by Aaron Hodges
Outside the rumble of the wheels told Enala they were picking up speed. “South,” she answered. “That’s all we can tell you, you understand.”
Laurel laughed, a wheezing snort from her skinny nose. “Not like it matters now. Oh well, no doubt you’ll tell us one day,” she turned to Eric. “Now Eric, what about your powers? Where did you learn to use them? From what I hear, you caused quite a bit of carnage in Oaksville. But you seemed in control when I sensed you earlier.”
“A friend taught me,” Eric smirked. “Release my magic, and I’ll show you just how well.”
Laurel wagged her finger. “Now, now, we were getting along so well. Besides, you’re in no condition for a fight. I can tell, remember?”
Eric shrugged and leaned back against a strut, his defiance spent. Enala refused to be deterred so easily. With Eric exhausted, it was up to her to get them out of this mess.
“So what makes a Magicker want to join a bunch of thugs like the Baronians?” she asked.
Laurel paused, her grey eyes catching Enala’s gaze, searching for a motive behind the question. “A means to an end,” she said at last. “I was never the priestly kind, but it was the Temple of the Light who found me when I was young and taught me to use my magic. The Baronians offered an escape, and a little more adventure.”
Enala nodded, pleased with the new information. She thought she had recognised a Trolan tang to Laurel’s accent. The Temples of the Light worshipped Darius, the God of Trola. Or former God, since he had vanished over a hundred years ago. “I hardly think murder and theft were your only options for adventure.”
Laurel’s eyes flashed. “No, but they were the most profitable. Besides, I was bonded to the temple until I turned twenty-five. I would still have a year of service left had I not escaped. Here, I am free to come and go as I please. Here, I am valued.”
“Free?” Enala raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying Thaster would just let you leave tomorrow if you wished? You think he would let a power like yours walk out the door?” she laughed, her voice taking on a mocking tone. “Not that you exactly have a door. Is this what you call ‘home’?”
Laurel’s face darkened and her eyes took on a dangerous glint. She rose, towering over Enala, dagger still in hand. Enala made no effort to move. She met Laurel’s glare with a smirk of her own.
“You should watch what you say around me,” Laurel growled.
“Oh should I now? And what would Thaster say if you were to damage his new prizes?” she laughed. “You don’t fool me, Laurel. You’re no more free than either of us. Thaster is in charge here, and whatever Thaster wants, Thaster gets,” she eyed Laurel. “You all bow to his will.”
Laurel lurched forward, hands reaching out to jerk Enala to her feet. She pulled Enala close, face to face, the breath hissing between her teeth. Enala forced herself to remain still, even as the stench of Laurel’s breath caught in her nose. She struggled to stop herself from gagging.
Finally, Laurel growled and grabbed Enala’s wrists in hands of steel. She picked up the rope and bound her even tighter than before. Then she marched to the flap at the rear of the wagon.
“Tell Thaster I would like to speak with him,” Enala shouted as Laurel swung out of the moving wagon. She glimpsed the rutted trail through the gap as Laurel clambered around the side and made her way to the front of the wagon. Enala watched Laurel’s silhouette through the canvas as she took a seat beside the driver.
She glanced at Eric. He raised an eyebrow. “Now what?” he asked.
Enala had no idea.
*************
Caelin stood at the bow of the ship, watching as they passed beyond the last bend in the river. Ahead, the great expanse of lake Ardath lay revealed. The vast body of water stretched out before them, rolling green hills rising up on all sides. The noon day sun shone high above, vanishing occasionally behind the white clouds racing across the sky. The wind howled, rolling in off the surrounding hills. In the distance, white cliffs rose from the blue waters of the lake. At the top towered the spires of Ardath, beckoning them closer.
The rigging creaked as the wind took hold in the sails, propelling them out onto the lake. A collective sigh of relief rose from the marines below as they shipped oars. Caelin closed his eyes, a lump catching in his throat. The same scene ran through his mind, again and again. Two days had passed and still Michael’s face haunted him, staring up from the pool of blood, dead eyes accusing.
