The Sword of Light: The Complete Trilogy

by Aaron Hodges

  Across from him, the demon dropped into the smoke and vanished from view. Eric swore, eyes searching the roiling clouds below. The blaze was everywhere now, flames catching at the rotten walls. He could hardly make out the building through the smoke and fire. He hoped Enala was still safe at the centre of the courtyard where the flames had not yet reached.

  Reaching out with his senses, he searched for his foe, for the tell-tale whisper of magic.

  A sudden gust pushed him down as the winds holding him aloft gave way. He fell, tumbling into the acrid smoke towards the distant earth. Panic gripped him, but a few feet above the ground the winds returned and he caught himself.

  As he touched down, vines sprang from all around, their thorny tendrils shooting out to catch his fragile body. The demon charged through the smoke, Soul Blade raised to strike Eric down.

  But the Sword of Light moved faster. Flames danced out from him, turning the vines to ash and flinging the demon into a nearby pillar.

  Eric grinned as the demon climbed to its feet. Gripping the wind still spinning through the temple, he sent it out in a blast of fury. It caught the smoke and carried it upwards, blowing it from the building and into the sky. The temple reappeared as the wind died away.

  But the demon had vanished. Eric spun, searching the ruins. Its laughter came from the shadows to his right, then left, always moving. He glared around him, chasing ghosts through the empty temple. He caught sight of Enala, still lying on the altar but conscious now, clutching her cloak to her chest. He caught the glint of metal and saw her other hand wrapped about the hilt of Alastair’s shattered blade.

  Stones rattled from behind. Eric spun in time to parry the demon’s blow, energy crackling as the blue and white blades clashed. Then Eric slashed out with the greatsword, feeling a satisfying crunch as the blade caught flesh.

  The demon stumbled, its growl echoing from the temple walls. The face of Thomas constricted, grey lines creeping through the pale skin. Burns scorched his flesh and as Eric watched, dark shadows began to creep beneath his skin.

  “Enough!” the thing that had been Thomas hissed.

  Fear caught Eric as the demon surged forward, faster than thought. Instinct screamed for him to move, but his broken leg caught beneath him and he tripped. Eric shrieked in agony as the demon’s blade drove into his stomach. A deathly cold hand grasped his throat and pulled, dragging him further onto the blade. He gasped as the demonic steel tore into him.

  “Goodbye, Eric,” the demon’s lips pressed against his ear. “Say hello to Antonia for me.”

  With a casual smirk, the demon shoved him to the ground. The Soul Blade slid free, its dark green glow flickering in the sunlight. The Sword of Light slipped from Eric’s hands, scattering across the tiles. Sparks of flame burst from the blade with each bounce.

  The Sword’s magic fled Eric’s body. Without it, the pain returned to strike him down. A chill spread from his stomach and the same dark shadows he had sensed in Malevolent Cove reached out to claw at his soul. The edges of his vision blurred and he felt hot blood pooling beneath him. He clutched at his stomach, struggling to stem the bleeding.

  Rubble crunched beneath the demon’s boots as it walked towards the Sword of Light. Sheathing Jurrien’s blade, it reached out to pluck the Sword from the broken ground.

  “No!” the demon swung at Enala’s cry.

  As it turned, the shattered remnants of Alastair’s blade took it through the eye.

  Eric gaped, staring at Enala’s heaving body. She collapsed back to the alter, the last of her energy spent with the effort it had taken to hurl the blade. A convulsion tore through her, lifting her body from the hard stone. Blood bubbled from her lips and spread across the altar beneath her. A gurgling groan came from her chest.

  Beside him, the demon screamed. The sound tore at Eric’s ears; it’s shriek like a hundred nails on a chalk board. He fought through the sound, through the pain in his leg, through the chill spreading from his stomach as his lifeblood leaked away. This was his chance – if only he had the strength to take it.

  Clenching his fists, Eric fought back against the shadows clinging to his soul. He gathered the last of his courage and lunged for the Sword of Light. His fingers scrambled at the hilt, pulling it to him, though he had lost the strength to lift it.

