The Sword of Light: The Complete Trilogy

by Aaron Hodges

  When he finally reached the magical paralysis that had frozen the three of them, the king broke him off mid-sentence.

  “Enough!” he saw Gabriel jump at the king’s shout. “I have heard enough of these stories, Caelin. I can assure you I have been under no spell. No dark magic has been worked on me. But this is the second ‘agent’ of Archon you claim to have killed – who until this moment I had regarded as a trusted member of my council. I shall need proof if you expect me to believe Katya was a traitor.”

  Caelin’s heart sank as he stared down the king. From the corner of his eye he caught a moment’s panic come over Inken’s face, quickly hidden. His response caught in his mouth, his words retreating before King Fraser’s rage.

  “We will search Katya’s apartment and belongings for sign of this alleged betrayal. And I would speak with these dragons, who claim to have come to aid us,” he hesitated, eyes looking around the court. “I do not know what happened on that wall. But from what I have heard, the men were panicked and close to breaking before Katya arrived. I do not know why she decided to fire on the beasts, but at this point my belief is she thought the action justified. For her courage alone in holding the walls, I would praise her,” he shook his head, glaring down at them. “But she is dead.”

  Caelin shrank as the king’s eyes found him. He stared into his monarch’s face, willing him to retract the words, searching for the man Fraser had once been. Surely with Katya dead, reason should have returned to the king. But there was only rage in those dark eyes.

  Then the king let out a long breath and some of the anger went out of him. “I do not know what to do with you. I find myself doubting your story more and more, Caelin. Up to this moment, there is still no proof of anything you have claimed, either with Balistor or Katya. I gave you the benefit of the doubt, gave you free rein of the castle. In payment, you stained the city walls with the blood of my most trusted councillor. You have left me no choice.”

  “Your majesty,” Caelin interrupted.

  King Fraser raised a hand. “Silence!” his gaze swept the room, taking in each of them. “You have said enough. You and your two companions cannot be trusted to have free rein of the city, or the citadel. You leave me no choice but to lock you away until the truth of this matter becomes clear.”

  Before Caelin could raise his voice in argument, the king waved a hand. Iron hands grasped him by the shoulder, holding him tight. He glanced back at the two guards behind him, taking in the grim determination in their eyes. The sick dread of treachery swept through him, washing away all thought of resistance.

  For all his years of service, King Fraser had repaid him with betrayal.

  Caelin went limp, eyes falling to the ground. There would be no fighting their way out of this. Guardsmen ringed the throne room, spears at the ready.

  Inken did not see things the same way. Her calm had vanished, swept away by a red hot rage. Growling, she pushed the first guard away and spun to face the king.

  “Your majesty!” she shouted. “We have come a long way to help you, have given everything for Plorsea, for the Three Nations. Who are you to judge us, sitting safe up there on your throne. How dare you try to lock us away.”

  The king scowled. “Silence, woman. Men, get them out of my sight.”

  Inken screamed and leapt for the dais. Before she could take two steps a guard tackled her to the ground. She went down, kicking and screaming as another man joined the fray. It took a third before she finally subsided, going limp on the tiled floor. Together the men dragged Inken to her feet. Blood ran from her nose, staining her white top, but she glared around the throne room in defiance.

  “This is a mistake, Fraser!” she shouted.

  The king waved a hand and turned back to the table of councillors. As the guards led him from the room, Caelin saw the king take his seat at the head of the table.

  Outside, the guards pushed them together and took up positions ahead and behind them. A jab in the back told Caelin to move. They marched down the wide corridors of the citadel, footsteps dragging on the soft carpets. The hallways were empty now – everyone who could be spared had been called to man the walls. Allies or not, dragons were fearful beasts, and the citizens would rest easier seeing the soldiers manning the walls.

  A few minutes later they turned from the well-lit passageways down a stairwell leading into the depths of the keep. A cold sweat broke out on Caelin’s forehead as his mind began to work again. A cool wind blew up from the dark depths below. He knew this staircase – they were not being taken to a tower keep or warded room. They were being led to the dungeons.

