The Sword of Light: The Complete Trilogy

by Aaron Hodges

  They both fell silent then, remembering the scene in the clearing, the demonic distortion of Enala’s face.

  Shuddering, Eric nodded. “Okay, you’re the teacher.”

  Christopher chuckled, shaking his head. “There’s a first time for everything. I was never much of a student; I guess I’m going to learn how my teachers felt. Are you ready?”

  Eric glanced down at the Sword of Light. He held it by the scabbard, the soft leather separating him from its power. Even so, light seeped from the diamond in the blade’s pommel, dancing across the snowflakes falling around them.

  “Well?”

  Glancing up, Eric caught Christopher’s eye and smiled by way of reply. Then he reached down, wrapped his frozen fingers around the pommel, and drew the blade from its sheath.

  The familiar power raced up his arm, burning away the tingles of ice in his fingers. The warmth spread through his chest, pulsing with the beat of his heart. He could feel its light touching every part of him, seeping into every shadow of his mind. A shiver of fear touched him and he reached for his magic, eager to bind it to his will.

  Eric breathed a sigh of relief as the blue lines of his power wrapped about the white, pulling it back from his mind. He felt the warmth of the Sword’s flame and opened his eyes with a satisfied smile.

  Looking up, he saw Christopher staring. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” the Magicker offered. “I can feel the power radiating from it. Like a second sun. Unbelievable.”

  “I’m just glad it’s under control,” Eric gave a sad smile. “I have wreaked enough havoc with my own magic. I can only imagine what this would do.”

  “The destruction would be beyond anyone’s imagination,” shaking his head, Christopher clapped his hands. “But enough of such thoughts. There is much you must learn about the Light. As you may know, the Light is the most powerful of the three elements. It controls the raw energies of nature – the heat of fire being just one of them.”

  Eric nodded. “I saw Laurel become invisible several times – so it also controls the light itself?”

  “That’s correct. Although invisibility is just the beginning. A true master can also project illusions, make others see whatever the Magicker wants them to see.”

  “And Alastair’s power?”

  “Yes. While I only met him a few times, Alastair’s power to move objects also came from the Light. With the Sword, you can do the same,” Christopher took a breath. “Even more than that, the Light has dominion over magic itself. True mastery of the Sword would allow you to suppress the magic of others.”

  Eric gave a sad smile. “Laurel was rather adept at that particular skill,” he frowned then, thoughts turning to the confrontation to come. “Could I do the same as she did – use the power of the Sword to steal the magic from Archon?”

  Christopher took a while to answer. “It could be possible, but I don’t think it would work. I believe it would take knowledge beyond mortal comprehension to bind dark magic as great as Archon’s. Darius himself could possibly do so, but with just his raw power?” he shook his head. “If it was possible, I would have thought Thomas or one of his ancestors would have done so.”

  Eric bit his lip, struggling to hide his disappointment. Even so, he would keep the idea in mind. “When I was fighting the demon, I could feel the sword giving me energy, giving me the strength to keep going.”

  “That’s not surprising,” Christopher replied. “As you know, the Sword is God magic. Unlike our own power, it can create energy from nothing. It does not need to draw heat from the air or manipulate what is already there. In theory, you could draw unlimited energy from the Sword, though I would not recommend it.”

  “Why not?”

  Christopher looked down at him, a hint of fear in his eyes. “We are not immortal creatures. Our souls are fragile, unlike the spirits of the entities we know as Jurrien, Antonia and Darius. We are not meant to wield such power. If you draw on the Sword’s magic too much, there is no way of telling what the side effects might be.”

  Eric’s stomach clenched in a knot, but he asked his next question anyway. “So in theory, I could use the energy of the Sword to recharge my own stores of magic?”

  “It should be possible,” Christopher sighed, then shook his head and grinned. “But enough with the questions. Let’s see what you can do.”

  Eric hefted the Sword and grinned. “Let’s begin.”

