With a grim smile, the guard nodded. “You’re a tough little bugger. Ay, but you’re right, someone’s got to stand against this evil,” he held out his hand. “The names Tom.”
After that two quickly turned to twenty, and then fifty, then a hundred. All across Oaksville the word went out of the young man gathering fighters to hunt the demon. Many brought horses and weapons to spare. Gabriel soon found himself surrounded by a small army – an army of desperate men with nothing left to lose.
Word came at dawn the old man and boy had been spotted fleeing east through the forest. Several soldiers had followed but so far none had returned. That had been hours ago; there was no telling how far they could have travelled in that time. But sooner or later the forest to the east would run out and they would be forced to return to the Gods Road or risk crossing the Wasteland.
By sunrise Gabriel had sixty mounted men and almost two hundred footmen. He gathered his cavalry at the eastern gate, himself riding a horse one of the recruits had provided. He left orders for the rest to follow down the Gods Road while the cavalry rode ahead to cut off their quarry.
Gabriel waved to his foot soldiers at the eastern gate, then turned his horse and led the horsemen through the tunnel beneath the wall. His mind was already preoccupied with the chase, obsessed with bringing death to the two they hunted.
The clatter of hooves on the cobbles were deafening in the darkness of the tunnel. Ahead the bright light of the world outside Oaksville beckoned. Gabriel kicked his horse into a trot, eager to return to the light and begin the chase in earnest.
As they emerged he kicked his horse again, forcing the beast to a canter. The wind picked up around him and pulled at his clothes and hair. Within minutes they had reached the forest, and Oaksville had disappeared behind them. Trees towered either side of the road, their branches stretching overhead to blot out the sky. The rising sun flashed through gaps in the canopy as they raced onwards.
The iron-shod shoes of their horses tore the damp ground. The fury of their passage sent leaves whirling into the air behind them. Gone was the stench of the burning city. Gabriel found himself enveloped by the earthly scent of the forest. His horse snorted beneath him, unused to the hard pace he set.
Gabriel was not concerned about the health of their horses. There was only one thought on his mind now. To get ahead of the two they hunted. If they could do that their quarry would be trapped between his cavalry and the men who followed. They would have them – and if it cost a few horses, so be it.
Gabriel smiled at the thought of victory. He could almost see the fear on the demon boys face as he plunged his sword into that black heart, almost smell the blood; taste the thrill of revenge in his mouth.
Yet the memory of their previous encounter still gave him pause. Tom had been right about one thing, the two they faced were no mortal men. He had no doubt it would cost lives to bring an end to them. He prayed the sixty men at his back would be enough.
Ahead the bend in the road straightened. Gabriel felt his heart stop and then start to race. There, not thirty feet away, two horses stood in the middle of the road. Each bore a rider, one lying slumped over his saddle horn. On the second sat the boy – the demon. His face was stark with terror, his eyes widening in shock.
Gabriel licked his cracked lips, rethinking his comments to Tom about the Goddess. Antonia had sent them a blessing after all. We have them!
He kicked his horse into a gallop. Their quarry sat frozen as they raced towards them.
******************
Eric could only stare as the horses charged towards them. They had come so close, were almost in the clear, only to be undone by one stupid mistake. The crash of hooves had silenced the forest. He glanced at Alastair, amazed the old man was still unconscious despite the roar of the approaching men.
Eric found himself glued to his saddle, unable to summon the strength to flee. Surely this was his destiny, surely this meant his death was the will of the Gods. He could only watch now as fate raced towards him, chasing all hope from his mind.
A gust of wind rustled the branches above and a light rain began to fall. It was only the remnants of yesterday’s storm. There was no welling of energy within him now. He would sooner die than allow his curse to run rampant again. He shivered as the water began to trickle down his back.
The horses slowed as they approached, the men realising their quarry had given up all thought of escape. Eric saw many had drawn their weapons and held a collection of swords, spears, and crossbows pointed in their direction. He saw the odd uniform of the city guard sprinkled through the crowd but most seemed to wear the plain clothing of the townsfolk.