  One of the guards took a torch from a wall bracket, providing a thin circle of light in against the darkness. They continued down the staircase, the light of the flames only carrying a few steps ahead. Caelin moved slowly, taking care on the slick steps. He thought of all those who had come before, the centuries of men and women who had disappeared into this darkness.

  Caelin shuddered, suffocating in the pitch black. He could feel it pressing in on him, drawing away the light, smothering hope. The warmth fled from his face and his fingertips grew numb with the cold. He glanced back at the guards, but they stared straight ahead, all but ignoring their prisoners but for the odd shove to keep them moving.

  The cold seeped deeper, creeping into Caelin’s skin and sending shivers down his spine. He looked across at his companions in the darkness, and saw his own fear reflected in their pale faces. They could sense it too – the wrongness about this place. But the guards still held them fast, ushering them downwards, leaving no opportunity to flee.

  Four or five stories beneath the keep, the staircase came to a sudden end.

  At the bottom was a single corridor lined by thick wooden doors, disappearing beyond the reach of their torch. There was nothing else to light the space. Caelin shuddered as he realised they would be left alone in the darkness. The empty black beckoned and he felt his courage melting. He turned back to the guards, ready to beg for them to leave the torch.

  Beside him, Gabriel jumped as a rat skittered past. The guards chuckled and pushed him forwards. He stumbled into Caelin, knocking them both to the ground. From the floor he watched the panic catch in Inken’s eyes, saw her turn to flee, but a steel gauntlet struck her in the face and sent her stumbling backwards. Caelin reached out to catch her as she fell.

  They lay together on the icy stone, looking up at the grim faces of the guards. Chainmail rattled as their captors drew their swords.

  “Stop, please, we won’t struggle,” Caelin raised his hands. “There’s no need for that.”

  The lead guard stepped forward. He held an iron key in his gauntleted fist. “Here,” he tossed it to Caelin. “There is a cell at the end of the corridor. You will unlock it. You will leave the key in the door and enter the cell. Do not try anything.”

  Caelin caught the key and nodded. “Okay.”

  Together they backed down the corridor. The guards pressed forward, swords extended to block their escape, leaving nothing to chance. To either side of the corridor the doors stood barred, but there was no escape there anyway. The only exit from the dungeons was through the men facing them. Caelin shivered as the dark swarmed him.

  Caelin froze as his back brushed against the door at the end of the corridor. Heart pounding, he turned slowly and felt for the lock. His back felt exposed, unprotected from the approaching guards. He fumbled for the keyhole, struggling to place the key in the dim light of the torch, then a click came as the mechanism within the door drew back the bolt. The hinges creaked as it opened.

  “Get in,” the guard ordered, his sword glinting in the torchlight.

  Caelin swallowed, biting back a response. The full truth of the king’s betrayal crashed down around him, as he realised with sick certainty they would never leave this hole in the ground. The absolute darkness of the cell beckoned, but his feet refused to obey. Beside him, Gabriel and Inken were also frozen, unable to take that final step into captivity. He c
ould almost sense the pain radiating from the cell, the waves of despair crashing down upon him.

  He yelled as the sharp tip of a sword prodded his back. Biting his tongue, Caelin strode into the cell. In the pitch-black he did not look back, but heard movement as Inken and Gabriel joined him. With another groan of rusty hinges, the door slammed shut behind them, leaving them alone in the darkness.

  Panic rose in Caelin’s chest as the empty black crowded him. He fought for control, for a moment’s sanity. Every instinct shrieked for him to turn and pound on the door, to beg for release, for light. The darkness hung over them, absolute, overwhelming, pressing down on his very soul. He struggled for breath, the black almost like liquid, suffocating him. A scream rose up within him, tearing at his chest as he fought to stifle it.

  “This seems like a place you go to be forgotten,” Inken’s words echoed in the small space.

  “Or a place where no one will ever find you,” a voice replied from the darkness.