  Six

  Elton paused at the top of the stairs, glancing back at Lynda. A few steps below, the light of the torch came to an end, engulfing the world in shadow. Staring at that darkness, he was suddenly glad he’d brought the old priest with him. He did not know whether he had the courage to continue down those steps alone.

  “We had better move quickly,” Lynda hissed. “Before someone comes.”

  Drawing in a deep breath, Elton nodded and took his first step down into the darkness. He shivered as the icy air touched him, the warmth of the torch in his hand providing scant comfort. Together they moved downwards, the darkness swallowing them up, reducing their world to the globe of light cast by the torch.

  Beside him Lynda’s footsteps were soft on the stone, a stark contrast to the rhythmic thud of his own boots. He glanced at her, taking strength from the courage on her stern face. Whatever the consequences, the woman intended to see this out to the end. Swallowing the lump in his chest, Elton continued their downward march.

  Minutes dragged by, punctuated only by the scuffling of their feet on stone and the rhythmic thump of his heart. As they reached each landing he found himself praying they were finally at the bottom, finally within reach of his friend. But with each turn they would find another empty wall, and see another set of stairs continuing down. Down into the never-ending darkness.

  “How far do they go?” Lynda whispered.

  “I don’t know. This dungeon was built to hold the worst of Archon’s followers; those creatures and Magickers captured after his defeat in the last war. There were many who escaped the net cast by the Gods’ spell, and our people were all too eager to extract their revenge.”

  He heard the priest swallow. “No wonder you can almost taste the evil on the air. The actions of our own people, let alone the stink of those creatures, it will never come out.”

  Feeling the swirling shadows around him, Elton couldn’t help but agree. But there was no time to reply now – ahead, the torch had finally illuminated the bottom of the staircase. The stone steps came to an abrupt halt, replaced by a smooth, unlit corridor disappearing into the darkness. Their light reached the first of the cells, but there was no telling how far they stretched.

  “This is it,” Lynda murmured.

  Elton looked around as a breath of wind stirred his clothing. Glancing at the priest, he stepped back in shock to see her robes flapping around her, caught in the grip of a great gale. But other than the briefest of whispers, the air in the dungeons was still, dead.

  Lynda smiled. “I thought I’d call the wind now, in case we are cut off from the surface. You never know what we might find down here.”

  Forcing his mouth shut, Elton nodded. Lynda must be more powerful than he’d thought, to summon wind from so far above them, into a place as dark as this. Then he shook his head, returning his thoughts to the task at hand.

  Somewhere down here, Caelin and his companions waited.

  Stepping into the corridor, Elton made his way to the door of the first cell. Reaching up, he pounded the wood with his fist, then stepped back, waiting anxiously for a hint of life within.

  After a few moments of silence, he moved to the next door, heart clutched tight in his chest. Down in this darkness with no source of light or heat, Caelin and the others could easily have succumbed already. It had been almost two weeks since the incident on the wall; he could only imagine the horror they had suffered in this place.

  They made their way quietly down the corridor, Elton’s hopes fading with every silent door. Lynda walked beside him, lips p
ursed, silent but for the gentle flapping of her robes. But he could see the determination in her eyes. If they did not find anything, he had no doubt she would blow every door from its hinges before she gave up.

  Finally, they reached the door at the end of the corridor, the only one left unchecked. Elton’s head throbbed with the cold, the beginnings of a migraine starting in the back of his skull. Icy despair touched his heart, but he pushed it back and held the torch aloft to cast its light over the door. From the outside it looked the same as the others. There was no sign of recent use.

  Holding his breath, he reached up and banged his fist on the wood.

  They waited together, breath held, the only sound in the darkness the gentle whirring of Lynda’s wind. Elton closed his eyes, fighting the racing of his heart, and tried to push his panic down. The seconds stretched out, slipping away like sand from an hour-glass. And still no sound came from within.

  At last Elton released his breath, the weight of defeat heavy on his shoulders.

  “They’re not here,” he hissed.

