Firestorm (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 2)

by Aaron Hodges

  “And I am not entirely sure the council still serves to the Trolan people,” Jonathan whispered.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I believe there are some on the council who have been corrupted, who now work in the thrall of Archon.”

  Laurel shivered. Ever since these two had come into her life, the whispers of Archon had been unrelenting. Even here, in the greatest city in the Three Nations, it seemed dark powers still lurked in the shadows. Not even the Trolan council was immune.

  “Where are the council now?” Enala asked.

  “Fortunately, you arrived late in the evening and they had already retired for the day. Word of your arrival will have spread by now, but they will not reconvene until morning. They will summon you and your friend then. Whether they will believe your story or not, I do not know.”

  Enala made to get out of the bed and then hesitated, the sheets drawn up around her. She blushed, realising the healers had taken her clothes, that she was naked beneath the covers. “But they have to believe us!” she insisted. “You have no idea what we’ve been through, the sacrifices we’ve made to get here.”

  “It might not matter. There has been no word from Jurrien or Antonia in weeks. They know there is a girl called Enala who is meant to wield the Sword of Light, but that does not mean they will believe you are that girl.”

  “There is an easy way to test that! Let me hold the Sword. If I survive, then they’ll know they have the right girl.”

  “The Sword is not here though,” the king replied, voice grim.

  “What? Where is it? It’s meant to be here!”

  “When I lost my powers the council had it moved to Witchcliffe Island. For safekeeping, they said. No one is allowed there. A powerful magic was cast to keep people out.”

  “They must allow me to go there, to try it,” Enala argued.

  “I do not think they will,” the king hesitated. “I can argue on your account, but they hold little respect for me now. It will not do much good. I think they will lock you up, at least until someone verifies your story.”

  Enala’s eyes flickered to where Laurel hid. “What do we do?”

  The king stood. “You can come with me. I can get you out of the citadel, take you to the island. My few remaining men have secured keys which will allow us to pass through the magic protecting the Sword. But we have to go now, before the council can stop us.”

  “Are you sure?” Enala frowned. “What if they can be convinced?”

  “It’s a possibility,” he paused. “But is it worth the risk? Better to ask forgiveness, than permission.”

  Enala stared at the older man. Laurel held her breath, thinking over what had been said. It was a difficult decision, with both options fraught with risk. If they caught Enala attempting to escape, they would never let her near the Sword. But if they were going to lock her up anyway…

  Enala finally nodded. “Okay,” she looked around. “But I have no clothes… and we need Eric.”

  The king reached into his rucksack and tossed some clothing on the bed. “I hope they fit. As for your friend, I’m not sure where they are holding him. My man followed you to this room. By the time he returned to seek out your friend, guards loyal to the council had already taken him. He could be anywhere in the keep.”

  “We may need his magic.”

  “We may. But the keep is massive and we don’t have the time to search for him. We would be caught for sure.”

  The girl took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m sure he will figure out what’s happening, somehow.”

  Laurel smiled at the obvious message in Enala’s words. She nodded her silent agreement. She wondered how Eric would react to her sudden appearance.

  “Good. I’ll wait outside while you get changed. Be quick!” he slipped out the door and closed it behind him.

  Enala rolled out of bed and slipped into the fresh clothing. The jacket hung loosely off her small shoulders and the breaches needed a belt, but they would protect her from the icy weather outside. Laurel’s own jacket was far too thin for the Trolan climate.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll tell him,” Laurel whispered. “Good luck!”

  Enala grimaced in her direction. “Thank you. I think I’m going to need it.”

  Nineteen

  Gabriel turned to see Katya moving through the crowd of soldiers. She swung her sword as she moved, laying into the fleeing men with the flat edge of the blade. Her eyes burned, her face a mask of rage.

  “Any man that abandons his post will see the noose,” she growled, and her words finally sank in. The men slowed, glancing back at the approaching dragons, as though weighing their chances.

