by Aaron Hodges
Enala sat across from him, smiling happily in the light of the small fire. She held her hands out to the blaze, her grin growing. A pile of wood and kindling lay beside her.
Stretching, Eric tried to hide his surprise. “How did you light it?” he asked.
“It wasn’t hard. An old trick I learned when I was young. If you’re lucky, I’ll show you one day. We were just fortunate I found a dead tree with plenty of firewood.”
“Another time,” Eric nodded. Holding his hands out to the flames, he let the warmth seep into his frozen joints. The cold had crept into his bones while he slept. A sharp pain lanced through his body as he moved. He tried to stifle a groan, and failed.
Enala moved across to sit beside him. “Are you okay?”
“Nothing a bit of sleep and food won’t fix,” he paused. “We don’t have any food, do we?” His stomach rumbled.
“Afraid not. It was too dark to look properly; in the morning we might be able to find berries or something. Oh, and the firewood will probably only last an hour or so. Enjoy it while it lasts.”
Eric groaned and lay back again, trying to rest his aching body. He closed his eyes, the light of the fire flickering across his eyelids. Its heat provided some scant comfort against the night’s chill. At least the hill sheltered them from the cursed wind. He’d had more than enough after their flight.
Eric flinched when he felt Enala’s body lie down next to him. Instinctively, he reached out an arm and drew her closer. It would be a long night; they would need each other’s body heat to keep out the cold. They held each other close, silent, eyes closed, and listened to the chirping of the crickets and the crackle of the fire.
Before long Eric felt himself drifting back towards sleep. This time he made no effort to resist…
Eric’s eyes shot open. He stared up at the stars, feeling the cold wash over him. He had no idea how long he had slept, but he sensed the fire was cold and dead. There was only Enala’s warmth beside him now.
He frowned, exhaustion threatening to pull him back down into sleep. What had woken him? The growl of an animal? The wind? Or the muffled whisper of a footstep?
Fog clouded his mind, the lure of sleep reassuring him they were safe. But something had woken him. Groaning, he tore himself from the clutches of sleep and sat up.
The sound of movement came from nearby. Eric struggled to his feet, alert now but his aching body refusing to obey.
He looked up in time to see the club descend. He opened his mouth to cry out, then pain exploded through his skull, and he fell back into darkness.
*************
“Go!” Inken screamed.
There was no time to stand there in shock. Just a moment before a bolt of lightning had erupted from thin air to dance amongst the forest in front of them. The rotten stench of burning meat and wood reached them as the trees burnt, clearing a path to safety. For a precious second Inken stood shocked, searching for Eric, expecting the young Magicker to drop from the sky.
Then, with a sick sense of dread, Inken realised this was Jurrien’s final gift to them.
“Go!” Inken screamed again and sprang forward. She raced into the gap left by the lightning, not stopping to check if Gabriel or Caelin followed. They could not afford to hesitate now. The demon remained preoccupied with Jurrien, but that might not last long. They needed to get as far away as possible, while they still could.
As she ran, Inken glanced at the writhing mass surrounding them. Already the blackened shoots were beginning to regenerate, shooting from the earth to chase them down the narrow alley. She picked up the pace. Fear bordering on panic drove her onwards, concern for her companions coming a distant second.
The path before them narrowed as the vines reached for them. But the end was close, the walls of a broken building beckoning through the unnatural forest.
They burst from the last of the trees, vines tearing at their skin as they made their escape. Inken lashed out with her blade to free herself and pressed on. Their respite would not last long, not if they remained in Sitton. Ahead the street sloped down towards the river. The ship was their only chance.
She glanced back to check on Gabriel and Caelin. They nodded back, their faces strained and haggard. Inken guessed hers did not look much better. They jogged down the street, dodging through the ruined buildings and rubble littering their path. Any faster and they would break an ankle in the darkness. If not for the burning buildings, their pace would have been even slower.