A groan rattled from Caelin’s throat. “Why?” he whispered to the wind. “Why did you do it?”
The wind offered no answer, and the thoughts continued to chase him. Why had he been so selfish? Why had he convinced the doctor to come? His foolish desire for Michael’s company in this insane quest had led his friend to his death. Guilt weighed on Caelin’s soul. Tears filled his eyes, not for the first time since they had escaped Chole.
The refugees of Sitton packed the deck, staring out with expressions of awe and apprehension. The ship sped through the water, rocking gently as small waves lapped at the sides. Caelin shivered as a finger of cool air reached down his neck, raising goose bumps on his skin.
He looked up as Inken joined him at the railing. “We’re almost there,” she looked at him, her hazel eyes showing strength. “They’ll be there, waiting for us.”
Caelin stared into her eyes, and nodded. “I hope so.”
He tried to keep the sorrow from his voice, but Inken was not easily fooled. “No one could have stopped it, Caelin,” she closed her eyes. “But I will never forget him, could never thank him enough for saving Eric.”
Caelin barely heard her words. “It is my fault,” he croaked. “I convinced him to come, told him we needed him.”
Inken fell silent, looking out across the choppy waters. “It was his choice,” she said at last. “And no one else’s. You may have given him a purpose, but it was Michael who decided to come,” she closed her eyes. “It was Michael who decided to give his life for Eric’s.”
“I don’t know,” Inken’s words rang within, trickling against the flow of self-destructive thoughts. He took a deep breath, his frustration coming to the fore. “I just don’t know anymore. What is the point of any of this now? The Sword of Light will not be enough without Jurrien and Antonia. We cannot even hope to stop the demon without them, let alone Archon himself.”
A strong hand grasped his shoulder and shook him. “Get a hold of yourself, Caelin,” Inken snapped. He flinched back at the fire in her eyes. “No matter what, it is up to us to go on now. Michael gave his life for this fight. Jurrien’s last act in this world was to save us. So we must take strength from their faith in us, in their belief that we could win this fight.”
The courage in Inken’s voice bolstered Caelin. He straightened and gave her a nod, pushing his self-pity down to the depths of his mind. Inken was right; they had to continue, had to find a way to win this battle.
He looked around and saw they were almost upon the city. Onlookers packed the docks at the bottom of the cliffs, staring out at the strange ship approaching. Their war galley had outpaced the other refugee ships from Sitton; they would be the first survivors to reach the capital.
The crowd on the docks clambered for a view as the ship pulled up to its mooring. The marines were the first ashore, bellowing orders for people to make room for the passengers to disembark while others secured the ship. They waited patiently on-board as the refugees unloaded first, happy for them to distract the crowd.
At last they walked down the plank to the wharf. They allowed the marines to guide them through the milling crowds, and then Caelin took the lead as they reached the marble staircase leading up to the city. Gabriel and Inken stayed close as he waved to their escort, telling them to return to the ship. He knew the way from here. The men looked relieved to see the back of them. Caelin could not blame them after all they had witnessed in Sitton.
Together the three of them began the long climb to the top. Caelin knew from experience there were over
five hundred steps to the stairwell. It was an impressive feat of engineering; some of the steps had been cut from the cliffs themselves, while other parts led them through caves deep in the stone. It was a long climb, but the view from the top would reveal the wide expanse of water stretching out all around them.
The refugees of Sitton had left some time ahead of them, but they still found themselves caught behind some of the slower climbers. Caelin did not mind the delay; when they reached the citadel it would be his duty to inform the king of the current state of affairs. He struggled to put the story together in his mind, but could not even begin to explain the deaths of Alastair and Balistor, never mind the murder of both Antonia and Jurrien. He had even lost Enala, the very reason King Fraser had sent him from the city in the first place.