  Gabriel could not help but smile. Dragons had not been seen in the skies of Plorsea in decades – who could blame the men for panicking? Even so, he stifled his grin. The councillor was right, this was a time of war. Plorsea could not allow the fear of cowards to cripple its army.

  Beside him, Caelin stepped forward. “Do not worry, men,” his parade ground voice boomed over the clamour. He waved a hand at the approaching dragons. “Those are Gold Dragons, the last tribe allied with men. They mean us no harm; they are here to help. I spoke with them in Dragon Country, they are no threat.”

  Katya cut her way through the crowd of soldiers. When she reached them, Gabriel saw her anger had not abated since their unexpected visit. “Did you bring these beasts here, Caelin? Did you know they would come?”

  Caelin met her frosty stare. “No, I did not bring them here.”

  “But you did not think to mention to the king that you had spoken with these creatures?”

  “You will have to forgive me, it was a rather brief meeting and I had more pressing things to discuss. Perhaps if someone had allowed us another audience, I could have told you.”

  Katya shook her head. “What are they doing here, unannounced?”

  “You will have to ask them that yourself,” Caelin offered.

  “You think we can just talk to those beasts?” Katya growled. “Those are dragons, you fool, in case you hadn’t noticed. I can’t just have them flying up to the city uninvited. Who knows what their true motives are.”

  Gabriel’s stomach twisted. “What do you mean?” he interrupted. “Those are Gold Dragons – they’re our allies, friends of Enala.”

  Katya turned her frosty eyes on him. “And where is this ‘Enala’ I keep hearing about? Vanished, dead for all we know. As for the alliance, there are few who even remember it exists. It is a forgotten treaty forged by a long dead king. You are both fools if you think we should allow such powerful creatures to fly right up to the city,” she waved an arm to encompass the buildings behind them. “You would entrust all those lives to an outdated piece of paper?”

  Gabriel made to reply, but Inken’s elbow in his side cut him off. Simmering, he pursed his lips and bit back his response. It would not do to lose his temper now, not while the situation on the wall still hung on the edge. Air hissed from his nostrils as he breathed out and looked to Caelin.

  But Caelin did not reply. He stood stiff as a board, staring at Katya, panic in his eyes.

  Katya shook her head. “Nothing. Unsurprising. You are a fool, Caelin, and I won’t risk everything we have on the word of fool,” she turned to the men and raised a fist. “Men, to arms! Prepare the catapults. Archers to the fore. You there, find me a speaking trumpet. Perhaps we can persuade these creatures to leave without bloodshed.”

  Gabriel gaped, unable to believe what he was hearing. He opened his mouth to scream at Caelin, to demand why the sergeant had frozen, but his tongue twisted in his throat and only a strangled squeak came out. He choked, his mouth dry, unable to form coherent words.

  Gabriel stood rigid, staring at Katya, at Caelin. He made to move, to grab Caelin and shake him, but found his muscles locked in place. His whole body stood frozen, fixed in place. With growing horror, he realised Inken and Caelin were in a similar state.

  Around them the soldiers began to move, rushing for
weapon stashes and manning the great war machines mounted to the battlements.

  His eyes flicked to Inken and Caelin and saw his panic reflected in their eyes. Swallowing, Gabriel glanced at Katya, watching as she strode through the men, bellowing at the top of her voice. Her eyes found them, and Gabriel thought he saw her lips twitch in the slightest smile.

  Dark magic, the thought swept through Gabriel’s mind.

  He stared at Katya as she swept through the Plorsean ranks. They had been wrong to trust her, to try and make her see reason. She had been Archon’s agent all along. Being a senior councillor, it was not hard to see how Katya might have influenced the king. Who knew what dark magic she had worked in Ardath.

  Gabriel closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, fighting against whatever magic held his body. His muscles trembled and his knees creaked, but nothing changed. He could almost feel the dark forces surrounding him, the ghostly tendrils binding his limbs in iron. Only his eyes remained untouched, leaving him free to watch, horrified, as the dragons grew ever closer.

  This cannot be happening.

  “Dragons!” Katya’s voice boomed out. Someone had found her the speaking trumpet. “Why do you enter Plorsean lands uninvited. Turn back now, you are not welcome here.”

