by Aaron Hodges
A heavy tension hung in the air as the men edged closer, weapons held at the ready. One false move and the three of them would be peppered by arrows. Indecision held them back for now, but it would only take one raised voice to break the spell.
Inken swallowed hard, her eyes sweeping the battlements, reading the odds. They faced at least two dozen archers. There could be no resistance here, only a pointless death. Taking a breath, Inken slowly released the tension on her bowstring and removed the arrow. Crouching, she laid her bow on the ground and raised her hands. Caelin followed suit.
A man forced his way through the gathered soldiers. She recognised him as Elton, the man who had greeted them at the gate and seen them to the king. His face held no cheer now, only anger and fear. As he approached, she saw his eyes flick back towards the oncoming dragons.
“How could you do this, Caelin?” he hissed. His voice shook with anger.
Caelin let out a long sigh. “She was working for Archon, was about to fire on our allies. We couldn’t let that happen.”
“How can you say that?” Elton shook his head. “She has served our king and nation faithfully for years! I know her, knew her!”
“And do you not know me?” Caelin stared hard at his brother soldier. “Was it not you who said the king had been acting strangely, that he had not been himself? He was under Katya’s influence, under the spell of her black magic. Even now she was using it, freezing us helpless. Only Gabriel managed to break free of the spell, to stop her.”
Inken glanced at Gabriel, seeing the uncertainty in his eyes. She could read the guilt there. He was second guessing his actions, questioning whether Katya had really been the traitor they believed. Yet the proof was before them; the councillor had been about to fire on their allies, and the spell had broken with her death.
Yet one question still rung in her head.
How did Gabriel break the spell?
Before she could contemplate the matter further, the soldiers around them began to scream, drowning out her thoughts. Inken swung around, and found herself taking a step back in sudden fear.
A dragon alighted on the battlements, its great wings spread wide to cast the wall in shadow. It towered over the trembling soldiers, golden scales glittering in the midday sun. The giant head leaned down towards them, the intelligent eyes inspecting them in detached curiosity. The long tail rose up behind it, poised as though to strike.
Where is the one who addressed us with such uncouth language? the dragon’s voice echoed in her mind as it bared its teeth.
Inken covered a smile, watching Elton’s face pale. He gaped like a fish caught out of water, staring in terror at the beast perched above him. A sudden sweat beaded his forehead.
Across the wall, weapons bristled as the soldiers pointed arrows and crossbows at the dragon. Arms shook and eyes widened with fear. The men stood in terrified silence, waiting for an order.
Realising they were seconds from disaster, Inken nudged Caelin. “Speak, sergeant, before these men get us all killed.”
Caelin’s lips tightened. “Hold your fire,” he bellowed. “These are our allies! See how they have not rained fire down upon us?” he swept his arm out at the dragons hovering overhead.
He glanced then at Elton. Inken caught the unspoken question in the look. When no answer was forthcoming, Caelin turned to address the dragon.
“Greetings, Enduran. It is good to see you again,” he bowed. “Welcome to Ardath. What brings you here?”
Surprised, Inken looked closer and realised Caelin was right. This was the same dragon they had spoken too in Malevolent Cove.
Jurrien came to us, asked my tribe to stand again with the humans. We have spent many days debating his request. At first, some refused to come, but when we discovered what Archon’s demon had wrought in our land, even they joined us. There is no more neutral ground now. All must fight, or die.
Caelin nodded. “We are glad to have you. I must apologise for the greeting,” Caelin continued. “It seems Archon’s servants are a plague in our nation. This woman,” he waved a hand at Katya, “was his agent. She is the one who offered you insult. I am glad you still wished to talk with us.”
Enduran’s head twisted to stare at the dead woman. You are a strange people, to allow traitors to grow so easily in your midst.
Inken suppressed a laugh as Caelin bowed his head. “Agreed. It is our great shame to admit it. I am sure my king will be more diligent in who he seeks council from in the future.”
