Firestorm (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 2)

by Aaron Hodges

  The king nodded. “Very well. You have given us much to think about. Jurrien was here only a week ago, telling us of the peril faced by the Three Nations. We recalled our armies at his request; even now they are mustering at stationing points around the lake.”

  Caelin bowed his head. “That is welcome news, your majesty. Only the might of men is left now to protect us from Archon. We must march immediately for Fort Fall to reinforce the garrison, or the war will be lost before it begins.”

  Silence fell as Caelin’s words echoed off the high ceilings. The councillors looked from one to another, open fear on their faces.

  At last a woman stood. “There is wisdom in your words, Caelin, but we cannot act rashly. To do so would only be to play into Archon’s hands. Marching north is but one option we have to discuss.”

  “What?” Gabriel snapped, raising his voice in protest. “That is the only option,” he made to step forward, but Inken grasped his shoulder and pulled him back.

  The king’s guards advanced a step, hands on the pommels of their swords.

  “Careful how you speak, boy,” the king’s voice was hard. “That is Katya, one of my most trusted councillors,” he paused. “That was done once before, was it not? The armies of the Three Nations marched north to stand united at Fort Fall, to defend our people against Archon. And they were decimated. I will not so recklessly march my armies to the same fate,” he looked to Caelin. “Thank you for bringing this news. I have not yet decided whether to believe your tale, but the priests in Lon will have the truth of it. For now, you may have your free run of the city, but the guards will not allow you to leave the outer walls,” he waved a hand to dismiss them. “Elton will find room for you and your companions. You are dismissed.”

  Thirteen

  Enala tried to conceal the trembling in her legs as they walked through the Baronian camp. Around her the men and woman stared, fear and pity in their eyes. A few might have shown a hint of awe, but it was quickly hidden when she turned their way, and left her wondering if it was just her imagination.

  She gave a mental shake of her head. It didn’t matter. These people were slaves to this life, trapped by the black garments they wore to represent their ‘freedom.’ They were blind to the poverty in which they lived, the pitiful state of their holy tents and wretched wagon village. Their tattered clothes would be useless in the winter, and she guessed many would not live to see the spring.

  Enala refused to be trapped in their cycle of suffering. She would fight and win, or die.

  Ahead the crowds parted, revealing a circle of brown grass lit by bonfires. The moon and stars hid behind dark clouds, the sky a blank canvas. They would fight by the light of the flames. Enala made a mental note to be wary; she could easily be blinded by their light.

  Eric walked beside her, his face blank, unreadable. Enala rubbed her hands together to ward off the chill, still trying to hide her nerves. She could show no fear here. Thaster would feed on it, and he needed no extra advantage. Although in truth, her fear was more for Eric than her own life. She held his life in her hands as well as her own. One stumble, and it would cost them both.

  Laurel came behind, her boots scuffing on the hard ground. Enala could almost feel her anger, prickling at her back like needles. It hung over them like a blanket, suffocating. That at least she could shrug off. The Magicker meant nothing to her.

  As they entered the ring, Enala turned to Eric and hugged him. She felt the trembling in his body, and knew hers must be shaking too. She hoped no one else could see it.

  “Don’t go dying on me,” Eric whispered.

  Enala struggled to hold back tears. “I won’t,” the words caught in her throat. She gave a quick nod and turned away. She had to focus. From behind her she heard the thud of Eric and Laurel’s footsteps as they moved away.

  She walked into the circle, eyes flicking around in search of her opponent. She did not have to look far.

  Thaster came marching into the light, dust rising up behind him as his boots thumped the dry grass. The dust glistened in the firelight, casting it in red and orange, and it seemed a cloud of embers trailed in his wake. He held his greatsword in one hand, its five-foot blade reaching for her. The other hand he raised above his head, as though this fight had already been won. Which, Enala had to admit as she stared up at him, might be as good as true.

