by Aaron Hodges
Vines erupted from the ground around them. Laurel lashed out with her blade, struggling to hold them back, but to no avail. In seconds they held her immobile. Eric did not even have time to draw Alastair’s sword before he found himself trapped in their iron grasp. Thorns stabbed deep into his skin and his chest ached as they began to squeeze.
“Where?”
Air exploded between Eric’s teeth as the breath was crushed from him. Hot blood ran from his wrists and he shuddered as the thorns scraped against bone. He opened his mouth to scream, but his lungs were already empty.
“Please,” he croaked.
The demon stood just two feet away now. It sheathed the blue sword and reached out with a pale hand. Cold fingers grasped Eric’s chin and tilted back his face, forcing him to look into the dark depths of what had once been Thomas’ eyes. The pressure on his chest eased a little. He sucked in a breath of precious oxygen.
“Well?” the demon growled.
“You’re too late,” he rasped. “Enala has the Sword, she’s gone.”
The demon’s fingers dug into his cheeks. “Liar.”
Eric screamed as its fingernails tore his skin. The vines began to move, dragging their thorny tips through his flesh. He shrieked again as they cut long gashes down his body. Blood dripped from his chest, soaking into the earth beneath him. Agony swept through him in waves. He could almost feel his mind breaking before the onslaught.
The demon drew back its hand. Blood stained its fingertips. “Ah, how I would love to feel Antonia’s pain, to see her magic used against one of hers. She has been quiet for so long now, subdued by the blade’s magic. But perhaps she can still taste your blood,” it ran one bloody finger down the green Soul Blade.
Light erupted from the sword at the demon’s touch. Eric closed his eyes, but even so a bright track blazed across his vision. The light burned through his eyelids, but trapped in the vines he could not turn away. The demon cursed and stumbled back, shaking the sword as though it had scorched him. But its fist remained locked around the pommel, the demon either unable or unwilling to release it.
As the light blazed stronger, a voice whispered in Eric’s mind.
Eric, can you hear me?
Eric’s spirit soared at Antonia’s voice. “Yes!”
Then listen, I cannot hold him long. I have been saving my strength for this moment, but even so, it is not much. I cannot escape.
Eric’s hope shrivelled away, but he remained silent.
There is much you don’t know, much Alastair and I were meant to tell you before things went so wrong. Secrets we kept for the safety of all, to ensure Archon did not discover the truth. Enala is not the only ancestor of Thomas’ sister, Aria. Watch, and you shall see.
Eric’s vision faded to black, before a new image took shape in his mind’s eye. A cross-roads materialised, the streets obscured by the darkness of night. Buildings ringed the intersection. A single lantern burned on the corner, illuminating a pale circle of light. A man stood beneath the lantern, his hands deep in the pockets of his trench coat. He turned to look down the street, waiting.
A couple appeared from the shadows, their breath steaming in the cold. The woman held a bundle of cloth in her arms, clutching it close to her chest. The man wore a sword at his side and strode with the confidence of a fighter. Their faces were familiar, calling to Eric from the depths of his memory.
With a chill, he realised they were Enala’s parents.
The man at the cross-roads turned to watch the approaching couple. They met beneath the glow of the lamp, faces huddled close to hide the whispered words.
Eric heard them anyway.
“Thank you for coming,” Enala’s father began. “You don’t know how hard this is for us.”
“Then why are you doing it? Why choose me?” the other man’s voice was familiar too.
Eric struggled to place it as the woman replied. “We do this because we must. Our custom demands it,” she smiled, her voice filled with warmth. “And we chose you, Allan, because we know you. You and your wife. You are the ones we want.”
No, no, no, the words raced through Eric’s mind as the scene faded. The last thing he glimpsed was of Enala’s mother passing the bundle to the man called Allan. It cannot be true!
Allan was his father’s name.
Yes, Eric, it is the truth. You are Enala’s twin brother, you too have the royal blood, Antonia’s voice returned, but it was fainter now, diminished.
