Firestorm (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 2)

by Aaron Hodges

  Caelin laughed. “It’s not there yet, although we will spend the night in Sitton tonight. We’ll collect some supplies and enjoy some solid ground beneath our feet, then press on first thing in the morning.”

  “Thank the Gods, I’m going crazy on this ship,” he glanced at the sun. Noon had long since passed and the days were steadily growing shorter with winter’s approach. “Will we arrive before dark?”

  “If all goes well.”

  “And when does that ever happen?”

  Nevertheless, a few hours later the evening sun found them pulling into the sleepy port of Sitton. Wooden docks stretched out into the river to greet them, empty but for a few barges and the odd fishing rig. The city spread out from the docks and up into the foothills of the river. The nearest buildings looked old and showed signs of wear, while the white roof tiles of those behind gleamed red in the dying sun.

  Eric stretched his neck, taking in the city. It appeared to rise from the river itself, old stone walls hedging the waterfront revealing the settlements violent past. Sitton had not been spared the wars which had once torn the land apart. But new buildings now rose above the old, spreading up the hill above the city. Great spires of marble and domes of shimmering metal stood amidst the stone houses, revealing the wealth of trade passing daily through Sitton.

  Their ship drifted up to the docks where men waited with ropes to pull them closer. As they drew alongside their own sailors leapt across the gap and began helping those ashore. They tossed ropes to those remaining on the ship and pulled the vessel tight against the wharf. Eric could not help but be impressed by the speed with which they accomplished the task.

  Inken joined him as he moved to where the sailors were lowering a plank down to the docks, allowing the less nimble passengers to disembark. She swung up onto the railings beside him. “Not going to jump?” she asked as she leapt to the wharf.

  Eric raised an eyebrow, feeling no desire to take a spill into the river. Turning he strode along the deck and wandered across the plank, much to Inken’s amusement.

  “Sorry,” she offered. “I just couldn’t wait to be ashore. I’ve never spent so much time on the water. It almost makes me miss that damn white horse I bought back in Chole,” Inken whispered in a conspirational tone.

  Eric smiled. Earlier he’d had the same thought about his horse, Briar. It’d taken him a week to get used to riding, but he had almost enjoyed it after that. The ship might move faster, but it was boring, offering little to do but sleep and watch the riverbanks.

  They followed Caelin down the dock. They knew which inn the crew they would staying in, but they had no desire to wait for the mariners to gather their gear. Fresh beds and dry land beckoned.

  As they wound their way through the thin crowd of people around the docks, Inken tucked her arm under his. “It feels good to have solid ground beneath my feet again,” she whispered in his ear. “I was going crazy, cramped up on that ship.”

  Eric waved away a fly and smiled. “Me too. I didn’t realise Jurrien would be sending quite so many marines – I felt like a sardine packed in a barrel.”

  Inken squeezed his arm. “I miss you,” she looked around. “I think they will be okay without us for any hour. The marines are right behind us. How about we go explore a little. It would be nice to have some time to ourselves while we’re ashore.”

  Eric’s hand drifted to the pommel of Alastair’s blade as his eyes scanned the crowd. There was a calm air to the way people moved here, a peace missing from other towns and cities he’d visited. He nodded to Inken. “You know the way to the inn?”

  “I heard the captain giving Caelin the directions. Now come on!” she tugged at his arm. Smiling, Eric allowed her to pull him into the crowd and up one of the side streets leading further up the hill.

  “Have you been here before?” Eric asked.

  “No, but I’ve heard about the place. The temple here is said to be quite unique. Since the river marks the border between Lonia and Plorsea, the temple is dedicated to both Antonia and Jurrien.”

  Two storied buildings lined the street, but through the gaps overhead they made out the spire of a temple. Inken took his hand and they made their way towards it. The buildings closed in around them, growing larger as they climbed the hill. The dirt roads close to the port soon gave way to bricked streets, worn smooth by the passage of wagon wheels.