They stopped to rest halfway up in a viewpoint carved from the cliff. Looking back towards the Hall river, Caelin saw that a host of smaller vessels now spotted the lake, making their way for Ardath. More citizens of Sitton come to seek refuge. He prayed the capital had the resources to cope with the sudden influx of people. Ardath was rich, but the island was small and could not support a large population.
When they finally reached the top they found the outer gates standing open, beckoning the last stragglers of their ship into the city. Caelin wiped sweat from his brow and made for the cool shade of the wall. Despite the winter winds, the midday sun still provided ample heat.
They walked beneath the granite walls which ringed the clifftops and entered the city. As they entered the square, Caelin looked around for a welcoming party. If Eric and Enala had made it this far, the king would surely know who the ship carried. His heart sank when he saw only city guards herding refugees down a side street. He saw no sign of the scarlet embroidered jackets of the councillors or their bodyguards, nor the blue tunics of the royal family.
He caught Inken’s eye and saw she shared his concern. Shrugging, he took point again, brushing off the city guards and heading up the road he knew led to the citadel.
As they made their way deeper into the city, Caelin felt his heart lighten. This had been his home since birth; he knew these streets, knew every marble mansion, every carefully crafted fountain. He knew the stories depicted in the murals decorating the walls, the tales they told of the creation of Ardath. This was the first of the cities Antonia had founded with her followers; to be a buffer between the bitter rivalry of Trola and Lonia. She had led her people into the waste that had been this no-man’s land, destroyed by decades of war. Here they had watched the land flourish at her magic’s touch.
Now Ardath sat on the crossroads of the main trading routes between the Three Nations, providing protection to travellers and collecting tax from the passing merchants. The city had grown rich off trade, and flourished.
Ahead the citadel loomed, the smooth marble walls glittering in the afternoon sunlight. Soldiers manned the battlements. They stared out over the lake, alert for the first sign of trouble. The Baronian raiders continued to grow bolder, especially since the fall of Oaksville. But the king would suffer no interference to the trading routes between Lonia and Trola.
The gates to the citadel stood barred when they arrived, the soldiers on guard moving to block their passage. They wore steel plated armour and helmets with the visors down, prepared for any attack. They each carried a steel-tipped spear and short swords strapped to their sides.
Caelin marched up and offered a salute. “Good morning, men. I am Caelin, sergeant of the Plorsean army. We have just arrived from Lonia, and have urgent news for the king.”
At Caelin’s words the foremost soldier raised his visor, revealing a well-trimmed beard and brown eyes. His face lit up with recognition. “Caelin? It’s been weeks since anyone heard from you, where have you been?”
Caelin gave a quick smile. “Elton, my old friend. I have been away on the king’s business, business which I am afraid still continues. I must speak to King Fraser.”
Elton nodded, hesitating a moment. “The king… has not been the most receptive to guests lately. You may find your presence is not so well received in the throne room,” he paused, and then continued in a whisper. “The men say the stress has gotten to the king. He speaks to us less and less, and when he does it seems as though his mind carries a great burden.”
Caelin rubbed his forehead. “I am afraid my news will only make matters worse then, but it must be given. May we pass?”
“Of course. But as I said, tread carefully, Caelin,” he glanced at the other guards. “I won’t be long. Do not let anyone else enter while I am gone,” he turned to Caelin. “Sergeant, you and your friends can follow me. I will take you to the king.”
The wheels of the gatehouse groaned as the portcullis rose ponderously into the air. The wooden gates swung open behind it.
Caelin felt a tingling run down his neck as Elton beckoned for them to follow. He shook his head, forcing down his nerves, and nodded to his friend.
“Lead on.”
Twelve
Eric swallowed hard. The chief towered above them, arms crossed, his giant two-handed blade sticking up over one shoulder. His eyes burned with rage or amusement, there was no telling which with this man.