“How?” Eric’s mind reeled, unable to comprehend the vision. “Why?”
Aria and her children were hunted from the moment Alastair took them into hiding. Archon was desperate to see them dead, and only the most desperate of measures could keep the line safe. Over generations, it became tradition for your ancestors to separate their children at birth, to adopt one into a worthy family. You were such a child.
Eric shook. “No, no I knew my parents. This cannot be possible.”
The light from the Soul Blade shivered. You saw the truth, Eric. Both Enala and yourself have the blood to wield the Sword, she paused. But you must be strong to use it. You must have conquered your own power if you are to stand a chance of wielding the Sword.
“Enala has only just begun to learn,” Eric whispered.
Then it must be you, Eric, though you too are still learning. You must not die here.
Eric’s mind still whirled, still fought against Antonia’s words. “How can this be? Did Alastair know this?”
I never told him, though he may have guessed when I sent him to you.
Eric choked back tears. He struggled to concentrate, though pain still rippled from where the vines were embedded in his flesh. “None of this matters, Antonia. It’s too powerful, I cannot escape.”
Do not worry about that. But we are out of time; the demon will soon take control of my powers again. I give you my blessing, Eric. Good luck.
With her last words, warmth flooded into Eric’s body. As it spread the vines drew back, falling to the ground where they withered and died. The warmth spread, encircling his wounds and drawing out the pain. He watched as gashes in his flesh closed over, the skin knitting itself back together.
As the last of his wounds healed, the warmth vanished.
Eric looked up to see the demon’s dark eyes watching him. The emerald light of the Soul Blade had returned to a sickly green. Purple veins stood out on the demon’s arms as it gripped the sword hard.
“What did she tell you, boy?” Rage burned in its eyes.
Eric summoned his magic, bracing himself for another round. What is Antonia playing at? She knows I cannot win this fight.
“Do not worry yourself about that, demon,” Laurel stepped between them.
Eric stared at the ex-Baronian, shocked by her interference. She too had been freed, her wounds healed by Antonia’s magic. She looked sideways at him and flashed a smile. She no longer held her sword, but she stood with a strange confidence, defying the demon.
“She spoke to me too,” a shiver ran through Eric as she faced the demon. “I know what I have to do,” she raised an arm. It flared bright white as she summoned her own power.
The demon laughed. “You think you have the strength to challenge God magic?” the other Soul Blade scraped from its sheath.
Laurel shook her head. “No, I do not have the power to challenge your stolen magic. But you cannot wield them without your own dark magic, demon!” she spat.
The demon froze, the light from the Soul Blades dying away. Its face twisted with hatred. The dark eyes bored into Laurel, its body trembling as it fought to break the spell. The same spell the Magicker had cast over Eric and Enala.
Laurel stared back, arms outstretched, concentration etched into the lines of her mouth. Light flashed again and her eyes glowed with power.
Eric stared, frozen with indecision. What had Antonia told Laurel? What had she done?
Teeth gritted, Laurel turned to him. “What are you waiting for?” she ground out. “I cannot
hold it for long. Go!”
Still Eric hesitated, tears springing to his eyes. There was no denying the truth behind Laurel’s words. “Why are you doing this?” he whispered.
Laurel gave a sad smile. “That’s between me and Antonia,” her face softened. “Go, Eric. Find Enala, get the Sword, save the world. Go!”
Eric leapt for the sky.
*************
Laurel stared at the demon, arms trembling. She blinked back tears, unable to take her eyes from its hateful glare. Only Antonia’s warmth kept her strong, unwavering before its fury.
“You cannot hold me, mortal,” the demon grated.
Laurel bowed her head, tearing her eyes from the deathly face. It was, she knew, the face of her death. She could feel her pool of magic withering; the energy it took to hold the demon was sucking it dry at an alarming rate. She did not have much longer.
She prayed to the Goddess it would be long enough.