A crackling rose from Enduran’s chest which Inken interpreted as laughter. I should hope so, the great head turned to survey the soldiers. Such fragile creatures, you should not be wasting your energy fighting one another, the dragon yawned, flashing its giant teeth at the men.
As one, the Plorsean guards took a trembling step backwards.
Caelin smiled. “Try not to terrify them too much, Enduran. Most have never seen a dragon before,” he paused before moving on. “Your aid is sorely needed in this fight. I am sure the king will welcome your arrival. We will speak to him presently. Elton here will see about making arrangements for your people’s comfort.”
Inken looked up at the circling dragons and gave a quiet chuckle. Enduran’s head turned at the sound. I agree, little one, she jumped as the dragon addressed her. We are too large for this city. But there is plenty of space in the hills. We will camp at the lakes edge. Please send our regards to the king, Caelin, and offer him our invitation to speak further of the coming war, at that Enduran’s wings beat downwards and he lifted from the battlements. He soared up to re-join his tribe.
Inken turned to Elton. “You can thank me later for getting you out of that one.”
Elton looked from her to Caelin, his eyes wide, his mouth twisted with indecision. Inken almost laughed again, unable to decide herself how the change of positions had come about.
Caelin took pity on him. “Elton, there is no need for you to make a decision on our guilt. We surrender ourselves freely to you. Take us to the king, and allow him to decide our fate. We will bring the dragon’s words with us.”
Elton breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re right, Caelin. I don’t know what’s going on, but the king will know the right of it,” he gestured to a couple of nearby soldiers. “Bring their weapons, and keep a close eye on them,” raising his voice he called to the other guards. “Stand down, the threat has passed, for now.”
Inken smiled to herself as Elton led them down the stairs.
Well, that’s one way to get an audience with the king.
*************
The dawn had broken. That was the first thing Enala noticed as the shadow maze dissolved. The golden globe of the sun hung low on the horizon, its light banishing the chill in her bones. She held her arm as it throbbed with the beat of her heart, fighting to stem the bleeding.
She stood and looked around as the last shadows faded into the ground. Somewhere in her reckless sprint through the maze, she had finally reached the top of the cliffs. Soft, short cropped grass grew out around them, covering the peak. A flock of sheep grazed nearby, a few looking up to study the intruders on their private mountaintop. In the distance, the pasture gave way to small trees. The forest led down a gentle slope, where the rest of the island spread out beneath them.
Enala found her gaze drawn across the pasture to where a rundown building overlooked the harbour. Fragile sandstone walls stood against the mountain breeze, decorated with faded murals of the sun and stars. In each painting a figure stood in the light, a silent guide against the darkness. Cracks riddled the walls and the roof had long since collapsed.
Granite pillars lay strewn amongst the grass and across the steps leading up to the temple. Broken stone marked where they had once stood, bordering the temple stairs. Moss grew on the leeward surfaces of the stone, rusted braziers still attached to the top of each.
“This was a Temple of the Light,” Enala whispered. She looked round again. “But what happened to the maze?”
&n
bsp; Jonathan shrugged. “I do not believe the creatures and the shadows were ever meant to come into contact. They were polar opposites of the same spell. When you tricked the Raptor into charging the shadows, it triggered a chain reaction which twisted the protection back in on itself. Either way, we are here.”
Enala scowled. “No thanks to you,” she snapped, her anger flaring to life. “You ran.”
Jonathan hung his head. “I know,” he clenched the sword tight in his hand. “I am sorry, I allowed my terror to overwhelm me. That place… it unmanned me,” he took a breath. “Can you forgive me?”
Enala looked away, tempted to tell the cowardly king to leave. At least he came back, she reasoned.
At last she nodded. “The Sword is in there?” she asked.
“Yes, I believe so. We have passed the last of the protections. All that is left is for you to claim the Sword,” he held out an arm, indicating she should lead.