The reek of smoke reached his nostrils. With it came images of the burning city he had left behind. He stared at the men who had come to avenge their city, whose lives he had forever changed. Each now carried a darkness in their heart, a sadness and hate that would never leave them.
Briar shifted beneath him, slowly turning to face the oncoming horses. His ears lay flat against his skull. He began to snort, tremors rippling through his bunched muscles. Eric could feel the strength in the horse beneath him but they could not flee now. Not with the condition Alastair was in.
Now the hunters were close enough to make out men’s faces. A tingle of shock ran through Eric as he recognised their leader. It was the man from the alley, his face tight with hate, his eyes touched by insanity. Their eyes met and a slight smile appeared on the man’s lips. He kicked at his foam-flecked horse, eager to close the distance.
Then they were there, weapons drawn, crossbows pointed, surrounding them in a circle of death. Their leader – Gabriel, he remembered – lay a short sword across his saddle horn and stared at him.
“I didn’t think it would be so easy.”
The rest of the men did not speak but Eric could feel their silent hate. The air was thick with unvoiced tension. Eric gripped Briar’s mane, struggling to control his fear. A tremor ran through his body. He squashed it quickly, determined to stay strong.
The silence stretched out, punctuated only by the heavy puffing of the horses.
Gabriel spoke again, his voice rough but calm. “Don’t you have anything to say, demon? Some last trick to play?” He gestured at the circle of men. A few held crossbows carefully trained on the two of them. “Go ahead, see which is faster. An arrow, or magic.”
Eric swallowed, mouth dry. Magic? He had considered the idea before. Yet Magickers were discovered at a young age and born to the noble families. Magic for commoners was the cheap parlour tricks of the circus, never anything of note.
He shook his head. Either way it did not matter. He measured his life now in hours, if not minutes.
Gabriel lips twisted into a cruel smile. Suddenly his fist lashed out across the space between them and slammed into Eric’s ear. Eric rolled back in the saddle, teeth rattling, and only the saddle horn stopped him from tumbling to the ground. His ears rung and tears leapt to his eyes.
“There will be far more where that came from, demon,” Gabriel spat. “You will be granted no mercy from us!”
Eric choked back tears. He looked around the circle of men and knew Gabriel spoke the truth. It was pointless, but he spoke anyway. “I cannot bring back the ones you have lost. But I swear to you, I did not mean to bring this destruction down on you. And if I have the chance, I swear I will dedicate the rest my life making up for this terrible –”
Eric broke off as Gabriel’s fist smashed into his face again. He made no effort to deflect the blow – he knew any sudden movement would leave him dotted with arrows.
“Do not speak any more lives, demon. You would have us believe that that,” he gestured in the direction of the unseen town. “Was an accident? No, you must be some servant of Archon himself, to wield such horror.”
Eric trembled at the mention of the evil name. Archon was the ancient foe of the Gods, who had brought war and darkness to the Three Nations almost a century before. A spell had banished him bef
ore his conquest was complete, though the legends still debated over whom had cast it.
Eric’s anger ate away his fear. “How dare you–?”
A horse’s scream tore the air. Gabriel’s mount reared up, a black shafted arrow materialising in its chest. With a dying cry it tumbled backwards, throwing Gabriel into the midst of his men. Then the air filled with arrows. The shrieks of dying men and horses rang out and madness descended on the hunters.
Eric could only stare in shock.
War cries came from behind him. He turned and saw armed men rushing from the treeline. Most sported thick, matted beards and long unkempt hair. All wore a terrifying scowl on their faces and the black leather armour of roving bandits.
The host emerging from the trees seemed beyond count. A black tide of death engulfed Gabriel’s men. They caved before its onslaught.
A horse crashed into Briar and drove him from the centre of the road. Eric pulled on the reins, struggling to control the horse’s sudden movements. With his free hand he reached for his dagger and swung to face the horseman.
“Come on!” Alastair’s gruff voice shouted over the clashing swords.