  But she refused to be cowed. She flashed the brute a toothy grin, knowing she must look a madwoman. Reaching down, she drew the blade Laurel had given her earlier. She looked at the short sword in her hand, and couldn’t help but feel foolish wielding such a tiny weapon against the monstrous blade held by Thaster. It was not her sword, but Eric’s, the one that had passed to him from Alastair. But its weight felt good in her hand, its balance similar to her own weapon.

  When Thaster saw her weapon, his laughter shook the circle, silencing the crowd. “Would you like a bigger toothpick, girl?” he mocked. “I will break that toy with my first swing.”

  Enala bit her tongue and gave a curt shake of her head. A bigger sword would take time to adjust too, time she did not have. She knew the quality of the blade she held, had heard the others speak of the man who once wielded it. Alastair was a legend, and she felt honoured to hold his sword. It would be foolish to switch now.

  The chief looked down at her. “Very well then,” he grinned and passed his blade to his left hand. “Just for you, I shall use my left hand tonight. Perhaps that will make a fair fight of this contest.”

  The crowd’s laughter began again, but Enala blocked them out. She stared up at the giant, taking in the massive shoulders, the legs like tree trunks, the muscles bulging in his arms. He held the greatsword in one arm as though it weighed no more than a feather.

  Then she began to chuckle herself, a memory of her father emerging through the fear. He had always been fond of the old proverb – the bigger they are, the harder they fall. Grinning, she looked up at Thaster, the thought giving her strength.

  Gods, I hope you were right, dad, she grinned, crouching in a fighting stance, sword out before her. Otherwise this will be my last birthday.

  Around them, the laughter of the crowd ceased. Even the chief looked unsettled by her sudden change. He stared at her, the surprise in his eyes turning to suspicion. He glanced at the blade in his left hand, and then shook his head.

  Enala raised an eyebrow. “You can use your right if you like,” if he was debating whether to switch hands again, she had definitely succeeded in unsettling him. But she knew with all those watching, such an act would be viewed as cowardly. Changing back now would undermine his position in the tribe, and worse, dent his own confidence.

  “I don’t need it,” he growled, forcing a grin. “Let the fight begin!”

  Roaring, he started towards her, feet thumping as he moved at an almost casual stroll. Yet his pace was deceptive, his long legs narrowing the gap between them in two steps. His blade lanced out, seeking her head.

  Enala was faster. She only had one hope of prevailing – keep out of reach of Thaster’s blade until its weight began to wear on him. With such a large weapon, Enala hoped it would not take long. Exhaustion would flood his muscles with acid and his arms would start to ach. Then she would strike.

  But first she had to survive.

  The greatsword swept through empty air as she darted towards the nearest bonfire. Placing it at her back, she spun in time to deflect a second blow. As their blades met sparks flew and a shock from the impact ran down her arm. Enala cried out, stumbling back a step, grasping desperately at the pommel of her sword to keep from dropping it.

  Fortunately, the fire caught in Thaster’s eyes as he moved in for the kill. He hesitated, squinting against the burning light, giving Enala time to dodge to the side. Again his blade descended on empty space.

  Spinning, Enala saw Thaster struggling to find her, blinking as he tried to recover his night vision. Seeing an opportunity, she leapt forward, short sword stabbing for his side. Enala almost dropp
ed the blade in surprise when it connected, tearing through his thick leather armour and piercing flesh. She had not really expected the blow to find its mark.

  Thaster bellowed in pain and the crowd gasped. His right arm lashed out, his iron fist catching her on the shoulder and flinging her from her feet. Somehow she kept hold of her blade as it tore from his side.

  Enala rolled as she landed, holding the bloody weapon out at a safe distance. Shaking off the blow, she stumbled to her feet, sword at the ready as she looked for her opponent.

  Thaster charged across the ring, silent now, rage burning in his eyes and the greatsword held overhead. The wound did not seem to have slowed him at all, and Enala found herself shrinking before the strength of his anger. His blade whistled as he swung it with enough force to split her in two.

  Enala side stepped the blow, and the blade thudded deep into the hard earth. As Thaster wrenched at the blade, Enala kicked out, catching him in the groin for the second time in two days.