Enala drew in a breath of mountain air, setting aside her doubts. She was here for a reason; she could not afford to be side-tracked. The soft ground sank beneath her feet as she crossed the field, mud sticking to her boots. The sheep cast jumpy glances at them as they weaved between them, their nervous baas coming from all directions.
Stepping over the fallen columns, Enala climbed the staircase to where the open doorway beckoned. She walked through the musty shade of the anteroom and continued into what must once have been a great chamber filled with priests and worshipers. Now though, the place was a ruin.
Stone tiles from the fallen roof lay in disordered piles and rotted wooden beams littered the floor. The chamber now appeared as an open air courtyard, although signs of the temple remained. Four stone pillars stood untouched near the centre. Images representing the Light were carved into each: flames and stars, the sun and moon. Furtive eyes watched from the top of the pillars, looking inwards to a stone alter in the centre of the room.
It was to the alter Enala’s eyes were drawn. There, hovering point down, was the Sword of Light. The steel blade glowed like the noonday sun, its light streaming across the broken courtyard to cast off the shadows of dawn. The great blade extended at least three feet. Above the two-handed grip a diamond sat in the pommel, shining with a golden light.
Enala swallowed, frozen with awe.
She glanced back at Jonathan, a sudden fear giving her pause. She had heard tales of the Sword’s power, how it was deadly to all but a chosen few.
What if they had been wrong?
“What now?” she asked.
Jonathan attempted a smile, but could not keep the nerves from his face. His eyes flickered to the Sword and he shook his head. Enala followed his gaze. For a moment, she allowed its light to wash over her, feasting on the sight of it, feeling its power tugging at her soul.
Then doubt snapped her back to reality and she retreated a step. She shuddered and would have turned back then, if not for the sacrifices her friends had made to get her there. This was not what she wanted, what she dreamed of.
But she had no choice. Seeing there would be no more aid from Jonathan, Enala glanced down and realised she still stood within the anteroom, on the threshold of the inner chamber. Closing her eyes, she summoned her courage, and stepped forward.
As her foot crossed the wooden level marking the perimeter of the chamber, a dread swept over her. Hairs prickled on the back of her neck and ice fed her veins. In that instant she knew she’d made a mistake, that something had just gone terribly wrong. Something lurked in the shadows of this place, some other magic.
The bracelets on her wrists blazed to life. Their angry red glow bathed the sandstone walls, battling with the light of the Sword. She gasped as the bands contracted, shrinking until the hot silver cut into her skin. Their heat seared at her wrists, wrapping them in cuffs of flame.
With a scream she dove backwards, desperate to escape the courtyard. But an invisible force took hold of the bracelets, trapping her in place. They held fast against her, oblivious to her shrieks.
Then she felt the first tug, as they began to draw her inexorably into the temple.
Enala fought to free her wrists from the fiery gasp, crying out for help, twisting to look for Jonathan. Her boots slid beneath her, scrambling for purchase on the broken floor.
Bit by bit, the cuffs dragged her towards the centre of the broken chamber.
“Help!” she yelled, trying to jolt Jonathan into action. “Jonathan, do something!”
An icy hand crawled inside her chest as she heard Jonathan’s laughter. He strode past her to stand beside the stone alter, eyes fixed on her now, an eager hunger on his face.
Enala shook her head, mouthed the word ‘no,’ but could not find her voice. She kicked at the wooden beams, pushing back against the steady pull of the bracelets. Tears burned her eyes as she fought, determined to resist. The pain of the Raptor injury felt dull compared to the agony of her wrists.
The cuffs drew her to one of the stone pillars. Her back thudded against the cool marble as the bracelets struck. Then they continued their relentless crawl upwards, lifting her from the ground as the metal welded to stone. She dangled in the air, boots scrambling for a foothold against the smooth stone at her back. The cuffs bit deeper as the burning metal took all her weight. Blood ran down her arm from the gash left by the Raptor.