  The Sword ignited at his touch, feeding new strength to his dying body. Its power burned through him, extinguishing the shadows of the Soul Blade. The pain faded until it became just a dull throbbing within, a distant reminder of his impending death. Drawing on the Sword’s power, Eric stood.

  The demon staggered across the temple floor, blindly clutching at the broken sword still piercing its skull. Dark magic flashed about it, shadows racing around its warped body to vanish into Alastair’s blade. Some part of Alastair’s enchantment still held. Yet Eric could already see the shadows gaining power, as more and more escaped the clutch of the sword.

  Eric had no idea what the demon was trying to do, but clearly the blow had not been fatal. It was distracted though, and that was all he needed.

  Stepping up behind the demon, Eric raised the Sword. Energy blazed from its depths, not flames this time but a pure white light which cast the shadows from the demon. It started to turn, must have felt the gathering power, poised to strike it down.

  Eric swung the Sword with all his strength. The Sword blazed as it sliced through the creature’s robes and pierced the body beneath, the body that had once belonged to the king of Trola. A blood curdling cry bellowed from the twisted mouth. Then energy erupted from the Sword, engulfing the demon and cutting off its final scream.

  The light spread across the old king’s body, raising red welts wherever it touched. The demon shuddered and a gasp echoed from the pale lips. The head slumped, then turned to look at Eric.

  Eric stumbled backwards as he glimpsed the demon’s eyes. Hazel had replaced the black, and the man from Antonia’s vision stared back at him.

  “Thank you,” Thomas’ words whispered through the temple.

  Then light exploded from the blade, engulfing them both in its power.

  Epilogue

  Enala dragged herself across the broken floor towards Eric. She locked her eyes on the young Magicker, fighting back pain, struggling for breath. Her chest gurgled with each gasp, as though filled with liquid, as though she were drowning in her own blood. Fire burned in her heart and sleep beckoned, it’s cool depths offering sweet relief.

  But she could not give in. Not while Eric, not while her brother, lay dying.

  She crawled on. Flames flickered nearby, their heat washing across her broken body. Smoke drifted overhead, but where she lay the air remained clear. A crash came from nearby as another part of the roof collapsed, the orange flames consuming the crumbling ruins of the temple.

  Closing her eyes, Enala pressed on.

  Rubble ground against her skin, but she hardly felt it – sensation had long since fled with the lifeblood trailing behind her. All that remained was the slowing thud of her heart, the searing in her lungs, the slow suffocation of her body.

  It seemed an eternity had past when she finally reached his side. He lay amidst the ash that had been the demon, body bleeding and broken. She stretched out a hand and grasped his arm. His eyes opened at her touch. He attempted a smile, but it came out as a grimace.

  “Enala,” he croaked.

  “I’m here. You did it, Eric, you beat it.”

  His eyes closed again as he groaned. “That’s something at least.”

  Tears blurred in Enala’s eyes – not for herself, but for the sight of Eric lying there dying. She remembered Inken, the kindness she had given Enala, to bring her back from the madness. She remembered the love the two shared.

  Enala shut her eyes. She had nothing and nobody left in this world, but Eric had someone who loved him, a future after all this. She could not bear to watch him die.

  Gritting her teeth, she squinted through the smoke, searching for something, anything. He
r eyes swept the burning courtyard, catching on the Sword of Light. But the Sword was no good to them now – the Light did not encompass healing powers.

  Then Enala noticed the dark sheen of the Soul Blades. Somehow they had survived the conflagration unleashed by the Sword of Light. They lay in the rubble, discarded. The green glow of Antonia’s sword danced in her eyes, drawing her in.

  Antonia was the Goddess of the Earth, and the Soul Blade held all the power that entailed. Enala vaguely remembered the little Goddess, from when she had retreated into a catatonic state. Earth magic could heal – Antonia had healed them all on that dark beach so long ago.

  Summoning the last dredges of her strength, Enala started to crawl again. The Soul Blades were close, but the distance could have been miles for all it mattered to her. She was dying. She could feel the last of her life bubbling from her chest, strangling her every gasp. Agony swept through her body, but she persevered.