They stood before him, tiny but defiant. The wagons had stopped for the night an hour ago, but Laurel had only just appeared with the chief. Eric could see the amusement on her face, and he did not like the wicked twist to her grin. The man standing before them was not someone to trifle with – especially with Laurel suppressing his magic.
To make matters worse, he still had no idea what Enala was planning.
If she even had a plan.
“Well,” Thaster growled. “Laurel said you wanted to speak, girl. So speak.”
Enala lifted her head and looked him in the eye. “I do,” she smiled, adding a sweet curl to her lips Eric had not once seen her wear.
He held his tongue, deciding it would be best to remain silent.
Thaster stepped closer. “And?”
Enala tilted her head and leaned in, the copper lock hanging across her eyes. “We have decided we will be good. It would be an honour to serve a man of your power.”
The chief squinted down at her. Eric swallowed again. What was Enala playing at? This man would not be fooled so easily.
Eric jumped as the chief threw back his head and unleashed a booming laugh. The sounds sent a shiver of dread through Eric and he shrank back, reaching unconsciously for his magic but finding only a black wall stretching across his mind.
Thaster’s mirth drew the attention of the Baronians nearby. He waved a hand for them to listen. “You hear that?” he cackled. “This lovely young girl would like to cooperate with me,” he laughed again. “Says it would be an honour.”
The other Baronians joined in with Thaster’s laughter, and a crowd gathered round to watch them.
Beside him, Enala’s face reddened. Her shoulders shook as she clenched her fists. Before anyone could react, she stepped across the space separating them from the chief. Her knee flashed up, striking Thaster squarely between the legs. As the giant of a man doubled over, she brought her elbow down on the back of his head. He went down like a log.
A second later Laurel had her arm around Enala’s throat and a dagger at her side. “Don’t move,” she hissed.
It took a long minute for Thaster to regain his feet. When he stood his face had turned a beet red and purple veins bulged in his forehead. He looked down at Enala, the rage in his eyes terrifying to behold. He raised a fist above her head, ready to strike her down.
Enala made no move to avoid the blow. Instead, she laughed. “What a man! A girl knocks you low, and the best you can do is beat her while your lackey holds her still. What a leader!”
Thaster hesitated, eyes glancing at the crowd of Baronians. These were his people, his followers, but Eric guessed there must be those within these ranks who aspired to replace him. Enala had just shown them all Thaster’s mortality, showed them he could be laid low by a
mere girl. If he let things stand, the vultures would soon be circling.
“Why don’t you show your people just how much of a man you really are, Thaster. I challenge you to a fight to the death. Give me my sword, and I’ll show everyone here just how much of a man you are,” she laughed again. “Unless you’re afraid to fight a girl.”
Thaster’s face had progressed from red to a dark purple. His whole body trembled, his fist still hovering over Enala’s head. It looked as though it was taking all his will not to beat her to death right there. The crowd held their breath, eyes fixed on their leader, waiting for him to react.
A long moment passed before he lowered his fist. He began to laugh again, softly at first, but it quickly grew to a roar. The other Baronians joined him, though some turned away, disappearing back into the crowd. Eric guessed they had much to ponder.
The noise buffeted them, and made Eric want to shrink away and hide, but beside him Enala stood strong, staring hard into Thaster’s eyes.
Finally Thaster raised an arm and the laughter died. He met Enala’s gaze. “Tomorrow, at midnight. That should give you some time to contemplate your fate. Laurel!” he snapped. “Take them to their wagon. Make sure they’re well fed tomorrow, the girl will need all her strength,” at that he began to cackle. With a wave of his hand he dismissed them, turning his back and disappearing into the crowd.
Laurel grasped them by the scruff of their shirts and pushed them away from the crowd.
“You just couldn’t play nice, could you?” she growled in their ears.
Enala pursed her lips but did not reply. When they reached the wagon, Laurel all but threw them through the flap. Eric stumbled to the back and slumped against one of the struts. His heart thumped at a hundred miles an hour.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Laurel and Eric asked in unison.