Enala kicked out, furious, desperate to free herself from the entrapment. The stench of burning flesh reached her nose as she bit back a sob. Her chest contracted and she struggled for breath, her weight pushing down on her lungs.
Jonathan walked forwards, raising a hand in mock solute. “We arrive at last, kinswoman!”
*************
Eric flashed across the sky, the white caps of the raging ocean far below. Ahead Witchcliffe Island grew steadily larger, its peaks obscured by a dome of shimmering air. His heart beat hard in his chest, Laurel’s final words still ringing in his ears.
What had Antonia told her? What could the Goddess have said to convince Laurel to take on the demon alone? She had no hope of winning, of that Eric had no doubt.
She was giving her life for his.
The wind whipped away his tears. They had been enemies since the day they’d met, yet she had made the ultimate sacrifice for him. The woman had changed, or perhaps he had simply missed the good within her. He had seen it when she stood alone against the demon though, when she had told him to flee.
Pulling more energy from within, he pushed the winds faster. He would not allow her sacrifice to be in vain.
Light flashed as an explosion tore the sky over the island. Eric dropped like a stone as the shock wave struck him, disrupting his magic and ripping the wind from his grasp. A brilliant light rushed from the top of Witchcliffe Island, casting the ocean below in a patchwork of angry shadows.
Eric shielded his eyes against the glare. Pushing down his fear, he took a firmer grasp of the wind and halted his free fall.
What just happened?
Slowly the light faded to a dim glimmer, then died away. He stared ahead at the island. The veil of haze had lifted, revealing red cliffs stretching up into the sky. Above the peaks he made out a distant building, sun glinting off the brown walls. Another light seemed to come from within, seeping out through the broken roof. Blinking his eyes, he tried to make out the source.
He was still some distance away, but his gut told him it was the place.
Eric just prayed the explosion had not come from Enala attempting to wield the Sword.
My sister, he was still struggling with Antonia’s revelation. But however he felt about Antonia and her secrets, he was not going to let Enala throw her life away. Not after all she had scarified for the Three Nations.
And certainly not before he broke the news to her.
I’m coming, sis.
Twenty Three
“What are you doing?” Enala spat, writhing against the pillar. Anger helped to dull the pain, but there was no breaking the hold of the silver bracelets.
�
��What I have been planning for months, my dear. You see, this place does not belong to the council, the magic protecting it was not theirs. I created all this long ago, before my magic was lost. I designed it to protect the Sword from everyone but me.”
“Why?” Enala grated. “The Sword is the only thing left to protect us from Archon. And you cannot even use it without your magic.”
“Yes, yes, you are right, of course. Try not to rub it in,” he waged a finger. “But I could not simply pass its power to another. The Sword is mine!”
Enala struggled to breathe as her weight pulled down on her arms, constricting her chest. She tried to calm herself, but her heart refused to slow and the lack of air made her head swim. Her feet beat at the pillar, trying to take some weight from her arms.
“This doesn’t make any sense, Jonathan,” she gasped. “Why are you doing this?”
“All will be clear soon, my dear,” he walked round the alter, pulling materials from his pack as he went. “I suppose you deserve some explanation before you die though. You don’t mind if I work while we talk, do you? I imagine the council will have noticed your absence by now. I must be ready for when they arrive,” he flashed her a grin.
His words froze Enala in place. “You’re going to kill me? Why?” her shout came out as a weak cough.
She stared at the objects as he arranged them on the alter. A pestle and mortar lay alongside a small velvet bag. Vials of strange liquids joined them, the dark red of one looking suspiciously like blood.
“You have no idea what it is like,” Jonathan’s voice had a bitter tang, “to be born with such a gift as magic, only to feel it slowly shrivel and die in your hands,” he took up the mortar and began pouring in measurements of the different liquids.
“My greatest fear was that one day it would vanish completely. I may have never been as powerful as the likes of Alastair,” he spat the name. “Who never once tried to save the magic of my line. But it was mine, and gave me happiness in an otherwise joyless life.”