  Reaching out, Enala wrapped her fingers around the leather pommel of the Soul Blade.

  Antonia, help us! she screamed in the confines of her mind.

  There was no answer, only the gentle ebb and flow of light from the sword.

  “Please, Antonia,” she whispered, fading fast. “Help us.”

  Still nothing happened. A sob tore through Enala. She struggled for another breath, but found herself choking, drowning. Tears poured from her eyes as she strained for one last mouthful of air. Heat radiated at her back and the air shimmered, the fire coming closer. Even so, a cold was spreading through her limbs. She could no longer feel her legs.

  Enala clutched the Soul Blade tighter, dragging it across the tiles. The Goddess was right there, so close, so powerful, yet it seemed she was helpless to aid them.

  In desperation, Enala reach out with her mind, the way Eric had explained while they meditated. Darkness blurred the edges of her vision, the light fading from her eyes. With a final push, she reached outwards, seeking the Goddess.

  Enala felt the last sensation of her body fall away. She drifted up into the air, floating aimlessly.

  Is this death? she wondered.

  Yet there was the Soul Blade, glowing with a brilliant green light edged with black. Trapped within was the one being who could save them. Dead or not, Enala had to try. Staring at the sword, she stretched out an arm. Her spirit fingers sank into the cool metal and she dove deeper, throwing caution aside in her desperation to reach the Goddess.

  Antonia, help us! Her cry rang out across the spirit plane. Please!

  Enala shivered as a force rose at her words, brushing against her soul. At its touch, she was flung back from the blade. Crashing into her body, sparks flew across her vision. The pain returned, and the desperate need for air.

  Then a gentle warmth blossomed around Enala, spreading from the arm that still clutched the Soul Blade. A light grew around her, expanding to encompass Eric, until they were both surrounded by a dome of energy. Its power bathed their broken bodies, seeping deep into their skin, seeking out the wounds within.

  The burning at Enala’s wrists faded away. She glanced down to see the red rings vanish, disappearing without so much as a scar. Sucking in a breath, air rushed into her lungs, sending strength flooding back to her muscles. The gurgling died to a tremor as the liquid fled before the magic. The pain from her chest came last, falling away until only a dull ache remained. Slowly, that too began to fade.

  Reaching up, Enala wiped tears from her eyes. She looked across at Eric, witnessing the magic’s touch there too. The wound in his stomach healed before her eyes, the skin knotting itself together as though stitched by an invisible hand.

  The magic was working. She could feel its power, thrumming through her blood.

  Eric opened his eyes and looked at her, wonder on his face. She smiled back, then coughed in the acrid smoke. But it was nothing now, compared with the slow, creeping suffocation of a few moments ago.

  “Antonia?” he asked.

  Enala shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  Then, deep inside, Enala felt something go horribly wrong.

  *************

  Eric could not bring himself to believe what he was feeling. Magic surged around him, powerful and healing, its touch so familiar he would have recognised it anywhere. The Goddess, Antonia, had returned.

  Opening his eyes, he saw Enala staring at him. She wore a sad smile on her face, but he could see the worst of her wounds had already healed.

  “Antonia?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Enala shook her head, and then her eyes widened. A tremor shook her, her body convulsing against the hard tiles. She stiffened, and he saw her fingers were wrapped tight about the Soul Blade. Energy crackled along the steel, flickering in sparks and bursts, shooting up into the dome surrounding them.

  With a whoosh the magic went out, vanishing back into the blade, leaving them alone in the burning temple.

  Eric pulled himself into a sitting position as Enala rose, Antonia’s Soul Blade still clutched in her hands. Her wounds had healed – not a scratch remained on her – but Eric could sense a wrongness about her, a difference. She stood stiff and straight, her movements disjoined, like a puppet on strings.

  Putting his arms beneath him, Eric stumbled to his feet. Standing opposite Enala, his sister, he stared hard into her sapphire eyes. Except now he saw they were no longer blue, but a deep, emerald green.

  “Enala?” he whispered.

