by Aaron Hodges
Enala would come through for him. He knew the girl’s strength, the courage she possessed.
She would not let him die.
Closing his eyes, Eric felt the weight lift from his soul. Right or wrong, the die had been cast. A smile tugged at his lips as he unclenched his hand and released the Sword.
The snake-like tendrils were on him before the blade had even touched the ground. They whipped from all around, rippling out from Enala in a wave of earthly power. The strands twisted around him, binding him tight.
The lightning died in Eric’s palm as the pressure grew, stealing the breath from his lungs. He stared through the writhing mass of green, seeking out Enala, seeking out those haunted eyes. Blood throbbed in his arms, trapped by his bindings.
As the last vines wrapped about him the air cleared, revealing Enala’s approach. She stared across at him, hate twisting the features of her face, a smirk on her lips. Arms folded, she held the Soul Blade in a casual grip, and watched as her creatures squeezed the life from her brother.
Summoning the last of his strength, Eric sucked in one last breath.
“Enala,” he gasped. “Help me!”
A shadow crossed Enala’s face, her eyes widening. For a second he thought he saw a flicker of blue in her eyes, and to his surprise the vines around him loosened. He sucked in another gulp of air and screamed. “You can do it, Enala. Don’t let it kill me!”
A tremor swept through his sister and her irises swelled, reducing the whites of her eyes to thin circles. Blue swirled amidst the green and she stumbled back a step. The Soul Blade trembled in her hand.
“Come on, sis. You can do it,” he mouthed.
His bindings loosened further, almost freeing him. He did not move, knowing Enala was locked in a desperate struggle with the force within her. Any change might shift the balance, destroy the desperate strength with which she fought.
Slowly the colour in his sister’s eyes shifted, the green retreating before the sapphire blue. Her lips quivered and her breath came in great, gulping gasps. Yet still her fist remained clenched around the hilt of the Soul Blade. So long as she held it, the flow of Earth magic would not cease.
Swallowing caution, Eric spoke again. “You’re almost there, Enala! You can do it, just let it go. Cast out the God magic!”
Enala’s eyes drifted back to Eric and for the first time he saw again the girl he knew in their crystal depths. Fear lined her face, matched by a great, all-consuming fatigue. But the steely determination he knew all too well was there too. It just had to hold out a few more seconds, for one final push.
Their eyes caught and Eric gave a short nod.
Enala’s eyes closed as she summoned whatever strength remained to her. Her shoulders heaved and she raised the Soul Blade above her head. Then, with a final scream, she hurled it from her. The weapon spun in the air, sunlight glinting from the suddenly dark metal. It slammed point first into the ground and quivered there.
The vines around Eric collapsed to the ground as one, freeing him from their grasp.
He looked up in time to see Enala’s eyes roll back in her skull. He stepped forward and caught her as she fell. Holding her close, he pulled her tight against him.
“You did it, Enala. You’re safe.”
*************
Enala groaned as sensation returned to her, agony lancing through every muscle of her body. Light burned into her skull as she opened her eyes, struggling to take in the world around her. A thumping pain came from the back of her head and a sharp jolt came from her neck as she tried to move. She fell back to the ground with a whimper, surrendering to the waves of agony.
“Enala?” she heard Eric’s voice from nearby. “Are you okay?”
She cracked open an eye, squinting against the fiery light. Her brother’s face hovered nearby and branches clawed across the sky behind him. Concern touched his lightning blue eyes and his auburn hair was slick with oil. Dirt streaked his face and his tunic was stretched and torn. Even so, the sight of him warmed her heart.
“Where are we?” she croaked.
Eric smiled. “Someplace on Witchcliffe Island. How do you feel?”
Memory was slowly returning to her as she lay there. She shivered, recalling the helpless horror she’d felt in the clutches of the traitorous King Jonathan. Images flashed in her mind: Eric falling from the sky, the Sword of Light spinning towards her, the agony as it tore through her chest.
Enala shuddered. “I don’t know,” she whispered, still caught in the tide of memories.
She recalled with horror Eric’s battle with the king, then the arrival of the demon, Thomas, and a final surge of elation as the Sword burnt the creature to ash. She watched with growing dread her desperate crawl across the temple floor, her helpless cry as she reached for the Soul Blade.
She remembered the healing light that had shone from the weapon, and then the wave of power that surged from the blade. It burned through her veins, flooding her mind and washing her soul away in its current.
Enala shot upright, a deep, rattling gasp rising from her lungs. She felt Eric’s touch on her arm and flinched away, a scream on her lips. She could still feel the shadow of the power within her, the God magic burning at her soul, her helpless fear as it tore away control.
If not for Eric, she would never have found the strength to overcome it.
Sanity returning, Enala opened her eyes and reached for her brother, desperate to feel his touch, to reassure herself the nightmare was truly over. Pulling him close, she held him for dear life, drawing comfort in the solidness of his skin, his body.
“It’s okay, Enala. You’re safe.”
Another tremor took her. “I’ve never felt anything like it, Eric. It was like a wave, sweeping me away, taking everything that was me and leaving only the magic. I thought I would drown in it.”
