for him to turn back, but he kept on, jaw locked, neck straining, hands clenched so hard his fingernails bit into his palms. There was no choice, they had to keep going.

  They flew on for another hour, then a second as Eric strained every mile he could get from his magic. Below they caught glimpses of open farmland in the dim moonlight. Patches of forest flashed by, and the odd stream, but otherwise they saw little. They held each other close, shivering as the wind drew the heat from their bodies.

  Eric felt his concentration waning with his fading strength. His eyes drooped, the chill creeping through his body. Finally he could go no further, and they drifted lower in the sky. With the trickle of magic remaining, he directed them towards the ground in a downwards spiral.

  He could see no roads or buildings, only the gently rolling hills of northern Plorsea and a flock of sheep huddled together in the pasture. A few looked up at their approach, and then returned to their slumber. Apparently two humans falling from the sky did not bother them overly much.

  Despite his best efforts, they were still moving too fast when they hit the ground. Their feet went out from under them, a final gust of wind sending them rolling across the dry grass. Eric bit back a curse as his shoulder struck a rock buried in the field. When they finally came to a stop, he was thankful just to be in one piece.

  They lay there a while then, taking stock of their bruises and checking for broken bones. Eric took a deep breath, savouring the grassy scent of the field. Nearby several sheep finally climbed to their feet and trotted away, their angry grunts loud in the night’s silence. Exhaustion washed through Eric’s body as his muscles began to ache. The flight had pushed him too far; he had spent some of his own life-force to bolster his magic. Now he would suffer the after-effects.

  “Are you okay?” Enala asked as she stood.

  Eric took stock of his body, the twinging pain already spreading to his arms. Soon they would start to cramp and seize. Then the real pain would begin. If he was lucky he might still be able to move. Either way, they needed to find shelter before he was completely immobilised. He pushed himself to his feet, his injured shoulder shrieking in protest.

  “For now. But we had better get out of the open. Who knows what’s out here.”

  “Easier said than done. It’s pitch black, we have no torches, and all I could see as we landed was farmland,” she glanced at the stars. “From what I can tell, Chole is in that direction,” she pointed to where he guessed was south.

  “That’s a start. We should probably avoid the roads anyway,” he took a step down the hill. His leg crumpled as pain tore into his calf. He would have fallen if Enala had not caught him.

  “I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere in this condition,” Enala observed.

  Eric ran a hand through his hair. “We don’t have much choice; we need to find shelter.”

  Enala shook her head, forehead creased with worry. “I don’t know much about magic, but you don’t look good, Eric. You’re pale as a ghost. And we’re not going to get far in the dark anyway. It must be almost midnight,” she looked around. “At least we seem to be on the leeward side of the hill here. There doesn’t seem to be much wind.”

  “Where did you learn so much about the outdoors?” Eric glanced at the younger girl. Blond hair hung across her face and her copper lock had caught on her nose.

  Enala made a face. �
�My parents, remember. They taught me how to survive.”

  “Okay, so what do we do? We didn’t exactly have time to grab supplies before we left.”

  “No, and you’re in no condition to go anywhere. It’s going to be a rough night. But you rest, I’ll see if I can find some wood for a fire.”

  “Is that a good idea? The demon might not be far behind.”

  “If it is, I don’t think it’ll need a fire to find us. But if our plan worked, it shouldn’t be anywhere near us. We should be safe here, I hope.”

  Raising his hands in surrender, Eric sank back to the grass. “You win. But I lived in the wilderness too, remember. There are other things out here, dangerous creatures and people. A fire might attract them.”

  “Maybe, but there are others it will keep at bay,” she laughed suddenly. “And I’m cold,” the laughter overtook her then, her whole body shaking as she bent in two, hysterical tears running down her face.

  Eric couldn’t help but laugh himself; a painful, hopeless laughter rising up from the gulf inside him. Michael was dead, another friend lost to the darkness. And Jurrien had followed, the last God standing against Archon’s power, and their companions had probably gone with him. They were alone, fleeing for their lives from a mad, unstoppable demon.

  And here they were, worrying about thieves and the wildlife.

  Finally the laughter subsided. Eric wiped his eyes, offering Enala a gentle pat on the back. “Okay, good plan. Let’s at least be warm.”

  Enala took a deep breath, cooling her last bout of laughter, and straightened. She wore a small smile, reflecting the self-directed mirth. With a wink she made her way into the darkness and disappeared around the bend in the hill.

  Lying back, Eric tried not to second guess the decision. Worry gnawed at his conscience; whatever Enala said, he should not have let her wander off alone. If she was lost…

  “Okay, sleepyhead. We have fire.”

  Eric snapped awake, shocked he’d drifted off to sleep. The exhaustion had crept up on him, stealing him away the second he closed his eyes.