She had told Eric the Goddess’ words were between herself and Antonia, but in truth the decision had been a simple one. They could not hope to destroy this demon, not without aid. But bolstered by Antonia’s final gift, she had the strength to hold it, at least for a time. Her Light magic, against the darkness swirling at its core.
If not for Antonia, Laurel would never have had the strength to hold it back. Even without the Soul Blades, the demon was unbearably strong. Its magic surged against her, fighting to pierce the Light magic smothering it. One second’s lapse, and it would be free.
But for now it remained trapped in the blanket of Laurel’s magic. Without its dark magic, the demon could not access the power of the Soul Blades, could not even move the body it possessed. It was helpless, for so long as Laurel could hold it.
Or almost helpless. Antonia had warned her that the Soul Blades had power of their own – power to defend their wielder. If Laurel or Eric attacked the demon directly, their power would be unleashed and the demon freed.
Antonia had given her the strength to stop the demon, but they still had no way to kill it. Their only hope to stop it was the Sword of Light, but the Sword was far beyond reach. That left only one option. Laurel had to hold the demon, to give Eric the chance to escape.
There was no other alternative; if she did not hold it, it would kill them all.
“I can feel you weakening, girl. You’re dying. Release me and I will let you live,” the demon whispered, its voice seductive.
Laurel looked up and laughed. Darkness radiated from the demon’s soul, the falsehood of its words clear in her mind’s eye. There would be no mercy from this creature, not once its magic was free of her binding.
Closing her eyes, Laurel took a deep breath to calm her racing heart.
Standing amidst the ruin, she waited for death.
Twenty Two
Inken held the bowstring tight against her cheek, arrow nocked and sighted at the nearest soldier. She glimpsed Caelin taking up position on the other side of Gabriel, sword in hand. Gabriel himself stood motionless, staring down at Katya, his sword still embedded in her back. The councillor lay dead at their feet, her empty eyes staring up at them.
A heavy tension hung in the air as the men edged closer, weapons held at the ready. One false move and the three of them would be peppered by arrows. Indecision held them back for now, but it would only take one raised voice to break the spell.
Inken swallowed hard, her eyes sweeping the battlements, reading the odds. They faced at least two dozen archers. There could be no resistance here, only a pointless death. Taking a breath, Inken slowly released the tension on her bowstring and removed the arrow. Crouching, she laid her bow on the ground and raised her hands. Caelin followed suit.
A man forced his way through the gathered soldiers. She recognised him as Elton, the man who had greeted them at the gate and seen them to the king. His face held no cheer now, only anger and fear. As he approached, she saw his eyes flick back towards the oncoming dragons.
“How could you do this, Caelin?” he hissed. His voice shook with anger.
Caelin let out a long sigh. “She was working for Archon, was about to fire on our allies. We couldn’t let that happen.”
“How can you say that?” Elton shook his head. “She has served our king and nation faithfully for years! I know her, knew her!”
“And do you not know me?” Caelin stared hard at his brother soldier. “Was it not you who said the king had been acting strangely, that he had not been himself? He was under Katya’s influence, under the spell of her black magic. Even now she was using it, freezing us helpless. Only Gabriel managed to break free of the spell, to stop her.”
Inken glanced at Gabriel, seeing the uncertainty in his eyes. She could read the guilt there. He was second guessing his actions, questioning whether Katya had really been the traitor they believed. Yet the proof was before them; the councillor had been about to fire on their allies, and the spell had broken with her death.
Yet one question still rang in her head.
How did Gabriel break the spell?
Before she could contemplate the matter further, the soldiers around them began to scream, drowning out her thoughts. Inken swung around, and found herself taking a step back in sudden fear.
A dragon alighted on the battlements, its great wings spread wide to cast the wall in shadow. It towered over the trembling soldiers, golden scales glittering in the midday sun. The giant head leaned down towards them, the intelligent eyes inspecting them in detached curiosity. The long tail rose up behind it, poised as though to strike.