“I know,” Eric drew back from her. Enala looked into his eyes and saw her own fear reflected there. “It is the same with all magic. It has a life of its own, a longing for freedom. When you touch it consciously with your mind, even your own magic will try to overwhelm you. I can only imagine the strength it would take to fend off God magic.”
Enala took a deep breath and forced herself to look around. Her eyes took in the clearing around them. She remembered it from before, though the memories were distant, as though she had dreamt them. Several people stood nearby, doing their best to ignore them.
“Who are they?” she murmured.
“Trolans,” Eric answered. “They helped me find you. The council sent them. Turns out Jonathan misled us all along. It was the king who abandoned Trola, forcing the council to step in and govern the nation.”
Enala nodded, the last pieces of the puzzle falling into place. “I’m glad he’s dead.”
Leaning on Eric’s shoulder, she pulled herself to her feet.
“Thank you for your help,” she looked around at the Trolans. “I am sorry we fled the city. We should not have run.”
A man wearing the white robes of a priest smiled as he walked up to them. “Do not worry, we place the blame squarely on Jonathan’s shoulders. The man did not deserve the title of king.”
Enala smiled. “I can agree on that.”
Something in the corner of her eye drew Enala’s attention. Turning, she stumbled back a step as her eyes fell on the Soul Blade. It still lay on the grass where it had fallen, a faint green seeping like water from the black blade. An icy hand gripped her heart and a cold sweat dampened her forehead. She gripped Eric’s shoulder tight, her hands like claws.
Eric followed her gaze and squeezed her hand. “It’s okay, it’s gone, you’re free. You don’t have to worry about ever touching that foul thing again.”
Relief swept through Enala, but before she could reply the priest spoke. “I’m not so sure, Eric,” Christopher paused as she turned on him. He raised his hands, and went on. “We have no way of knowing how to free either Jurrien or Antonia from those blades, and the Three Nations are desper
ately short of God powers just now. If we cannot find a way to free them, someone will need to confront the power of those blades.”
“I will never touch that thing again,” Enala hissed.
Christopher stared back, his face grim. “I pray you won’t have to.”
Four
Elton strode down the dimly lit corridors of the citadel, his thoughts lost in a whirlwind of questions. Two days had passed since the king’s meeting with the dragons, and nothing he’d seen or heard since had lessoned his suspicions. There was no longer any doubt in his mind – something was very wrong with the king.
He had done his best to find Caelin and the others, but they had not been seen since the king ordered them imprisoned. They were not in the dungeons or locked away in any of the towers reserved for noble ‘guests’, and the king had yet to set a date for their trial. To make matters worse, as far as the councillors knew, no one had come forward yet to corroborate their tale.
Yet Elton knew that could not be true. Yesterday he had spoken with the guards on the stairwell up from the lake and heard from them that a Lonian priest had arrived several days ago. The priest’s presence could only mean the Sky temple in Lon had sent someone to verify his old friend’s story. But still there was nothing.
The more Elton searched, the less he could deny the truth of Caelin’s suspicions. Something was wrong in Ardath, and it seemed the king sat at the middle of it all.
What has happened to him?
Still, Elton could not bring himself to believe Fraser could be at the centre of such a conspiracy. No, he had to be under some spell, some corruption cast by one of Archon’s agents. Caelin had already slain two of the creatures; there had to be more.
He had considered going to the king himself, but so far had held back. He was no Magicker and had no way of breaking the king free of such a spell. And what if he was wrong?
No, he could not risk it. Not if somehow, impossibly, the king had truly been turned.
Thankfully, as a soldier, Elton had plenty of friends amongst the guards and soldiers of the Plorsean army. The councillor’s might not know a priest had arrived in the capital, but all news in the city eventually made it to ears of the guards. It had not taken long for him to discover a small pool of men had been assigned to guard a room deep within the citadel.
It only took a few pints of ale to convince one of the guards to exchange shifts.
Picking up the pace, Elton took the next right and turned into a poorly lit corridor. It had taken longer than expected to navigate the maze of hallways in this section of the citadel, and he was running late. Ahead he glimpsed the shadow of a man in the light of a single lantern and smiled. He had arrived.
The guard turned and flashed a grin as he saw Elton approaching. “Ah, Elton, good to see you. I heard you changed shifts with Alexandar. I think you pulled the short straw on that one; nothing to do but stare at this here wall.”
Elton laughed. “Sorry I’m late, I haven’t been back here often,” he shrugged. “Truth to tell, after a few run-ins with those dragons, I could use a little quiet.”
Chuckling, the guard shook his head. “True, true. I’ll not forget the sight of that beast landing on the walls till my dying day,” he clicked his neck and groaned. “But that’s me for the night. Best of luck. Hope you find something to keep yourself entertained.”
With that he turned and wandered away down the corridor. Elton waited a few minutes after he’d turned the corner before facing the door. Reaching up, he thumped on the heavy wood. He wondered how the priest had taken the reception here in Ardath – it was not exactly customary to post guards outside a guest’s door.
He didn’t have to wait long for his answer.
“What?” a woman’s voice growled from inside the room.