  A tremor went through her as he spoke her name. Her face twisted, as though in pain, and he saw a flash of blue rise from the depths of her eyes.

  “Eri–” Enala croaked, cutting herself off.

  The green returned stronger than ever, glowing with some internal power. The shivering ceased. She stood straight as a pin, staring at Eric as though he were the strangest of creatures.

  “Enala?” he tried again.

  There was no tremor this time. Enala tipped her head to the side, watching him with detached curiosity. She did not speak. The light in her eyes brightened, the green flickering across her pale skin and mixing with the flames.

  “Enala, what’s happening?” he stepped towards her.

  “Stop,” Enala spoke, the word coming out as a crackling, metallic shriek.

  She raised her arm and pointed the Soul Blade at Eric’s chest. Green light flashed. Plants burst from the tiles between them. Saplings sprang from the earth, growing to great redwoods in the time it took Eric to retreat a step. Vines curled their way up the massive trunks and dense shrubbery spread across the temple floor, smothering the flames in a sea of green.

  Enala laughed, a harsh, soulless shriek like the grinding of metal on stone. The sound rattled through the forest, sending a shiver to the depths of Eric’s soul.

  “Enala, please! Something’s wrong, this is not you! It’s the Soul Blade, you have to fight it, to stop it before it destroys you!”

  The Soul Blade crackled, blinding him with its light. The laughter came again, grating in his ears. The forest trembled and groaned as the tree trunks bent towards him.

  Enala stood amidst it all, bathed in the power of the Goddess, a dark look of torment cast across her face.

  She stared at Eric. “Don’t look for me.”

  Then she vanished into the forest.

  HERE ENDS BOOK TWO

  OF

  THE SWORD OF LIGHT

  TRILOGY

  The Adventure Continues below in

  Soul Blade

  Book Three: Soul Blade

  Prologue

  May strode along the silent battlements, her sharp eyes sweeping out to search the night. Stars sprinkled the sky overhead and torches lit the frozen stones beneath her feet. Darkness gripped the world around her, concealing the wasteland to the north.

  Her short sword slapped against her leg as she walked and her breath misted in the winter air. The cold enveloped her, eating its way through the thick woollen coat she wore. Ice crunched beneath her boots as she made her r
ounds.

  Shivering, May picked up the pace.

  Ahead, a guard looked up at her approach. A thin frost sprinkled his white beard, but the smile he flashed her was genuine. Lowering the giant war hammer he carried, he stood to attention and offered a short salute.

  “Commander May, what brings you to the outer wall at this time of night?” He spoke in a gruff voice, but the tone was soft.

  May smiled back. “At ease, Alan,” the man was a familiar face in the fortress, and a legend amongst the Lonians. Tales of his exploits as a youth had been circulating for weeks, and if even half of them were true, May was glad to have him. “If anything, I should be saluting you.”

  She moved to stand beside him, looking out into the darkness. After a moment’s silence, she addressed his question. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “The reinforcements will come,” the old soldier offered.

  May glanced at him, raising an eyebrow.

  Alan laughed. “It doesn’t take much to guess what would keep the commander of Fort Fall up at night,” his smile faded as he looked out to the north.

  May followed his gaze, unable to find a response. Men and women had been trickling in for weeks now, answering Jurrien’s call to arms. Alan had been amongst the first to appear – an old man with his hammer. Yet his arrival had been greeted with a hushed silence. Even at sixty years of age, Alan dwarfed most of the garrison, and he was a legend amongst the Lonians. In his youth he had strode these very walls, and ridden out to quash the small rebellions amongst the banished. Tales of his exploits were still told around the campfires of the young.

  “What if they’re not enough?”

  “They will be,” Alan replied.

  Listening to his confidence, May could almost believe him. Silence fell then, and together they stared out into the empty darkness. Except they both knew it was not truly empty. Somewhere out in that wasteland, the banished waited. Centuries’ worth of criminals and exiled, those deemed unworthy of living amongst the citizens of the Three Nations. Yet left on their own, those banished had formed a civilisation of their own, of sorts. Towns had grown from the rocky hills, the inhabitants surviving on what little water and food they could find.