  The chief roared again, half-doubling over while still clutching his blade in one hand. Enala swung her short sword, and cursed as Thaster managed to wrench his greatsword up in time to block it. A bloody fist lashed out as she retreated from range. As it hissed past she hacked out with her sword. Her blade bit into his wrist, and the scent of blood quickly followed.

  The chief cursed. She retreated a few steps, expecting him to lash out, but this time Thaster did not pursue her. He held his ground, glancing down to inspect the cut in his arm. When he looked up again, the anger in his eyes had cooled to a simmer, but she sensed the berserker rage still lurked just below the surface. He studied her, taking her in, reassessing his foe.

  Enala swallowed. She did not like this change of events. Thaster had finally decided to take her seriously, that she might actually pose a threat to him. There would be no more reckless charges now.

  “So you know how to fight,” Thaster smiled. “Well, isn’t that something.”

  Enala scowled back, showing a courage she did not feel. As least she had injured his right arm; there would be no switching sword hands now. She raised her blade and offered him a mock salute, hoping to reignite his reckless rage. Blood dripped from her sword to her arm, but she did not waste a second to wipe it off. She kept her eyes fixed on Thaster, daring him to attack.

  Instead, Thaster dropped into a fighting crouch of his own and edged his way towards her. Enala shuffled sideways, searching for a better position, or at least to get her back to the flames again.

  Thaster smiled and shifted direction to head her off, trapping her near the centre of the circle. Enala glared, catching the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

  Realising she could no longer wait for him to make a mistake, Enala swallowed caution and drove herself forward. Her sword flicked for Thaster’s face. The chief leaned back, his own blade raised to deflect the blow. Enala did not pull back, allowing her momentum to carry her forward. She attacked again, knowing her proximity would make it difficult for Thaster to bring his long blade around. Her short sword had no such limitations.

  The chief grunted as her blade stung his shoulder, but his sword came down to knock hers away before she could drive it deeper. Then his fist crashed into her face, driving Enala to her knees. Stars streaked across her vision, but she knew Thaster would not allow her time to regain her sight. Half-blind, Enala flung herself forward.

  Her shoulder crashed into Thaster’s knees. With her small size she almost bounced off, but so far below his centre of mass the blow still managed to knock him off balance. Thaster stumbled backwards, arms wind-milling. His blade came within an inch of her head as it swung wildly through the air.

  Enala rolled backwards out of range and regained her feet. She held her blade out before her, wishing for just one opening to drive it through the chief’s black heart.

  They circled one another, wary now, each suffering from the blows they’d taken. Enala’s head ached from the punches she’d taken. She prayed the blood trickling from Thaster’s wounds would soon leave him too weak to fight. She looked him up and down, searching for sign of exhaustion, sure no man could lose so much blood and continue to fight.

  Yet the chief still towered over her, showing no sign of his slowing.

  His legs¸ Enala decided. That should stop him.

  She danced sideways and then darted at him, sword lancing for his face. As he raised his blade to defend himself, Enala withdrew her feint and swung at his legs. To her shock, Thaster leapt and her sword sliced beneath his boots.

  Leaping sideways, Enala struck again. This time Thaster caught the blow easily with his own blade.

  “Nice try, Kathryn. Would you like to try that one last time?” Thaster laughed.

  Enala gritted her teeth. “My name is Enala, you moron,” remembering too late Eric had given her a false name.

  Ignoring her slip, Enala launched herself at Thaster, blade slashing out like a viper, seeking the taste of flesh. Thaster skipped backwards, his great blade keeping her at bay with surprising ease. She struck high then low, stabbed straight, dodged to the side before launching an attack. Each time his steel rose to meet her.

  At last she stepped back, panting hard, cursing herself a fool for using so much energy.

  Thaster’s eyes flashed. “My turn.”

  Enala looked up at his words, and barely managed to sidestep the first blow. Even then, his sword sliced through the fabric of her coat, the steel coming within inches of her skin. Thaster left her no room to counter. He reversed his sword as it swept past, raising it high to strike her down.