  Eventually the afternoon crowds heading to and from the markets gave way as they entered into quieter streets. Eric wrapped his arm around Inken’s waist and exhaled with relief. After spending two years in the wilderness, crowds still unnerved him. Even without the usual bustling rush of larger cities.

  The temple surprised them when they finally stumbled across it. The overlapping walls of the surrounding buildings hid the towering spire as they drew near, forcing them to circling the spot where they guessed it must be. Knowing its general direction, they persisted until they reached the tiny street in which it hid.

  The temple’s sheer marble walls stretched across one side of the street, the rich stone streaked by faults of blue and green. Where the architects had found such a variety of marble, Eric could only guess. The spire stretched high into the sky, vines of ivy clinging from the enamels. As they approached a bell high in the tower started to ring. Its shrill clang echoed loudly in the street.

  They made their way to the entrance, where the oaken gates stood open.

  Inken glanced at Eric. “Do you think they know about Antonia? That she’s gone?”

  “I don’t know. But either way, we better not say anything. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.

  Inken smiled, nodding to their swords and her bow. “We might be a little too well-armed for that. I’m not sure many citizens take a casual stroll to a temple with this sort of weaponry.”

  Eric glanced down at his own blade. “Would be nice if we didn’t need them.”

  He felt Inken’s hand on his head and looked up. “One day, Eric. Remember what we said, we will get through this. Don’t lose sight of what we’re fighting for, don’t lose hope. We will finish this quest of Alastair’s and find peace again. Then you can put up that sword, and live your own life.”

  Eric leaned across and kissed her. As their tongues met a shiver ran across his skin. His heart beat faster as he pulled her hard against him. Her fingers curled in his hair and he felt a pinch as she bit his lip. When they separated the taste of cinnamon lingered on his tongue.

  “Are the two of you in the right place?” a man in sky blue robes asked, emerging from a doorway. His face was lined and his eyes careworn, but he wore an amused smile. He carried a walking staff of oak, which he leaned on heavily as he approached them.

  Inken’s cheeks reddened and Eric felt his own grow warm. “Sorry, sir,” he offered. “It’s been and long and crowded ride up the river.”

  The priest waved a hand. “Not at all. We are used to couples passing through, and seeking some quiet with each other. We do not judge – that is not the way of the Gods,” he smiled. “So what brings two young lovers to the Temple of the Earth and Sky.”

  “We heard it was the place to visit in Sitton,” Inken offered. “Although we really just needed to get away from the rest of our company for a time.”

  “Understandable. I remember my youth all too well. Welcome, anyway. You will find all the peace you could want in the courtyard,” he turned and waved for them to follow.

  They made their way down a short corridor and back out into the lengthening shadows. There they found themselves in the midst of a tamed jungle. Vines grew up the walls and hung from dense trees. The last calls of the evening chorus faded away as they walked between the trees. The scent of azalea flowers and chamomile drifted in the air. Chimes hung from the branches, ringing in the afternoon breeze. Lanterns lined the marble walls, the strange flames within casting a flickering blue light beneath the trees, as though lightning flashed overhead.

  The priest bowed and disappeared back through the doorw
ay, leaving them alone in the strange courtyard.

  Eric smiled, the glow of the lanterns bringing back memories of their night at the hot springs in Dragon Country. It could not have been much more than a week ago, but already it seemed a lifetime. The trials they’d suffered since had strengthened the bond between them more than he could have imagined possible.

  “What life would you want to live, Inken, when this is finished?”

  Inken lifted her bow off her shoulder and held it in her hands. “I don’t know. This used to matter to me, this life on the road, the thrill of hunting down criminals, testing my skill against theirs. But I don’t know any more, not after this, after doing something so much more meaningful. Now…” she shook her head, returning to bow to her shoulder. “I think it would be nice to try something new,” she smiled, “maybe something less life threatening.”

  “Like fishing?”

  Inken chuckled, nodded her head in amusement. “Like fishing.”

