The Sword of Light: The Complete Trilogy

by Aaron Hodges

  Roaring, he started towards her, feet thumping as he moved at an almost casual stroll. Yet his pace was deceptive, his long legs narrowing the gap between them in two steps. His blade lanced out, seeking her head.

  Enala was faster. She only had one hope of prevailing – keep out of reach of Thaster’s blade until its weight began to wear on him. With such a large weapon, Enala hoped it would not take long. Exhaustion would flood his muscles with acid and his arms would start to ach. Then she would strike.

  But first she had to survive.

  The greatsword swept through empty air as she darted towards the nearest bonfire. Placing it at her back, she spun in time to deflect a second blow. As their blades met sparks flew and a shock from the impact ran down her arm. Enala cried out, stumbling back a step, grasping desperately at the pommel of her sword to keep from dropping it.

  Fortunately, the fire caught in Thaster’s eyes as he moved in for the kill. He hesitated, squinting against the burning light, giving Enala time to dodge to the side. Again his blade descended on empty space.

  Spinning, Enala saw Thaster struggling to find her, blinking as he tried to recover his night vision. Seeing an opportunity, she leapt forward, short sword stabbing for his side. Enala almost dropped the blade in surprise when it connected, tearing through his thick leather armour and piercing flesh. She had not really expected the blow to find its mark.

  Thaster bellowed in pain and the crowd gasped. His right arm lashed out, his iron fist catching her on the shoulder and flinging her from her feet. Somehow she kept hold of her blade as it tore from his side.

  Enala rolled as she landed, holding the bloody weapon out at a safe distance. Shaking off the blow, she stumbled to her feet, sword at the ready as she looked for her opponent.

  Thaster charged across the ring, silent now, rage burning in his eyes and the greatsword held overhead. The wound did not seem to have slowed him at all, and Enala found herself shrinking before the strength of his anger. His blade whistled as he swung it with enough force to split her in two.

  Enala side stepped the blow, and the blade thudded deep into the hard earth. As Thaster wrenched at the blade, Enala kicked out, catching him in the groin for the second time in two days.

  The chief roared again, half-doubling over while still clutching his blade in one hand. Enala swung her short sword, and cursed as Thaster managed to wrench his greatsword up in time to block it. A bloody fist lashed out as she retreated from range. As it sliced past she hacked out with her sword. Her blade bit into his wrist, and the scent of blood quickly followed.

  The chief cursed. She retreated a few steps, expecting him to lash out, but this time Thaster did not pursue her. He held his ground, glancing down to inspect the cut in his arm. When he looked up again, the anger in his eyes had cooled to a simmer, but she sensed the berserker rage still lurked just below the surface. He studied her, taking her in, reassessing his foe.

  Enala swallowed. She did not like this change of events. Thaster had finally decided to take her seriously, that she might actually pose a threat to him. There would be no more reckless charges now.

  “So you know how to fight,” Thaster smiled. “Well, isn’t that something.”

  Enala scowled back, showing a courage she did not feel. As least she had injured his right arm; there would be no switching sword hands now. She raised her blade and offered him a mock salute, hoping to reignite his reckless rage. Blood dripped from her sword to her arm, but she did not waste a second to wipe it off. She kept her eyes fixed on Thaster, daring him to attack.

  Instead, Thaster dropped into a fighting crouch of his own and edged his way towards her. Enala shuffled sideways, searching for a better position, or at least to get her back to the flames again.

  Thaster smiled and shifted direction to head her off, trapping her near the centre of the circle. Enala glared, catching the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

  Realising she could no longer wait for him to make a mistake, Enala swallowed caution and drove herself forward. Her sword flicked for Thaster’s face. The chief leaned back, his own blade raised to deflect the blow. Enala did not pull back, allowing her momentum to carry her forward. She attacked again, knowing her proximity would make it difficult for Thaster to bring his long blade around. Her short sword had no such limitations.