  As he spoke, the faintest of taps came from beyond the door.

  Elton almost jumped, reaching for his sword before reason could take hold. In this dark place, the faintest of noises was as loud as a drum. He glanced at Lynda, eyes wide in question.

  She nodded, and raised her hand.

  The wind roared in the narrow corridor, rushing outwards to slam against the door. Wood groaned as the bottled up fury of the Sky crashed against it, followed by the scraping of hinges on stone. Elton stumbled back a step, sparing a glance at the priest. A vein throbbed on her forehead and her teeth were bared with exertion.

  Then with a heavy crunch, the door buckled inwards, the wood splintering before the fury of the Sky. A second later it vanished into the black depths of the cell.

  Elton stared, eyes searching the darkness within for a hint of movement. For a moment there was nothing, then he glimpsed a shadow in the light of the torch. He stared, waiting with anxious breath to see who would emerge.

  The shadows shifted again, a figure taking shape within. It stepped closer, stumbling as it moved towards the light. Elton glimpsed an upraised arm, warding off the brilliance of the torch, and cursed his own stupidity. After so long in the darkness, the flame would be blinding. Shuttering the torch to just a slit, he waited for the figure to emerge.

  The figure took the final step from the cell, and the slit of light fell across his face.

  The air went from Elton’s mouth in a sudden hiss. He stared, mouth agape and eyes wide, unable to comprehend this vision in the darkness.

  Matted hair covered the man’s face and his grey hair hung in a tangled mess. Dark brown eyes squinted out from beneath bushy eyebrows, struggling with the light. Lines marked his forehead and his limbs were shrunken and thin, starved of the power they had once wielded. The long weeks had reduced his clothes to little more than rags.

  Yet even filthy and unkempt, there could be no mistaking the King of Plorsea.

  “Elton,” the king’s words were barely a whisper. “So glad you came. You’re a little late.”

  *************

  Deep in his thoughts, Caelin did not notice the first knock on the door. The sound echoed in the tiny room, trickling slowly into his conscious. It found him there, locked away where the darkness outside could not find him.

  He studied the noise, curious as to what could have disturbed him. Certainly it could be nothing within the cell: he had long since filtered out Gabriel’s mad rambling and the quiet sobs from Inken’s corner.

  What could it be?

  The question continued to bother him. Had the guards finally returned with food? Or were they here to take them up again, to go before the imposter on the throne and plead their innocence?

  Yet he had long since given up that hope. There was no reason for the creature to return them to the light, not now that they knew the truth.

  No, they were meant to wither and die here in the darkness.

  But there had been a sound, an echo of the outside world. The knowledge seeped through him, growing and spreading out to light the candles of his mind.

  What could it be?

  His mind was waking now, searching out the answer. It would not be the guards – they did not knock. The only time they had come, a tray had slid through the slit beneath the door.

  Someone else then.

  The thought finally gave him the strength to open his eyes and move. The darkness greeted him once more, but then, even his dreams were of the darkness now. The light seemed but a distant memory, a lifetime ago. Only the Gods could guess how long they had been here.

  But then, they were dead too.

  Drawing on the last dredges of his will, Caelin pulled himself back to his feet. In a daze he stumbled to where he knew the door stood. Reaching out, he tapped at the hard wood.

  The noise seemed unbelievably loud in the narrow confines of their cell. Or perhaps that was because it had been so long since there had been noise.

  Staring into space, Caelin found his energy withering, trickling back down to the depths of his soul.

  It was nothing – a rat or nothing.

  Then the darkness roared, and before he could think he was throwing himself to the side as the shattered remains of the door bounced past where he’d stood.

  Light split the darkness, burning his eyes with the intensity of the sun. Tears spilt down Caelin’s face but he could not look away from the light. The wonderful, unbelievable light. Around him the shadows peeled away, lifting from his soul. Strength flowed back to his muscles, lifting him from the ground. Light could mean only one thing.

  Freedom.