  *************

  Eric stared up at the demon. He felt strangely detached, without fear or panic. He crouched beside Enala, a defiant anger bubbling in his chest. Its heat crawled through his veins, pushing away the pain, feeding strength to his desperate body. Enala’s hand was warm in his. He gave it a squeeze and stood. They had gone through too much, beaten the odds too many times to fail now.

  The demon dropped from the sky. Dust billowed out as it crashed to the tiled floor. It straightened and looked around the ruined temple, a strange look in its demonic eyes.

  “Curious. When I ruled, his temple was a place of pilgrimage. People would travel here from all over Trola, to beg for his return,” he laughed. “No longer, it seems! The people have all but forgotten Darius.”

  Eric faced the demon. “You heard what I said, demon,” he growled. “I am Enala’s brother, descended from Aria herself, sister to the man whose body you possess. I wield the Sword of Light. You had better run, if you wish to live.”

  The demon grinned. It raised its hands and gave a slow clap. Then it drew back its cloak to reveal the green and blue stained crystals set in the pommels of its Soul Blades. “I have mastered the God powers of Earth and Sky. I am not afraid of the Sword of Light. No, I will prise it from your cold dead fingers.”

  Eric looked down at Enala, watching her laboured breathing. Indecision gripped him. The Sword was the only thing stopping her from bleeding to death. If he pulled it free, she would die in minutes. There would be no chance of returning her to the healers in Kalgan. He would be condemning her to death.

  Yet he did not stand a chance without it.

  “Eric,” Enala croaked. “Take the Sword and finish the damn thing.”

  Eric shook his head. “No, I can’t!”

  Enala gritted her teeth, eyes clenched closed. “Eric, you know what’s at stake. Demon or not, Thomas was the first to use the Sword. You cannot let it fall into his hands,” she coughed the words. “Take it!”

  Eric wiped tears from his eyes. “I can’t lose you too, Enala,” he took a steadying breath. “So just stay with me, okay?” his voice cracked, but he reached down to clasp the hilt of the Sword.

  Closing his eyes, he began to pull. Enala screamed as the blade shifted. The sound tore at his soul, but he could not turn back now. Biting back tears, he drew the Sword of Light from her chest. Enala thrashed against the altar as the blade slid clear. Blood began to bubble from the naked wound.

  Enala’s shrieks died away and her head sank back against the alter.

  Holding the Sword of Light in his hand, Eric hardly noticed. He could feel its power as it flowed down his arm, swirling within him, seeking out every dark crevice of his soul. He stood before it like a leaf in a flood, overwhelmed, helpless before its power. Light shone through his mind, a threatening edge to its touch.

  Eric focused on the light, feeling out its power, fighting the lure of its pull. It wound its way deeper, curling around his soul. Within, his own magic rose in response, its blue glow mingling with the pure white – one feeding the other, or fighting for control, he could not tell.

  Then, anxiety driving him, Eric reached out with steely resolve and grasped the flickering lights. The blue of his own magic succumbed easily, but the white reared back, fighting against him. The Sword’s magic turned red hot, threatening to burn his mind to a crisp.

  But Eric had no patience for the unruly force, no time to waste. Threads of power spun from his magic, blue ropes that wrapped their way around the white light. Twisting and turning, the Light fought against him, but he left it no place to go. With a final flash of red, the light settled, trapped in the bindings of his power.

  Opening his eyes, Eric smiled. The Sword glowed in his hand, its brilliance banishing all but the deepest shadows in the temple. The power of the Light, returned to Witchcliffe Island.

  “This ends now, demon,” he swore.

  “You are strong, to overcome the pull of the Sword. Still, it will do you no good now,” reaching down, the demon drew its Soul Blades.

  Eric leaned down and kissed Enala on the cheek. “Stay with me,” he whispered.

  The power of the Sword thrummed in his ears, burning away pain and feeding strength to his limbs. Even so, Eric could not move quickly on his broken leg, and the demon had two swords to his one. He could not let this become a battle of blades.

  The demon’s cloak cracked as it strode towards Eric, a dark grin on Thomas’ worn face. It had fought this battle twice already; both times Eric had been overwhelmed in moments. Even with the Sword of Light, he knew the odds were against him.