  Throwing herself to the side, Enala heard the thunk as the greatsword bit the hard earth. Spinning, she raised her short sword to attack, and instead found herself deflecting the behemoths next attack. Steel shrieked and a jolt ran through her arm. The force of the blow drove her back a step, but Thaster followed, the blows coming one after another now, leaving her no time to think. Instinct alone kept her alive.

  With no chance to counter, Enala fought to defend herself, and barely managed that. Thaster had found another level of skill, as though he were pulling energy from thin air to use against her. He showed no sign of pain or exhaustion from wielding the greatsword, only strength, power.

  How is this possible?

  Enala remember Laurel’s warning – that Thaster used black magic – and knew the answer.

  Anger flared in her then; that this man would resort to using such a vile force against her. Rage fed energy to her tiring limbs, giving her the strength to turn aside his next blow. Then with a scream she kicked out the way Inken had taught her, seeking to drive him backwards.

  With supernatural speed, Thaster’s hand shot out and caught her boot. He grinned down at her, contempt in his eyes. Grunting, he lifted her above his head and hurled her across the circle.

  Enala spun through the air, the sword slipping from her grasp. With a sudden thud she crashed to the ground. Air whooshed from her lungs, leaving her winded, gasping as dust billowed out around her. Pain shot through her body and she struggled to take a breath. She lay there for a minute, sure she must be dying, choking, waiting for Thaster’s blade.

  At last she managed to inhale. Oxygen flooded her lungs, feeding strength to her burning muscles. Tears of pain ran down her cheeks, but she wiped them away, angry at her weakness. She managed to get her knees beneath her before she looked up.

  Thaster stood over her, a mocking grin on his lips. He held her sword in one hand, his greatsword in the other.

  “Would you like your toothpick back, little girl?” he laughed.

  Enala closed her eyes as the rage took light, boiling through her like wildfire. Hate rose to overwhelm her, a red hot energy that left no room for sanity. Her chest burned and power surged through her veins, rising up from somewhere deep within, until her whole body shook with it. A buzzing began in her ears as the pressure built, pressing against her skull, unrelenting.

  A scream rose within her, beginning in her chest a
nd shrieking up from her throat. As it split the air, Enala felt some barrier in her mind shatter.

  She opened her eyes. A brilliant red light lit the circle, and for a second she thought someone had added fuel to the bonfires. Then she saw the sudden fear in Thaster’s face, his panic as he looked around the circle, his mouth opening to cry out. Screams of terror came from around them. The Baronian’s started to edge away, some already turning to flee.

  Finally Enala looked down and saw the flames. Fire covered her body, leaping from her clothes, her arms, everything. It leapt from her, tongues of flame taking light in the dry grass and racing out towards Thaster and the crowd. The chief did not even have the chance to run before they reached him.

  His scream sent a shiver down Enala’s spine. She watched as flames caught on his leggings, burning as they went. He turned and tried to run, but the fire danced all around him now. He had nowhere to go. In seconds it covered him, the inferno scorching through cloth, burning deep into his flesh.

  Thaster screamed again, beating at the hungry flames, his movements already growing feeble. Enala tried to cover her ears, but flinched back from the fire dancing along her arms.

  Panic took her, and she struggled backwards, fighting to escape the blaze, unable to understand where it had come from. Had Eric broken Laurel’s hold on his magic? But she had heard no thunder, seen no lightning.

  And why was she not burning with Thaster?

  Then she heard the shrieks from the crowd. She looked up and saw the Baronian’s fleeing in panic. The blaze leapt among them, uncontrolled, wild, burning wherever it touched. Wagons turned to bonfires in the night as people stumbled amidst the ruin, desperate to escape. Thaster’s struggles had already ceased; all that remained of the chief was a pile of ash amidst the flames.

  Enala gaped, a slow dread spreading through her. She could think of only one impossible explanation – magic. Her own magic.

  But how? She had never had power before, never even considered the possibility. How could this have happened?