  The chief grunted as her blade stung his shoulder, but his sword came down to knock hers away before she could drive it deeper. Then his fist crashed into her face, driving Enala to her knees. Stars streaked across her vision, but she knew Thaster would not allow her time to regain her sight. Half-blind, Enala flung herself forward.

  Her shoulder crashed into Thaster’s knees. With her small size she almost bounced off, but so far below his centre of mass the blow still managed to knock him off balance. Thaster stumbled backwards, arms wind-milling. His blade came within an inch of her head as it swung wildly through the air.

  Enala rolled backwards out of range and regained her feet. She held her blade out before her, wishing for just one opening to drive it through the chief’s black heart.

  They circled one another, wary now, each suffering from the blows they’d exchanged. Enala’s head ached from the punches she’d taken. She prayed the blood trickling from Thaster’s wounds would soon leave him too weak to fight. She looked him up and down, searching for sign of exhaustion, sure no man could lose so much blood and continue to fight.

  Yet the chief still towered over her, showing no sign of his slowing.

  His legs¸ Enala decided. That should stop him.

  She danced sideways and then darted at him, sword lancing for his face. As he raised his blade to defend himself, Enala withdrew her feint and swung at his legs. To her shock, Thaster leapt and her sword sliced beneath his boots.

  Leaping sideways, Enala struck again. This time Thaster caught the blow easily with his own blade.

  “Nice try, Kathryn. Would you like to try that one last time?” Thaster laughed.

  Enala gritted her teeth. “My name is Enala, you moron,” remembering too late Eric had given her a false name.

  Ignoring her slip, Enala launched herself at Thaster, blade slashing out like a viper, seeking the taste of flesh. Thaster skipped backwards, his great blade keeping her at bay with surprising ease. She struck high then low, stabbed straight, dodged to the side before launching an attack. Each time his steel rose to meet her.

  At last she stepped back, panting hard, cursing herself a fool for using so much energy.

  Thaster’s eyes flashed. “My turn.”

  Enala looked up at his words, and barely managed to sidestep the first blow. Even then, his sword sliced through the fabric of her coat, the steel coming within inches of her skin. Thaster left her no room to counter. He reversed his sword as it swept past, raising it high to strike her down.

  Throwing herself to the side, Enala heard the thunk as the greatsword bit the hard earth. Spinning, she raised her short sword to attack, and instead found herself deflecting the behemoth’s next blow. Steel shrieked and a jolt ran through her arm. The force of the blow drove her back a step, but Thaster followed, the blows coming one after another now, leaving her no time to think. Instinct alone kept her alive.

  With no chance to counter, Enala fought to defend herself, and barely managed that. Thaster had found another level of skill, as though he were pulling energy from thin air to use against her. He showed no sign of pain or exhaustion from wielding the greatsword, only strength, power.

  How is this possible?

  Enala remember Laurel’s warning – that Thaster used black magic – and knew the answer.

  Anger flared in her then; that this man would resort to using such a vile force against her. Rage fed energy to her tiring limbs, giving her the strength to turn aside his next blow. Then with a scream she kicked out the way Inken had taught her, seeking to drive him backwards.

  With supernatural speed, Thaster’s hand shot out and caught her boot. He grinned down at her,
contempt in his eyes. Grunting, he lifted her above his head and hurled her across the circle.

  Enala spun through the air, the sword slipping from her grasp. With a sudden thud she crashed to the ground. Air whooshed from her lungs, leaving her winded, gasping as dust billowed out around her. Pain shot through her body and she struggled to take a breath. She lay there for a minute, sure she must be dying, choking, waiting for Thaster’s blade.

  At last she managed to inhale. Oxygen flooded her lungs, feeding strength to her burning muscles. Tears of pain ran down her cheeks, but she wiped them away, angry at her weakness. She managed to get her knees beneath her before she looked up.

  Thaster stood over her, a mocking grin on his lips. He held her sword in one hand, his greatsword in the other.

  “Would you like your toothpick back, little girl?” he laughed.