As they neared the waterfront, a flash of light lit the sky behind them. They looked back in time to see a blue glow erupt from where Jurrien and the demon had fought. A rumble of thunder followed, then a blast of wind struck them, forcing them to their knees.
As quickly as it had appeared, the conflagration vanished, and a deathly silence fell over the company. No one spoke. They knew what had just happened.
Jurrien, God of the Sky, was dead.
They were alone now, the only ones left to stand against the darkness.
Inken swallowed hard and picked up the pace. The ship could not be much further, but with every step she expected the laughter to begin anew, as the demon came for them. She glanced back over her shoulder, searching for the first sign of pursuit. She prayed to whatever force of good remaining that Eric and Enala were a long way from here by now.
A surge of relief swept through her as they turned a corner and found the river waiting for them. Their ship still bobbed on the water, alone now in the docks, the other vessels long since fled. The contingent of marines they’d left behind stood guard at the dock, faces grim. Terrified villagers packed the railings of their vessels, eyes glancing up at the city.
The marines parted as they approached, the captain offering Caelin a salute.
“Sir, everyone but your party is aboard. I don’t know what’s happening up there, but we took as many villagers on board as we could and then closed the dock,” the man hesitated, eyes drifting up to where the light had appeared. “Where are the others?”
Caelin shook his head. “Dead or gone. There’s no time to discuss things now. Get the ship ready to depart. We have to be gone five minutes ago.”
“Already done, sir,” the captain announced as they boarded. “Everybody hold on! Throw ropes, we’re underway!”
Men leapt to obey the captain’s command, as eager as anyone to leave the doomed city. Ropes were cut and oars shipped as they pushed off the dock. Minutes later the ship was surging up the river, the frantic beat of the oars driving them onwards at a rapid pace.
Inken could not tear her eyes from the broken city. Flames lit the shattered buildings and the thick smoke rising from the once beautiful city blacked out the stars. She could see little chance of survival for any soul remaining within its walls.
As the ship raced around the first bend in the river, the burning city slowly disappeared from view.
Closing her eyes, Inken let the first tears begin to fall.
*************
Thomas closed his eyes, feeling the new power coursing through him. It twisted with the dark magic that now ruled his mortal body, joining with the green tendrils of Earth magic. This was a wild force, this Sky element, a power he had never wielded before. It fought him, surged against his will, fighting for freedom.
The demon inside grinned at the challenge. Antonia’s power had come easily; as a mortal he had possessed Earth magic for decades. Yet the Sky was different: unwieldy, demanding, struggling for control. It would take time to master.
Ah, but when he did.
Thomas lifted his face to the sky, breathing in the destruction. His tongue darted out, tasting the ash of his conquest. Closing his eyes, he savoured the screams of the dying echoing up from the city. The destruction was almost complete. As was his mission.
He frowned then, sensing an absence. His quarry had escaped, the girl fleeing with the boy who wielded Sky magic of his own. And Jurrien had saved the others.
Shaking his head, Thomas dismis
sed them. The mortals were of no consequence. The other two though, he would hunt them to the ends of the earth.
He smiled. It would not come to that. No one remained to stand against Archon’s magic now. The Three Nations lay open before his master’s power. His taint would spread, and those who grew tired of the yoke of the Gods would rise up against their rulers. This time, there would be no resistance, no Gods to unite the people against his master’s crusade.
And whispers of the two he hunted would spread. They could not go undetected for long. Word of their passage would soon reach the ears of Archon’s servants.
But of course, he knew where they must go anyway. The kingdom of Trola lay far to the west. In its capital, the Sword of Light waited for its rightful wielder. The Sword was their only hope now, the only God power remaining to protect the Three Nations. They would claim it if they could.
Thomas grinned. But not if he claimed it first. He began to march through the ruins of Sitton, following the taint of magic the boy had left behind. It was already fading, and soon all sign of their passage would vanish. It did not matter. He would wait for them in Kalgan.
He glanced at the night’s sky. The boy and Jurrien could fly. A useful skill, even if the dark magic already allowed him to travel faster than any mortal. He would need to discover the secret to their flight. With the strength of the Storm God’s magic, he had no doubt he could outpace the boy.