  Gabriel sucked in a breath, his muscles straining to break free. His eyes flicked to the men nearest them, praying one would realise something was amiss. But no one was watching them; all eyes were on the approaching dragons. Soldiers raced along the parapet, taking up positions at regular intervals and crouching to string their bows. A catapult groaned as it turned to face the oncoming threat.

  In the distance, the dragons roared and fire criss-crossed the sky.

  No! Gabriel swore to himself. This had to be stopped. He clenched his fists, eyes flicking again to his companions. It took a moment for him to realise he had moved his hand. Hope blossomed in his chest and he struggled to bring feeling back to the rest of his arm.

  Katya returned to where they stood frozen, a sad look on her face. “I have to admit, I’m disappointed you were wrong, Caelin,” her eyes looked distant. “Dragon’s would have been a welcome ally, but those beasts have not come to make peace.”

  Gabriel felt the blood flee his face. This cannot be happening! Plorsea was about to fire on their most powerful allies. The dragons believed they were approaching friends; the surprise attack would decimate them – along with any future chance of alliance.

  And those who survived the carnage would wreak bloody revenge on Ardath.

  Katya still stood close by, her grim eyes watching the dragons approach. Gabriel felt another surge of hope as a tremor ran through his arm. He strained his muscles further, seeking every inch of give he could find. Then, slowly, he lowered his hand to the pommel of his sword.

  Golden scales flashed with the beating of wings. The dragons had already crossed the halfway mark of the lake and were closing fast on the city. They would be within range in seconds.

  “Men, prepare to fire!” Katya called.

  Gabriel stood rigid as Katya paced past, shouting orders to the men on the catapult. Her eyes glittered, studying the dragons’ approach, ignorant now to the three of them. His fingers found the pommel of his sword and wrapped around the leather hilt. As he clenched it tight, a shock ran from his arm into his body, and a pressure snapped in his mind.

  Shaking his head, Gabriel risked a glance at Caelin and nodded. His sword rasped from its scabbard.

  In front of them, Katya raised an arm, eyes fixed on the advancing dragons. She opened her mouth to give the order.

  Stepping up behind her, Gabriel drove his blade through the councillor’s back. The sharp steel slid in to the hilt and lodged there. Katya stiffened on the blade, her sharp groan echoing across the battlements. Her head half-turned, staring in shock at Gabriel. Her mouth opened, but only blood came out.

  Staring into Katya’s eyes, Gabriel felt ice grow in his chest. In that moment, he had a terrible thought – maybe he’d been wrong, maybe Katya was not the traitor. Heart pounding hard against his ribs, he released the blade. Katya toppled to the ground.

  Her dead eyes staring up at him, accusing.

  Caelin stumbled as the spell broke and Inken shuddered beside him. Then she was swinging the bow off her shoulder and into her hand. She had an arrow nocked before Caelin had even drawn his sword. Together they stepped up on either side of Gabriel, weapons at the ready.

  Around them the soldiers stared, unable to comprehend the sudden death of their commander. It only took another second for that to change. Almost as one, a hundred bows turned in their direction.

  Yet all Gabriel could do was stand and stare at the dead woman at his feet.

  *************

  Eric paced across the bedroom, the soft carpet yielding beneath his sandaled feet. Incensed candles in the chandelier above cast their flicking light across the walls and left a citrus tang in his nostrils. A cushioned bed sat in the centre of the room, beckoning. But he could not sleep, not now, not while Enala’s fate still hung in the balance.

  He glanced towards the heavy wooden doors barring his exit. They opened into a corridor where two guards waited, ensuring Eric did not make any unaccompanied trips into the citadel. Taking a breath, he moved towards the doors and then stopped, knowing it was useless. He had already tried that route. The guards had said in no uncertain terms he was to remain in this room until morning.