  Looking around the room, he saw the others blinking back. Inken wore a sort of wonder on her pale face, her hazel eyes glistening with tears and her fiery red hair shining in the light. Grease marked her face but he could see the strength there, flooding back to wash away the despair.

  Gabriel sat beside her, but where Caelin had welcomed the golden glow, Gabriel flinched away, curling up and turning away from the doorway. His black hair was thick with oil and his forehead wet with sweat. But Caelin could not spare the young man his help yet. His thoughts were returning now, the memories rising up to meet the light. And with them, questions.

  To his surprise, the king was already standing and staggering towards the doorway. The ravages of Fraser’s captivity were clear in the light, his body shrunken almost beyond recognition. But despite it, there was a light in the man’s eyes now, one Caelin had not expected after the man’s earlier despair.

  Perhaps the king was not broken yet.

  Fraser was the first to reach the light, stumbling through the doorway to the corridor beyond. Gasps came from outside and Caelin’s suspicions were confirmed; whoever was out there had not been sent by the false king.

  Listening to the voices, Caelin drew on his last reserves of energy and stumbled out after his king. He heard Inken behind him, offering Gabriel her hand, and hoped the young man would find the strength to bring himself back from the grip of madness. It would take all they had to overthrow the demon on the throne.

  Pain stabbed at his eyes as he emerged, though he saw the lantern held by their rescuers had been reduced to a slit. He stared at the man with the light, struggling to make out his features. A priest stood beside him, that much was clear from the blue robes. The woman’s face appeared as a blur, but he guessed she was from the temple back in Lon. Probably the one they’d sent to verify their story.

  Hope rose in his chest as the man’s face came into focus.

  “Elton, you found us,” he croaked, his throat rough from thirst.

  “Caelin,” his old friend’s voice shook. “How… how is this possible?”

  Caelin gave a weak shake of his head. “I do not know,” sorrow clung to his voice. “Archon’s reach has stretched further than any of us could have imagined.”

  “Ay,” the priest spoke now. “Without the Gods to protect us, there
is little to stop the dark tendrils of his power spreading south. Us mere mortals are easy pickings for the likes of him. And it seems this time, he does not intend to be slowed by the armies of the Three Nations.”

  “What can we do?” Inken emerged with Gabriel on her shoulder. Her face was a sickly white, but she stood straight. “What will you do, Fraser?”

  Elton winced at the casual way Inken addressed the king, but he had not been locked in that cell with them. Whatever happened now, they were bound by the shared horrors of the darkness.

  Fraser stared back, his eyes pits in the shadow of his brow. He had lost so much to the darkness. Anyone who saw him now would call him imposter to the demon upstairs. There appeared to be little left of the man Caelin knew.

  But he prayed the darkness had not taken everything, that a spark of the man still remained.

  Staring at the king, Caelin held his breath and waited.

  Fraser looked back, his breath misting in the icy dungeon air. The flames of the lantern reflected in his eyes, reminding Caelin of the man that had sent him to find Alastair so long ago. He was in there somewhere; they just needed to find him.

  “Fraser,” he whispered. “We need you.”

  The king drew in a great breath and looked around, his eyes lingering on each of them.

  He took another breath. “I guess… I guess we go to war.”

  Seven

  Light, light everywhere. Emptiness, a vast open void, stretching out to eternity. And it burned, burned wherever it touched, consuming him, devouring him.

  Eric opened his mouth to scream, and woke.

  He snapped upright, struggling to bite off his cry before he woke Enala. His chest heaved and a cold sweat ran down his brow. He turned his head, his desperate eyes searching the room. But there was no one, nothing but the gentle snores of his sister from across the room.

  Slowly his panic began to subside. He took another breath, trying to still his racing heart.

  The memory of the Sword’s magic lingered in his mind. His eyes drifted across the room until they found the blade leaning against the foot of his bed. He shivered. It had just been a dream; the vision had not been real. The blade remained out of reach, its magic locked within.