  Enala closed her eyes as the rage took light, boiling through her like wildfire. Hate rose to overwhelm her, a red hot energy that left no room for sanity. Her chest burned and power surged through her veins, rising up from somewhere deep within, until her whole body shook with it. A buzzing began in her ears as the pressure built, pressing against her skull, unrelenting.

  A scream rose within her, beginning in her chest and shrieking up from her throat. As it split the air, Enala felt some barrier in her mind shatter.

  She opened her eyes. A brilliant red light lit the circle, and for a second she thought someone had added fuel to the bonfires. Then she saw the sudden fear in Thaster’s face, his panic as he looked around the circle, his mouth opening to cry out. Screams of terror came from around them. The Baronians started to edge away, some already turning to flee.

  Finally Enala looked down and saw the flames. Fire covered her body, leaping from her clothes, her arms, everything. It roared from her, tongues of flame taking light in the dry grass and racing out towards Thaster and the crowd. The chief did not even have the chance to run before they reached him.

  His scream sent a shiver down Enala’s spine. She watched as flames caught on his leggings, burning as they went. He turned and tried to run, but the fire danced all around him now. He had nowhere to go. In seconds it covered him, the inferno scorching through cloth, burning deep into his flesh.

  Thaster screamed again, beating at the hungry flames, his movements already growing feeble. Enala tried to cover her ears, but flinched back from the fire dancing along her arms.

  Panic took her, and she struggled backwards, fighting to escape the blaze, unable to understand where it had come from. Had Eric broken Laurel’s hold on his magic? But she had heard no thunder, seen no lightning.

  And why was she not burning with Thaster?

  Then she heard the shrieks from the crowd. She looked up and saw the Baronians fleeing in panic. The blaze leapt among them, uncontrolled, wild, burning wherever it touched. Wagons turned to bonfires in the night as people stumbled amidst the ruin, desperate to escape. Thaster’s struggles had already ceased; all that remained of the chief was a pile of ash amidst the flames.

  Enala gaped, a slow dread spreading through her. She could think of only one impossible explanation – magic. Her own magic.

  But how? She had never had power before, never even considered the possibility. How could this have happened?

  Chaos swept through the Baronians. They fled, leaderless, defenceless against her wild magic. Ice ran down Enala’s spine as she realised Eric was somewhere amongst them. She looked at her hands, searching within for a way to make it stop, to halt the destruction. Staring at the flames, she willed them to die, but she could not begin to contemplate how to control such a force.

  Enala spun in a circle, but all she could see now was fire, racing out in all directions.

  What have I done?

  *************

  The glint of red on the horizon alerted Eric to the arrival of dawn. He released a sigh of relief, looking down from his perch on the hill. Soon it would be safe to return, to search for Enala amidst the wreckage of the camp. Until now the dying flames had been the only light to see by.

  He was still struggling to comprehend what he had witnessed. One moment Enala had knelt on the ground, at the mercy of the chief. The next she was alight, flames racing out to engulf her foe.

  There had been no time to think, only run. Eric had sensed the surge of energy the second Enala’s magic was released. Her magic crackled on the air, wild and out of control. He knew then what was about to happen. He remembered it all too well from his own past.

  Magic always awakens on the anniversary of our births, Alastair’s words rose from his memory.

  Eric was already running by the time the flames reached the chief.

  Knowing Laurel must also sense the magic, Eric wondered why she had not stopped Enala. But there was no time to ask questions. From behind he heard the first screams of the crowd. Their fear drove him on.

  As one, the crowd turned and fled in his direction. Watching them, Eric reached for his own magic, sure Laurel would be too distracted to keep it suppressed now. His power rose within him, still weak, but enough for what he needed. He launched himself into the sky, beyond the reach of the firestorm below.

  Now as the sun cleared the horizon, Eric saw the scorched patch of earth marking the Baronian campsite. He swallowed hard. Nothing remained of the wagons and tents. There was not a soul in sight; the Baronians either long gone or dead. No one, except for the pale figure of a girl lying at the centre of the conflagration.