  At least he could be thankful for their treatment of him. The first thing they’d done on reaching his makeshift prison was to un-cuff him and usher him into an adjoining room. There a hot bath waited. Still shivering from the cold outside, Eric had not needed any further encouragement. He pulled off his bloodstained clothing and slid into the hot water. The guards took his ruined clothes and quickly departed. To his surprise, they left Alastair’s sword where he had discarded it.

  He returned to the bedroom wearing only a towel, where he found a white bathrobe and thin pair of sandals waiting for him.

  Now hours had passed and still there was no word of Enala. Eric moved to the bed and sat down. He ran his hands through his hair, desperate to know if she had survived. Kalgan was the richest city in the Three Nations; surely they must have healers.

  She will be okay, Eric reassured himself.

  A fire burned in the grate on one wall, the flames casting a warm glow to mix with the candlelight. The walls were plain and windowless, there would be no escape there. Of course, with his magic he was confident he could fight his way out if necessary. But it would not come to that. These people were their allies, it would not be prudent to start blasting through walls just yet.

  He lay back on his bed, the soft cushion yielding beneath him. With a wry grin, Eric realised this was the most comfortable bed he had ever lain on. Whether they believed him or not, the guards had not joked about making him feel welcome. He just hoped Enala was receiving the same attention.

  Swallowing a lump in his throat, Eric closed his eyes. Inken’s face drifted through his mind, her wry grin flashing beneath her fiery red hair. How many days had it been now? How many nights since he’d left her in the ruin of Sitton. Even without the time warp of the Way, he’d lost count.

  Staring up at the high ceilings, Eric prayed she still lived.

  Then, exhaling, Eric began to meditate.

  He wasn’t sure how long he lay there before a bang on the door woke him. A guard entered carrying a steaming plate of food. He placed it on the bedside table and flicked Eric a smile.

  “Sorry to wake you, but I thought you could use an early breakfast. Glad you got some sleep, you’re looking better than when we found you,” he waved at the door. “Sorry for the lock and key too. If what you say is true, it’s a relief to have you. Without the king’s magic and the Sword, things have grown…dark here in Trola.”

  “Is my friend okay?” Eric asked.

  The guard nodded. “I heard the healers have given her the all clear. Must have taken them a bit of magic, s
he looked a bad way when you arrived,” he turned and moved back to the door. “Enjoy your breakfast, the council will want to see you within the hour.”

  Eric’s shoulders loosened as relief undid the knots in his stomach. She’s okay!

  As the door closed he turned to the plate of food. It held a generous portion of bacon, eggs and beans, along with sausages made from a darker meat than he’d seen in Plorsea. He guessed it would be lamb or sheep – the mountainous countryside of Trola was good for little else.

  Ignoring his cutlery, Eric picked up one of the sausages and took a bite. Red juice ran down his chin as the charred meat touched his tongue.

  Somewhere in the room, a woman laughed.

  Eric jumped, spilling beans across the bedsheets.

  “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to eat like a gentleman?” Laurel laughed again, appearing next to him on the bed.

  Eric scrambled backwards, but Laurel’s hand flashed out to cover his mouth.

  “Ssssh ssshh, Eric. We don’t want to alert the guards. Enala has a message for you.”

  *************

  The demon sucked in a deep breath of air, tasting the salt on the ocean breeze. It looked down at the city of Kalgan, nestled in the curve of the Trolan coastline. Rugged beaches stretched out to either side, and in the north forest grew right to the city walls. Waves smashed against the seawalls, driving salt spray into the air to cover the city with mist. In the distance an island sat in the deep waters of the bay.

  A smile twisted its lips as it looked down on its old home. Slowly the winds holding the demon aloft dissipated and it dropped lower in the sky. It had taken some time to gain control of Jurrien’s magic, forcing the demon to travel much of the journey on foot. But when it finally mastered the Storm God’s power, the final hundred miles had flashed by in hours.

  The demon had hesitated at Ardath, reaching out to check for the presence of its prey. There was no trace of them, but still it paused to consider the city’s destruction. But it had sensed the power of its comrades, other emissaries of Archon. The demon smiled. They were specks compared to the power it now wielded, but their presence meant Archon had other plans for the city.