Thomas laughed, basking in the power of the two Soul Blades. A surge of joy throbbed in his veins as he reached for Antonia’s power. He felt the dim shriek of her soul as he tapped into its destructive force. A tremor raced out from him, buckling the earth in one final wave of destruction. With a roar and a whoosh of dust, the last of Sitton toppled to the ground.
Thomas walked from the ruin, into darkness.
Eleven
Enala wriggled on the hard floor, struggling to find a more comfortable position. The task was almost impossible with the wagon lurching through every pothole in the rutted road. The rope tying her hands behind her back also didn’t help, or the dirty rag that had been shoved in her mouth. She winced as the wheels struck a rock, tossing her into the air. Canvas sides covered the rear of the wagon, leaving her blind to the world outside.
Eric lay across from her, unconscious. His breath was laboured and a purple bruise marked his forehead. Sweat beaded his brow, while grass stains covered his clothes. He groaned as the wagon bounced again, but still did not wake.
His warning call had woken her, but before she could even draw her sword rough hands had grabbed her and thrown her to the ground. There had been at least six, too many for her to fight alone. She had been overpowered in seconds, then stripped of her sword and dagger. Then they had then been lugged overland for hours in the darkness, finally arriving at a faint track where a wagon waited.
Sunlight had begun to seep through the canvas cloth hours ago, and Eric still showed no sign of stirring. Enala pulled at her bonds again, hoping to stretch the rope enough to free herself. The coarse threads cut into her wrists, refusing to yield. It seemed their only hope was if Eric could regain the strength to summon his magic.
That’s if he wakes at all, a cynical voice whispered in her head. She shook herself, forcing her mind to other thoughts. There had to be another way out.
The banging of the wagon wheels lessened as their pace slowed. When they drew to a stop she shifted herself to watch the flap at the back. She fixed a scowl on her face, wishing she wasn’t gagged so she could curse whoever entered. Anger boiled up within, surging through her veins. Her heart thudded and pressure built in her chest, a white hot heat begging to be released.
Enala clenched her fists, fighting the anger. She could not afford to be reckless.
Stones rattled outside as boots approached the rear of the wagon. A shadow appeared against the canvas, then the flaps were drawn aside and a woman carrying a bucket pulled herself into sight. Her grey eyes surveyed them as she brushed short black hair from her face. She wore the long pants and leather jerkin of a man, both stained a deep black. A scar stretched from her jaw down to the collar of her shirt.
The woman paid no attention to Enala. Instead she hoisted the bucket with two hands and poured it over Eric, a wicked grin fixed on her freckled face.
“Arghhh!” Eric screamed and seemed to rise into the air. He gasped as he tripped over his bonds, tumbling face first to the floor. He shrieked again, the whites of his eyes showing as he looked around in panic.
“Good, you’re awake,” the woman ignored the string of curses which followed, “the chief wants to meet you.”
She reached back and pulled the cover across. Sunlight streamed in before a large man stepped up to block it out. Enala swallowed as he stepped into the wagon, already reassessing her first impression. The man wasn’t large, he was huge; towering over them in the confined space. He had to bend just to stop his broad shoulders from touching the roof. Thick leather armour covered his barrel-like chest, painted black in a match of the woman’s clothing. His hair had been pulled back in a ponytail, which draped over his shoulder and a matted beard covered his face. He wore a great two-handed sword strapped to his back.
His black eyes stared down at them. Enala shivered as they lingered on her, seeing the naked greed there, the black soul of a man used to having whatever he wanted.
“What have we here?” the man boomed. “I expected only the Magicker.”
“They were together when we found them, Thaster. I thought you might like to talk to both.”
The man nodded. He waved at Eric. “And he is secure?”
The woman grinned. “Absolutely. He used too much of his power anyway, he’ll be no problem to control.”