There came a scrambling from the door and then the creak of hinges as it opened. A woman stood in the doorway, her blue robes scrunched with lines as though she’d just pulled them on. Angry eyes glared up at him, blinking in the lantern light, her long white hair muddled with sleep.
“What do you want?” she growled. “Has the king finally given up this nonsense?”
“Nonsense?”
“About whether he believes the news I brought?” the priest snapped. “I am tired of this room. It was not my intention to spend my days in Plorsea locked in the citadel. Do you treat all your guests like prisoners, or is this treatment reserved just for priests?”
Elton held his hands up in surrender. “My apologies, ma’am. I am just a simple soldier – I am afraid I do not know the king’s mind. But I am interested in your story. I believe you may know my friend, Caelin?”
The old woman nodded. “I do, though we did not speak much with the bunch of them. We were busy preparing the soldiers and equipment for their expedition,” she eyed him closely. “What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t,” Elton nodded to the room. “But perhaps this is a conversation better had in privacy, away from any prying ears.”
The priest studied him for a long moment before finally stepping from the doorway and beckoning him inside. “Very well. I take it you are not here at the request of the king then.”
“No,” Elton moved into the room, his eyes sweeping the interior. An unmade bed had been pushed into the far corner, while a table took up the opposite side of the room. Otherwise the room was unadorned.
“I’m afraid I can’t offer you anything to drink…” the priest spoke in a wry voice.
“My apologies…” Elton shook his head, realising he did not know the woman’s name. He held out his hand. “My name is Elton.”
“Lynda,” she took his hand in hers.
Elton lowered himself into a chair at the table. “Nice to meet you, Lynda,” he sighed. “I am afraid I don’t know why you’re here. I don’t know what is happening in this city, what is happening to the king.”
Lynda sat opposite him. “Perhaps you could start from the beginning.”
“You’re right,” Elton shook his head. “I’m afraid there is something very, very wrong happening here in Ardath.”
Bit by bit, he explained how the king’s demeanour had changed over the past weeks and months. It had started with the occasional outburst and rages, but with the arrival of Caelin and his companions, things had quickly descended into madness. The tale of his friend’s reception by the king rushed out, followed by the arrival of the dragons and the insanity that had almost shattered the ancient alliance between the beasts and man. As he spoke he could feel a burden lifting from his shoulders, the weight of his suspicions fading away in the warmth of the woman’s gaze.
When he finished he fell silent, looking up at Lynda for a response.
She took a long time to reply, her old eyes studying him closely. At last she gave a short nod.
“I am afraid my part to this story will only confirm your suspicions. I spoke to the king two days ago in his private chambers. Everything Caelin and his friends said was true – I confirmed as much to the king. He told me he would consider my words and sent me away. I have been locked in this room ever since.”
“How can this be?” Elton lowered his head into his hands. “He has always been a good king. Could he be under the control of one of Archon’s servants?”
Lynda shrugged. “I do not know. I did not sense anything from him myself. But there are many ways for the dark to turn the light. For now though, we must get to the bottom of this rabbit hole,” her voice was firm, resolute.
“How? I cannot accuse the king of treachery. Even with your word to support me, the council is clearly with him. His power is indisputable. What can I do?”
“You could free Caelin and his companions. That would be a start. We will need allies if we are to wrestle control of Plorsea back from whatever influence Archon has over the throne.”
“I do not even know where they are being kept,” Elton groaned.
“I believe I do,” Lynda offered. “When I met with the king, he mentioned they we
re being held in the dungeons.”
“No, I already checked. There’s only the usual thieves and riff-raff down there.”
“Are you sure?” she frowned. “The king mentioned it several times. He was angry, refused to take my news as fact. He insisted they could not be trusted after murdering his councillor, that they were exactly where they deserved to be.”
“Strange,” Elton stood and started to pace.
He had checked most of the citadel in his search, but there had been no sign of the company. And he could not have missed their presence in the dungeons.
Pausing mid-stride, Elton turned to face the door.
They are not the only dungeons, the thought whispered in his mind. There were others, ones far older than those used today. As far as he knew, the black cells had not been used in decades. They were from another time, a darker time. They had been used to hold the prisoners of Archon’s war – beasts and humans alike.
Elton shuddered, thinking of the cursed cells far below the keep. Untold horrors had transpired in those cells and darkness clung to the air itself. He had walked down the stairs once, but had never made it to the bottom. The darkness had driven him back, and not even the warmth of the torch in his hands could convince him to return. There was a presence about the place, a creeping evil that chilled the soul.
They are exactly where they deserve to be…
With sudden clarity, Elton knew his suspicion was right. If the king had truly been turned to Archon’s cause, then those dungeons made a chilling sort of sense, offering a perverse revenge for the dark things that had once taken place down there.
“I know where they are,” Elton breathed.
Lynda nodded. “Good. Then let us go find them.”
“Us?” Elton questioned. “You can’t come with me, you’re a priest…”
“Ay, I am,” there was steel in Lynda’s voice now. “A priest entasked by the Gods to defend this world from darkness. I will not stand here, trapped in this room, and wait for that darkness to triumph. This is my fight as much as yours, young Elton. Besides, you may need my help,” as she spoke a wind whirled through the room.
