by Aaron Hodges
FIRESTORM
Book II of
THE SWORD OF LIGHT
TRILOGY
Aaron Hodges
Written by Aaron Hodges
Edited by Tracey Govender
Proofread by Sara Pinnell
Cover Art by Medinda Burt
The Sword of Light Trilogy
Book 1: Stormwielder
Book 2: Firestorm
Book 3: Click here for updates
Copyright © June 2016 Aaron Hodges.
First Edition
All rights reserved.
The National Library of New Zealand
ISBN-13: 978-0473356378
Aaron Hodges was born in 1989 in the small town of Whakatane, New Zealand. He studied for five years at the University of Auckland, completing a Bachelor’s of Science in Biology and Geography, and a Masters of Environmental Engineering. After working as an environmental consultant for two years, he grew tired of office work and decided to quit his job and see the world. Two years later, his travels have taken him through South East Asia, Canada, the USA, Mexico, Central America, and South America.
Today, his adventures continue…
Thank you to everyone I met on the road who encouraged me to continue my writing journey (as well as my actual adventure through Central and South America). I know would never have completed Firestorm in time without the support of some wonderful people along the way.
I hope you enjoy the finished product!
Home is where your heart is.
And there's no place like home.
The Three Nations
Prologue
They appeared as the first glow of the morning sun touched the horizon. Great wings thumped the cool air, golden scales glittering in the dawns light; one, two, six, a dozen. Bursts of flame licked the treetops as the beasts circled, great eyes staring down at them. Wind whipped about the cove, catching in their golden wings.
Below, the surf roared and waves rushed up onto the black sands. The tang of salt stung the air as a fine mist of sea spray settled on their clothes. A breath of wind whistled through the trees behind them, carrying with it the bite of winter. Beyond the breakers the sea raged on hidden reefs. Dark cliffs stared down at them, casting the cove in shadow.
Eric sat on the cool sand watching the dragons, his chest tight with dread. He knew what they were here for, what they wanted. The body of Nerissa lay nearby; her golden scales dull with death. The dragon’s bravery had saved them all, her crimson flames driving off the demon. But Nerissa’s defiance had come at a price. Now her kin had come to claim their own.
He just prayed that was all they sought.
His companions sat around him, watching the display in grim silence. Inken sat beside him, her arm resting gently against his back. Reaching down he squeezed her hand, drawing strength from her presence. She glanced at him with her hazel eyes, scarlet hair shining even in the shade. Tears and burns marked her clothing, but beneath her skin was whole; healed by the Goddess Antonia.
On either side of them rested Michael and Caelin, the doctor and the soldier. Caelin sat with his legs folded, muscles rippling as he tensed, ready to spring. A short sword lay across his lap, his fingers lingering on the blade. The sword did not belong to him, but to Eric’s teacher, Alastair. Eric’s eyes slid out over the water, memories of the night before returning. His chest clenched tight, but he kept the tears from his eyes. Alastair was at peace now; the same could not be said for them.
Michael also sat with his legs crossed, but he held only a small pack stuffed with what remained of his medical supplies. Little good they had done Alastair. But they had at least kept Eric alive long enough to be healed by Antonia’s magic. Eric would never forget how the doctor’s strength and skill had helped bring him through the darkness. Michael stared up at the circling dragons, his short-cropped hair and beard betraying nothing of the ordeals of the last two days.
A roar came from overhead, returning Eric’s attention to the sky. A dragon dropped from formation and descended towards them. Swallowing his fears, Eric pulled himself to his feet. His companions followed suit, fingers hovering close to weapons. His hand lingered in Inken’s. She gave it a squeeze and flashed him a smile.
The ground shook as the beast thumped onto the beach. The wings beat a final time, sending a cloud of sand billowing out around it. Eric raised a hand against the onslaught and struggled to keep the dragon in sight. Air hissed as its mouth opened to reveal rows of glittering teeth. The stench of rotten fish billowed across the beach, followed by a wave of heat.
Who are you who trespasses here? The voice reverberated through Eric’s mind. The dragon towered over them, its bulk covering the black-sanded beach.
Eric’s knees trembled, but through his fear he remembered Caelin’s actions from the day before. Forcing his limbs to obey, Eric bowed to the dragon. There could be no mistakes here; one swipe of those giant claws could slice him in two.
Straightening, he looked the dragon in the eye. “Greetings, dragon. This is Inken, a bounty hunter from Chole. These are Caelin, sergeant of the Plorsean army, and the doctor Michael. My name is Eric. I am apprentice to the Magicker, Alastair,” he paused. “Or I was, until he was killed last night by a traitor. May I ask, what is your name, dragon?”
He did not mention the fifth member of their party – Enala, the girl they had come all this way to find. She still sat catatonic amongst the trees behind them, unresponsive to the world around her.
My name is Enduran, and you are not welcome here, the dragon’s nostrils widened as it sniffed the air. Its eyes scanned the beach until they settled on the body of Balistor, still lying where he had fallen. The blood of our sister is on your hands.