  That sat together in silence for a while, watching a red finch hop its way along a nearby branch to its nest in the tree trunk. Quiet settled over the courtyard like a mist, blocking out the world outside, the worries of tomorrow. They sat there, relishing the quiet, the chance just to be with each other. Eric felt his heart swell, fed by the warmth of Inken at his side, and knew he loved this girl more than anything else in this world.

  He had finally found peace.

  Somehow, he knew it could not last.

  A dim rumble carried from outside. Dread swept through Eric, washing away the peace. The sound swelled, as though whatever caused it was growing larger.

  Or coming closer.

  The rumble erupted into a roar as the ground started to shake.

  They leapt from the bench and stumbled as the tiles shifted beneath them. Eric clutched at Inken, desperate to keep his feet as the earthquake shook the world. The walls of the courtyard groaned, cracks racing through the marble. He glimpsed the spire through the treetops, swaying in the dying sunlight.

  Eric could sense the magic in the quake, the power surging through the air, boiling the ground with a force unlike any he had felt before. He could almost touch it, almost taste its metallic tang.

  This nightmare could have only one source.

  Terrified, they held each other and waited for the world to end.

  With a sound like air being sucked from the room, the shaking ceased. But the groans continued, the buildings around them straining beneath their own weight. The cracks in the wall widened, spreading around the courtyard.

  The priest reappeared in the doorway. “You must get out of here, now. The temple, the tower, it won’t survive another one.”

  Eric and Inken swept up their belongings and sprinted for the doorway. They ducked into the corridor after the priest, desperate to make the street outside. Dust trickled from the ceiling and tiny pebbles bounced onto the cobbled floor. A mosaic of spider webbed factures criss-crossed the walls. The old man moved quickly now, fear adding speed to his limp. The clack clacking of his staff echoed loudly in the dark corridor.

  As they emerged into the street they were greeted by the blood red light of sunset. Eric turned to Inken. “It’s him. Thomas, the demon, whatever it is. I could feel the magic in the air, like Antonia’s, but tainted¸ dark.”

  “The demon?” Inken pressed her hand to his chest. They both remembered all too well what had happened the last time they’d met it. “It’s here?”

  Eric nodded, his hand clutched around his sword. “Yes, or close. That was no natural earthquake. Its power, it could only have been caused by God magic.”

  Inken knelt and strung her bow. “We have to find the others,” straightening, she looked down the street.

  Pandemonium had engulfed the city around them. People poured from the surrounding buildings, mingling on the road in horror and confusion. Nearby several buildings had collapsed, sending bricks tumbling into the street. Eric glimpsed an arm amidst the rubble and quickly looked away.

  But there was no avoiding the chaos. Everywhere he looked, people stumbled through the broken bricks and mortar, dust coating their clothing as they pleaded for help. Others had already begun to pick their way through the debris, pulling survivors from the broken buildings.

  Closing his eyes, Eric struggled to think. The desperate cries of the villagers assailed him, begging for help. Swallowing his guilt, he closed his heart to them. They could not stop to help these people; they had to find Enala, had to get her to safety. They did not have the power to stop the demon – with Antonia’s power, only Jurrien stood a chance against it.

  “The inn is this way,” Inken started to pick her way through the rubble, glancing back at Eric.

  Eric nodded and they began to run. His mind raced and the world seemed to slow. As they dodged through the wreckage, he glimpsed the horror on the faces of the villagers, the blood streaming down their faces, heard the boom as another building crumpled.

  How did the demon find us? The question raced through his mind. Or was it just here by coincidence?

  Either way, Enala was in grave danger. They had to find her, now.

  Together they leaped over the broken bricks in the street and ducked beneath shattered walls. People ran in every direction, hindering their headlong rush through the city.

  Another rumble came from the distance but they did not stop. Shoulders tensed with expectation, they ran on.

  A sharp crack came from ahead. Eric glanced up and saw a wave rippling through the very earth, tearing the bricked road to pieces as it rolled towards them. The street rose up beneath them and tossed them from their feet. Nearby buildings seemed to crumble at the seams as the earth shook them to pieces.