“Good, I don’t want any trouble from him,” the man turned back to them. “I am Thaster, chief of this Baronian tribe. You are my captives. If you are lucky, we will find some use for you. So long as you cooperate,” his voice turned hard. “Or, if you do not, perhaps we will collect the bounty on your head, boy,” he stared at Eric.
Groaning, Eric struggled to his feet. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Or perhaps you would like to let us go, before I burn all you own to ash.”
Hope surged in Enala’s chest. Had Eric recovered enough to save them?
Thaster only laughed. “Go ahead. Laurel here has taken care of that,” he waved a hand at the woman with the bucket.
Enala’s hope curdled in her stomach as Eric paled. “What have you done? Why can’t I find my power?”
“Allow me to explain,” Laurel stepped forward and grabbed Eric by the collar. Next second, her knife was at Eric’s throat. With his arms tied behind his back, Eric could do nothing but stare into her eyes as she pressed the dagger harder. Blood began to trickle down his neck.
“I am a Magicker too,” she growled. “One of very bad repute, you might say. Even if my powers come from the Light element. I sensed your magic earlier and tracked you down. Something told me it might be worth it. And now my magic will keep yours under check for as long as we care to have you as our guests. Understand?” she threw Eric to the floor.
Eric stared up, eyes boiling with hate. He gave a curt nod.
“Good,” the woman shrugged. “Look on the bright side, boy. At least here you won’t be burning any towns to the ground,” she gave a dark cackle. “Or at least not the ones who are good to us.”
Thaster folded his arms. “Then we have an understanding. The Magicker will be good. If you’re lucky, I might just keep you around. A power like yours could prove very useful. If not, well, then we will enjoy the gold for your head,” he turned to Enala and a dark terror filled her heart. “As for your friend, I’m sure there will be a place for another slave in our camp.”
Just then, Enala would have given anything for her sword. The pleasure of driving the sharp blade through the man’s stomach would be worth the beating. She struggled to keep the hate from her face, helpless as she was.
Thaster waved a hand. “I will leave y
ou to your prisoners, Laurel. You can remove the girl’s gag. Let me know if she has anything interesting to say,” he turned and left the wagon, leaving them alone with the Magicker.
Laurel moved across and untied the gag from Enala’s head. “There you go, my lady,” she smirked. “How is that?”
Enala spat at her face, but she ducked out of range and grinned. “Feisty, I see,” she sat on a crate at the rear of the wagon, ignoring Enala’s dark glare. “So, what are your names?”
Enala clenched her mouth shut. Eric did the same. Laurel only lay back and crossed her legs. After a few minutes she cleared her throat. “I’m afraid we’re going to be spending quite some time together, my friends. I can’t very well go around calling you ‘boy’ and ‘girl’ now, can I?”
“Do what you like,” Enala growled, her fury spreading. A ringing started in her ears, growing as the pressure built.
“Why should we make your life easier?” Eric snapped.
Laurel shrugged, up ending her bucket to use as a foot rest. “My life is easy whether you cooperate or not. But it’s up to me whether I untie you, or let you spend the next three weeks trussed up like pigs,” her knife appeared again. She tossed it casually into the air and caught it by the blade. “Either way, don’t think there’ll be any hope of escape,” the knife flashed across the wagon, burying itself in one of the wooden supports holding up the canvas.
“My name is Eric,” Enala turned in surprise as Eric grated out the words. “this is Kathryn. We don’t want any trouble.”
“Okay, Eric and Kathryn, it’s nice to meet you,” Laurel stood and moved across the wagon. Pulling her knife from the wood, she quickly cut their bonds. “Let it not be said I let a good deed go unrewarded. Make yourselves comfortable. We’ll be travelling most of the day,” as she spoke the carriage began to move again.
Enala rubbed her wrists, pain tingling the tips of her fingers as the blood returned. “Where are we going?”
“South,” Laurel answered. “That’s all you need to know. Thaster likes to keep his plans quiet, you understand,” she spread her hands. “Where were the two of you going in such a hurry?”