Where is the one who addressed us with such uncouth language? the dragon’s voice echoed in her mind as it bared its teeth.
Inken covered a smile, watching Elton’s face pale. He gaped like a fish caught out of water, staring in terror at the beast perched above him. A sudden sweat beaded his forehead.
Across the wall, weapons bristled as the soldiers pointed arrows and crossbows at the dragon. Arms shook and eyes widened with fear. The men stood in terrified silence, waiting for an order.
Realising they were seconds from disaster, Inken nudged Caelin. “Speak, sergeant, before these men get us all killed.”
Caelin’s lips tightened. “Hold your fire,” he bellowed. “These are our allies! See how they have not rained fire down upon us?” he swept his arm out at the dragons hovering overhead.
He glanced then at Elton. Inken caught the unspoken question in the look. When no answer was forthcoming, Caelin turned to address the dragon.
“Greetings, Enduran. It is good to see you again,” he bowed. “Welcome to Ardath. What brings you here?”
Surprised, Inken looked closer and realised Caelin was right. This was the same dragon they had spoken too in Malevolent Cove.
Jurrien came to us, asked my tribe to stand again with the humans. We have spent many days debating his request. At first, some refused to come, but when we discovered what Archon’s demon had wrought in our land, even they joined us. There is no more neutral ground now. All must fight, or die.
Caelin nodded. “We are glad to have you. I must apologise for the greeting,” Caelin continued. “It seems Archon’s servants are a plague in our nation. This woman,” he waved a hand at Katya, “was his agent. She is the one who offered you insult. I am glad you still wished to talk with us.”
Enduran’s head twisted to stare at the dead woman. You are a strange people, to allow traitors to grow so easily in your midst.
Inken suppressed a laugh as Caelin bowed his head. “Agreed. It is our great shame to admit it. I am sure my king will be more diligent in who he seeks council from in the future.”
A crackling rose from Enduran’s chest which Inken interpreted as laughter. I should hope so, the great head turned to survey the soldiers. Such fragile creatures, you should not be wasting your energy fighting one another, the dragon yawned, flashing its giant teeth at the men.
As one, the Plorsean guards took a trembling step backwards.
Caelin smiled. �
��Try not to terrify them too much, Enduran. Most have never seen a dragon before,” he paused before moving on. “Your aid is sorely needed in this fight. I am sure the king will welcome your arrival. We will speak to him presently. Elton here will see about making arrangements for your people’s comfort.”
Inken looked up at the circling dragons and gave a quiet chuckle. Enduran’s head turned at the sound. I agree, little one, she jumped as the dragon addressed her. We are too large for this city. But there is plenty of space in the hills. We will camp at the lake’s edge. Please send our regards to the king, Caelin, and offer him our invitation to speak further of the coming war, at that Enduran’s wings beat downwards and he lifted from the battlements. He soared up to re-join his tribe.
Inken turned to Elton. “You can thank me later for getting you out of that one.”
Elton looked from her to Caelin, his eyes wide, his mouth twisted with indecision. Inken almost laughed again, unable to decide herself how the change of positions had come about.
Caelin took pity on him. “Elton, there is no need for you to make a decision on our guilt. We surrender ourselves freely to you. Take us to the king, and allow him to decide our fate. We will bring the dragon’s words with us.”
Elton breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re right, Caelin. I don’t know what’s going on, but the king will know the right of it,” he gestured to a couple of nearby soldiers. “Bring their weapons, and keep a close eye on them,” raising his voice he called to the other guards. “Stand down, the threat has passed, for now.”
Inken smiled to herself as Elton led them down the stairs.
Well, that’s one way to get an audience with the king.
*************
The dawn had broken. That was the first thing Enala noticed as the shadow maze dissolved. The golden globe of the sun hung low on the horizon, its light banishing the chill in her bones. She held her arm as it throbbed with the beat of her heart, fighting to stem the bleeding.