Caelin stepped forward. “No, Enduran. It is on the hands of that traitor. He was an agent of Archon – he tried to kill us all. I stopped him, though he had been my companion for many weeks. We are not your enemy.”
It was you who brought him here, brought him into our midst. His actions fall on your shoulders, a growl rumbled up from deep in Enduran’s chest. Eric braced himself, expecting flames to follow. But you speak the truth – it was your blade that slew him.
The dragon shifted on the beach, its claws digging great grooves into the sand. Its tail flicked out, shattering a spire of rock that stood amidst the dunes. It growled again. Enough blood has been spilt on our land. We will not be responsible for any more. We will give you the day to leave our lands. Come nightfall, we will put our sister to rest. Her body, and all who remain on this beach, will be cleansed by dragon fire.
Eric swallowed. “But we will not survive Dragon Country alone. We have no horses, no supplies. We are trapped on this beach.”
Flames licked from between the dragon’s lips. Eric shrank backwards, holding his breath.
There is a Lonian fishing vessel nearby. I shall tell the sailors of your presence. It is up to them whether they wish to rescue you. Either way, we will not wait, the wings began to beat again, sending sand flying across the beach.
Eric raised his arm again and squinted through the sandstorm, watching Enduran rise into the sky. As he drew above the height of the cliffs the other dragons joined him, their wings carrying them out across the ocean.
Eric watch them go and then turned to his companions. “What now?”
Caelin smiled. “We wait. And pray the dragons don’t send the Lonian’s fleeing halfway across the ocean.”
“They’re not exactly known as a timid bunch,” Inken countered. “I’d say our chances are good,” she moved up the beach to where their scant possessions lay scattered.
Eric followed her, his boots sinking
into the coarse sand. “Fishermen, or Lonian’s?” he asked.
“Both,” Inken laughed. “Although I was referring to the Lonian’s. Gods’ know, they held the Trolan’s to a standstill during the Great Wars.”
“Although unlike the Trolan’s, they’ve settled down a little since those days,” Caelin replied as they sat in a circle.
Eric spared a look at the bundle of rags lying nearby, where Enala still lay inert. She had not moved or said a word since the night before, when Balistor had killed the dragon she rode. Whatever bond had been shared by the dragon and the girl, its loss had tipped Enala over the edge.
A muffled sob came from the pile of cloth. Michael moved across and sat beside her. He began to speak to her, but Eric could not make out the words.
He shook his head. Enala was a problem for another day, when they had escaped this deadly land. He glanced out at the ocean, straining to make out the tell-tale sails of a ship, but the horizon remained empty.
“They’re likely to be some distance away,” Inken noticed the direction of his gaze. “The Lonian’s fish right down the east coast, but they stay well clear of these waters. The reefs are treacherous for the deeper hulls of their fishing vessels.”
Eric nodded, but a rumble from his stomach gave away his impatience.
Caelin laughed. “I know, we’re all hungry. But there’s not much we can do about that for now,” he eyed Inken. “Unless a certain bounty hunter thinks there could be game nearby?”
Inken gave a short smile. “Believe me, if there was, I wouldn’t be lazing around here,” she glanced at Eric, “even if I’m hesitant to leave. No, I haven’t seen a single bird or rabbit in the trees since we arrived. For whatever reason, dragons or demon or curse, the forest around this cove is empty.”
Caelin sighed. “That is a shame,” then he smiled. “Still, I’m sure we can survive a few more hours. A fishing ship is bound to have plenty of food on board.”
“If they come,” Eric interjected, doubt still plaguing him.
“They’ll come,” Caelin grinned. “I have every faith in our Lonian neighbours.”
One
The captain glared down at the company, lips twisted in a frown. A thick black beard matted his face, giving him a fierceness that would send lesser men scurrying. He folded his arms, the short sleeves revealing bulging muscles criss-crossed by old red scars. Even standing below them on the beach, he still towered over the four of them.
Behind him, the dingy crunched on the sand as a wave rocked it. His crew milled around the vessel, eying their captain nervously.
Caelin had taken the initiative, offering the sailors a lie about their being Plorsean ambassadors who had come to treat with the Gold Dragons. Eric could not help but think the story was a hard sell, given the dead dragon lying on the sand behind them. Not to mention Balistor’s body, which everyone seemed intent to ignore.
“Enough!” the captain finally cut across Caelin. “I’ve heard enough. Never in my life have I heard such a ridiculous tale.”
Caelin’s face turned scarlet. Eric guessed the sergeant did not have a great amount of experience lying, and getting caught in one clearly left him uncomfortable.
He opened his mouth to reply, but the captain spoke again. “I don’t know what the five of you are really doing here, but I don’t really care,” he waved a hand. “From what I can see, I can guess we want no part of it. I don’t need this kind of trouble on my ship,” he turned to leave.
“Wait!” Eric shouted.
He stepped after the sailors, reaching out to halt the captain’s departure. The crew drew their swords and advanced on him, faces dark with anger.
Eric raised his empty hands in surrender. “Wait, wait! You’re right, Caelin was lying,” he paused as the captain turned. He shot Eric an impatient scowl and raised an eyebrow.