  A sharp crack came from behind them. Eric looked behind in time to see the tower of the temple topple into the street. Metal shrieked on stone as the bell struck the ground. Dust billowed out in all directions, spilling into the surrounding streets.

  Eric coughed, holding his shirt across his face. But the quake had passed, and he struggled to his feet.

  Dark laughter echoed from the crumpled buildings. Eric spun, eyes searching the clouds of dust, seeking the source. But the sound seemed to come from all around, chasing the people through the ruins of the city, bringing fresh terror to the populace.

  Ice slid through Eric’s veins. He looked across as Inken grabbed his hand.

  “Run!”

  Eight

  “I’m glad you came,” Caelin slapped Michael’s back as he joined him at the bar.

  Michael grinned. “Didn’t think you could handle all these young folk without me?” he slid a draft of ale across to the soldier with a laugh.

  Caelin shook his head. He would never admit it, but there was some truth to Michael’s words. “No, no, I just figured we would need a doctor around if I’m going to continue beating them every day.”

  Michael took a swig from his mug. “You’re pressing them hard.”

  The mood turned sombre. “Ay, I am. Enala is tough, far tougher than I expected. And Eric has his magic. But we have seen ourselves that neither is always enough. They need to be prepared for anything. I won’t always be there to protect them.”

  “You’re a good man, Caelin. So long as we have men like you around to fight the good fight, men like me will continue to hope.”

  Caelin grimaced. “You sell yourself short, Michael. If not for your skill, Eric would have bled to death on that beach before Antonia had any hope of healing him. And it was your quick thinking that got us to Lon in the first place,” he paused. “How are you, now… you know, with Antonia gone?”

  Michael shrugged, face hidden in his mug. “I cannot believe she is gone, not for good. Once Jurrien destroys that demon, he will free her from the Soul Blade and restore her to life. I have faith things will work out.”

  Shaking his head, Caelin glanced at the older man. “I am glad we have you, Michael. For myself, I’m finding it harder and harder to hold out hope. Enala is strong, but can she
truly wield the Sword? And without Antonia, will that even matter?” he swallowed another mouthful of the cool ale. “But as you say, we must have faith. Jurrien will come through.”

  “He will. And I am glad I came too. I don’t know if I could have stayed in Lon, not knowing your fates. Thank you for convincing me.”

  Caelin gave him another slap on the back. “My pleasure,” as he stood a rumble came from the floor.

  Then the ground began to shake.

  Caelin stumbled as cracks spread through the wooden floor boards. Struggling to keep his feet, he grabbed for the bar as Michael toppled from his stool. The other patrons screamed, lurching from their tables towards the doorway. Burning lanterns fell from their brackets and shattered on the floor.

  Instinct screamed for Caelin to follow the townsfolk outside, but Gabriel and Enala were asleep upstairs. If the building went up in flames, they would be trapped, and their quest would all be for naught.

  As the shaking subsided he turned to the nearest lantern, where oily flames were already licking at the varnished wood. Pulling off his cloak he beat at the flames, attempting to smother them.

  “Michael, get the others! We have to get out of this building,” he cried.

  Michael pulled himself to his feet and raced for the stairs.

  The flames caught at Caelin’s cloak and heat washed over his face. He tossed it to the ground, spinning in search of a better weapon against the fire. A whoosh came from across the room as the blaze raced up the curtains. Then the bartender was there, dousing it with a bucket of water.

  Caelin looked across the counter and glimpsed a barrel of water sitting at the back. Grabbing a bucket from beside the door, he raced to join the bartender. Water hissed as it struck the flames. Steam and smoke billowed across the room, but within a few minutes they had the blaze under control.

  Michael appeared at the top of the stairwell leading Gabriel and Enala. They carried a bag over each shoulder and their swords strapped at their waists. Each wore a grim expression of terror.