  Even so, he would fight on. This monster’s terror had to end – here and now. However slim, the Sword at least gave him a chance.

  Reaching down, Eric sought to draw on the Sword’s power. The light fled at his touch, slipping free of his magic. Clenching his fist around the Sword’s hilt, Eric followed the power as it retreated into the blade. There he wrapped it again in his magic and pulled the bindings tight.

  White flames raced along the length of the blade, burning bright as the noonday sun. Heat seared at Eric’s face, far fiercer than any mortal flame. He flinched away, unable to bear it, until the Sword’s magic seeped back into his body. His skin cooled as it spread through his limbs.

  Eric smiled across to where the demon stood watching him. A weariness lurked in its eyes now, a grim smirk on its lips. It held the Soul Blades stretched out towards Eric. He remembered how Thomas had required instruction from the Gods to wield the Sword of Light, and grinned.

  “I’m a fast learner,” he mocked. “Unlike some.”

  He flicked out the Sword and a column of white hot flame leapt towards his foe. Where dragon flame had once been hot enough to drive the demon from Malevolent Cove, the Sword’s fire was fiercer still. It swept towards the demon, stone melting beneath its touch.

  The demon hurtled sideways, a gust of wind carrying it skywards.

  “Impressive,” it growled. “But you are a mere novice, injured and exhausted. You will perish here, boy!”

  Then it fell, hurtling towards Eric with blades extended. Energy flashed within the tainted steel, the green and blue glows reaching out to mix with the white of the Sword.

  Eric raised his arm and hurled another inferno at the demon. It lurched in the air and came on, but Eric was already moving. The winds cast him into the sky. Behind him the familiar vines exploded through the pavement, engulfing the space where he’d just stood.

  Smiling, Eric allowed the wind to carry him higher. He would not be caught in the same trap twice. His breath came faster as he felt the power flooding his body. It swept through his muscles, washing away all pain, all sensation, leaving him free to tackle the demon. The white of the Sword fed his magic, its unlimited energy recharging his own.

  He lashed out with the fire again, eager to destroy the jungle below. The flames roared as they devoured the demon’s creations. Directing the wind, Eric landed atop one of the pillars and watched as the demon sett
led opposite.

  It hissed, teeth bared, pale fingers gripped hard around its blades. Thick smoke rose from the temple, turning the space between them black. Eric raised the Sword as the demon disappeared into the smoke. His clothes whipped in the wind as he prepared to take flight.

  The crackle of lightning leant Eric precious seconds. He dove from the pillar as blue fire turned the granite to molten stone. The winds propelled him up through the acrid smoke. He coughed as black soot caught in his throat, then he rose above the burning stench.

  Air whooshed as a blade flashed for his face. Eric ducked, dropping a foot, and the sword swept overhead. He lashed out at the demon’s feet but Thomas shot backwards out of range.

  They circled one another, air crackling with energy as they soared higher. Eric drew on the Sword’s power and unleashed a wave of white fire. The demon drew back. Then the blue blade crackled. Lightning flashed and the wind howled as the Sky elements lashed out to halt the flame’s advance.

  A blast exploded outwards, smashing into Eric and spinning him through the air. He struggled to keep hold of the wind, drawing the gusts into a tighter spiral. Flames flashed and thunder clapped as blue lightning smashed the temple below. He prayed Enala had not been hit.

  Eric looked up to see white fire licking at the demon’s cloak. It beat at the flames, face twisting with pain. Shielding his eyes against the glare, Eric watched its pale flesh blacken and burn.

  It still has no defence against the Light, Eric thought with a smile. If only he knew more about what the Sword could do.

  The demon screamed and tore the flaming cloak from its body. It scowled at him, lightning crackling along the blue blade. A dark green glow came from the other. Beneath, the earth shook with its rage.

  “Is that all you have, boy?” it growled.

  Eric glared back, frustrated by his own limitations. He knew the Sword was capable of so much more than simple fire. The God magic controlled all aspects of the Light. It was capable of feats he could not begin to imagine. But there was no time to learn now. The fire would have to do.