“Thank you. Like I said, Caelin lied, but I swear there is a reason. We are emissaries for the Goddess Antonia, it is for her that we are here.”
The black eyes of the captain locked on Eric’s. “Oh? And what did the Goddess want with a rugged bunch of no goods such as yourselves?”
Eric glanced at his companions, seeing them as the sailors must. Antonia had healed their injuries, but their clothes had still been reduced to an assortment of burnt and bloodied rags. He swallowed. Only the truth would convince here – no other tale could explain their presence.
He looked at the big man, studying him closely. “You seem like a trustworthy man, but our purpose is a great secret. We cannot risk word spreading. I will tell you, and you alone, if you swear to secrecy.”
The captain laughed. “Bold, aren’t you? Why should I swear to anything? I could leave you here for dead, for all I care.”
“Here me out. You will understand the need when I have finished,” Eric met his gaze, and held it.
The captain’s face darkened. He gave a sharp nod. “You have five minutes to convince me. You alone. Come,” he waved at the twisted trees. Eric nodded and followed the captain up the beach. His men made to protest, but their voices fell on deaf ears. The captain obviously felt Eric was small enough not to warrant caution.
Eric couldn’t help but smile at the captain’s error.
Even so, his heart quickened as they entered the trees. Silently he debated how much he would need to tell. This man would accept nothing but the truth, but too much truth could also prove dangerous here. Anyone who helped them on their quest risked the wrath of Archon; he could not risk alienating the man through fear.
The darkness beneath the trees drew them deeper into the forest, until finally the captain turned and glared down at him. “Your time starts now.”
Eric ran a hand through his hair, trying to decide where to start. “How much do you know of the Sword of Light?”
The captain blinked. “The Sword? How does this have anything to do with that Trolan trinket?”
“Everything. That trinket and the power of the Gods are the only things keeping Archon banished in the Wasteland.”
A shiver ran through the captain. “So the legends say. Though others say Archon is long dead.”
“He isn’t. His influence is everywhere now. He has been waiting – waiting for a seed he planted decades ago to take root,” Eric took a breath to calm himself. “When the Gods and King Thomas unleashed the spell to banish Archon from our lands, Archon cast a curse of his own. He bound the spell to Thomas and his bloodline, and over the generations it has slowly stripped the magic from the Trolan royalty. The same magic they need to wield the Sword of Light.”
The captain’s hand drifted unconsciously towards his sword hilt. There was fear in his eyes. “What are you saying?”
Eric stared back. “That the magic of the Sword no longer protects the Three Nations. Archon is already preparing to invade. Yesterday, we were attacked by one of his demons; his first probe of our defences.”
“You killed it?”
“No, the dragon drove it off. That was before we were betrayed by our companion Balistor, another of Archon’s servants, who slew the dragon and my mentor, Alastair. Antonia is hunting the demon now – it won’t survive her wrath.”
The captain shook his head. “This can’t be true. What you’re saying… What you’re saying means the end of everything…”
“I am telling the truth,” Eric paused to let his words sink in, “but there is still hope. King Thomas had a sister, one who was never affected by the curse. Alastair tracked down her ancestors, but Archon’s minions got to them first. Only one of them survived – Enala. Yesterday, we finally found her.”
The big man blinked. “You mean the girl on the beach? The blond that’s gone mad?”
Eric bowed his head and sighed. They would have to deal with Enala’s state of mind eventually, but right now they had more pressing concerns. “Yes, that is Enala. And believe it or not, she is our last hope. Archon has hunted her across Plorsea, and it has almost driven her insane. But Antonia believes she will recover. It is our
job to make sure she has the chance to do so.”
Silence fell as the captain weighed up his words. This time Eric did not back down. He only had one chance to convince this man to help them. He would not fail.
Finally the captain gave a sharp nod. “Okay, Eric. I’m not sure I believe you, but I will give you the benefit of the doubt. It would be a bold lie indeed to tell such a story. We are heading for the Lonian capital. I will take you that far. After that, you’re on your own,” he held out his hand. “The names Loris.”
Eric gave a grim smile. “Thank you, Loris. You won’t regret this.”
Loris shook his head. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
*************
The bow of the ship rose sharply into the swell and then crashed back down the other side. Wooden boards creaked as water rushed over the side to swamp the deck. Sailors walked through the water, shouting at men who dangled overhead. Wind cracked in the sails, driving them through the unbroken waters. The sun shone high above, its heat beating down on the exposed deck. The stench of fish seeped up from the cargo hold below.
Eric’s stomach lurched with each rise and fall of the ship. He had never been at sea before, but he had heard of seasickness. He stumbled across the deck, grabbing for the railing, and lost the battle to keep the meagre contents of his stomach down.
Laughter came from above. He looked up in time to see a sailor dropping from the rigging. A grin split his bearded face as he joined Eric at the railings.
“It helps if you don’t look at the ship,” he pointed to the distant coastline. “Keep your eyes on the horizon. That way when the ship moves, the eyes and body both tell your mind the same story. If you look at the deck, it tricks your eyes into thinking you’re stationary, even though your body can feel the ship lurching about.”