  Eric stood, eyes fixed on the girl. The winds whipped at his clothing, lifting him into the sky. It could only be Enala. He shot towards her, straining to make out details, searching for sign of movement, of life.

  The earth cracked as he landed, his foot breaking through the hard crust of ash which had formed on the surface. He stumbled before righting himself, then made his way closer to Enala. As he approached, he glimpsed a sheen of metal and saw Alastair’s sword still lying where Thaster had dropped it. Detouring, he retrieved the blade. Its weight felt reassuring in his hand.

  When he turned back to Enala, he saw her chest rise and let out a long sigh.

  “You’re alive,” he whispered.

  Enala lifted her head from where she lay. Relief flooded her eyes as she saw him. Tears cut through the ash covering her face. She struggled to her feet, kicking at the ash piled up around her.

  “Eric, you’re alive!” she made as if to run to him, then froze.

  Eric frowned. “What’s wrong, are you okay?”

  Enala’s face went white and her eyes rolled in her head, as though searching for someone behind her. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

  “Enala?” Eric made to step towards her.

  “That’s quite close enough, Eric,” Laurel’s voice hissed from somewhere behind Enala. “One more step, and your little friend dies.”

  Eric froze, frantically searching the ashes for sign of the Magicker.

  He heard Laurel laugh. “Does this help?”

  Eric lurched back as Laurel materialised behind Enala. She held her dagger to Enala’s throat, her other arm holding the younger girl tight. A sly grin spread across her face.

  “Hello again, Eric, Enala. Did you miss me?”

  Fourteen

  Gabriel raised his mug of ale. “To Michael,” he said, his voice solemn.

  Glass clinked as Inken and Caelin’s joined him in the toast. “To Michael,” they repeated.

  Gabriel took a long swig, the cool liquid refreshing after the day they’d had. And truth be told, his nerves could use calming. If the ale could wash away the anxiety he’d experienced as Caelin spoke to the king, it would be no small miracle. He was surprised they’d avoided the execution block, let alone the dungeons.

  It was mid-afternoon and the bar was almost empty, but when Inken suggested a drink after their appearance before the king, none of them had argued. A few other patrons sat at the bar while they huddled together at a table in the corner. A chandelier lit the room, the flicke
ring light of the candles casting shadows across the walls.

  “He was a good man,” Inken added. “Braver than any of us, to come on such a journey without even a dagger to protect himself. But that was Michael: a healer, even if he did not have magic.”

  Caelin nodded, taking another swig. “Agreed. Sometimes I wish I had his courage. The world needs more men like him.”

  Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Really? Right now I think what we need are fighters. How many men and women will it take to hold back Archon’s armies?”

  “Thousands,” Caelin grunted. “But what happens afterwards; if we reduce our people to numbers and swords, if we praise a man’s fighting ability above all else? Or a woman’s,” he added at a look from Inken. “Whatever happens, we need men like Michael: doctors and builders, farmers and fishermen. Men who do not rely on violence to make their way in the world. Men like me, we do not build. We can only give our lives to protect what we already have.”

  “Or we can change,” Inken added.

  Gabriel looked at his glass, remembering his days in the forge with his father. “What if we have already changed? Picked up a sword and turned our back on peace?” he paused. “I don’t know if I could go back.”

  Caelin shrugged. “A worry for another day. As you say, the Three Nations need warriors now more than ever. But believe me, war will make you sick to your stomach. It is the worst of man’s demons.”

  “That may be so,” Gabriel looked up. “But it is necessary, for now at least. Plorsea cannot just stand by and wait for Archon to come.”

  “No, we can’t,” Inken agreed. “Whatever alternative the councillors are considering, it won’t work. Only the magic of the God’s was able to banish Archon last time. Now we only have the Sword of Light, if we are lucky. It will take every ounce of might the Three Nations can muster to fight him to a standstill.”

  “More,” Caelin added grimly.

  “No,” Inken shook her head. “I have to believe it’s possible, that if we all stand together we can match him. The Sword is powerful, and there are hundreds of Magickers in our lands to help combat Archon’s magic. There has to be a chance.”