The old man now sat straight in the saddle. Colour had returned to his face, although his left arm still hung limp at his side. He nodded his head towards the forest on the side of the road opposite from which the bandits had appeared. Eric nodded back. He kicked his heels and felt Briar leap beneath him. The horse was just as desperate to escape the scene of battle.
Briar charged through the scattered men and horses, Elcano racing beside him. Bodies bounced off his shoulders and steel tipped hooves but did not slow him. A wall of greenery loomed ahead. Eric ducked his head against Briar’s broad neck, terrified a stray branch would knock him from the saddle. He caught a glimpse of Alastair’s face and swallowed hard – his eyes had lost focus and his skin shone with sweat. He looked ready to pass out again.
Then they were charging through the trees, unwilling to slow down yet coming horrifyingly close to the tree trunks. Branches struck at Eric’s face and arms, tore at him, threatening to throw him from the saddle. His ears throbbed with the erratic beat of his heart. Nothing mattered now but keeping low in his saddle.
The forest briefly opened out and Eric risked a glance back. He glimpsed a single pursuer through the tree trunks. He thought it looked like one of the townsmen. The man rode like a maniac, his eyes locked on their fleeing horses. He raised a crossbow, somehow managing to hold it steady as his horse crashed through the forest. Eric barely caught the telltale twang as it fired. The bolt whistled as it flew, but the shot went wide and struck a tree off to their left. The man tossed the crossbow aside and bent low over his saddle. He spurred his beast faster, eating up the short distance between them.
Grimacing Eric did the same and urged Briar to draw alongside Alastair. He wobbled in the saddle as they drew opposite, then recovered and looked over at the old man.
Alastair had his good arm raised above his head, his fist clenched hard. The veins on his forehead seemed to leap from his skin as he strained to attempt some fresh feat of magic. A brilliant flash of light burst from his fist, forcing him to look away.
A cry came from behind them and Eric looked back in time to see their purser knocked from his saddle. Timber crunched as the man dropped into the dense undergrowth while his horse galloped on without him. Then Briar carried him out of sight.
A few minutes later Eric drew in a breath of relief and pulled back on the reins. Alastair did the same and they drew to a stop. Still gasping for air, Eric slid from the saddle. His feet crumpled when they touched the soft earth. A swarm of insects rose up to meet him. He ignored them, his mind still reeling with the shock of the attack, of their escape.
The damp ground felt reassuring beneath his hands, an anchor to reality.
Finally, he looked up at Alastair. “Who were those people?”
There was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He already knew the answer but could not bring himself to believe it.
“A raiding party – Baronian bandits from the black leather. A lot of them too. Gabriel and those men didn’t stand a chance, not after being taken by surprise.”
“And Oaksville?” Eric croaked.
Alastair shook his head. “That’s no doubt what drew them here – the smoke from the town. I don’t know. The town’s walls are high, but if the gates are open…”
A shiver went through Eric. For a pack of bandits to descend on Oaksville after the disaster last night – the chances were small the town would survive. Baronian’s were not known for their mercy. They were more than just outlaws; they were a godless, landless people. Some groups were peaceful, but most were ruthless killers who made their living off the misfortune of others. Patrols kept them from the main roads and cities but lately they had grown bold. Still, it was unheard of for them to attack a town the size of Oaksville.
“Is there anything we can do to help them?”
Alastair grabbed the bolt in his shoulder, grimaced, and tore it out. He groaned, wavering on his feet, then opened his eyes and stared at the bloody thing. The puckered skin of his shoulder was bruised and swollen, stained by the blood that had scabbed around the wound. Fresh blood began to flow from the tear the bolt had left. Alastair grunted and threw the piece of metal away.
His gaze returned to Eric. “No. I’m sorry Eric, but their fate lies in their own hands now. There is nothing either of us, in this state, can do.”
Eric stared up from the ground, eyes locked on the blood oozing from Alastair’s shoulder.
“You should do something about that,” he snapped.
Alastair glared back. Eric let the silence stretch out, unable to put words to the pain and horror he felt at this final blow to Oaksville.
Muffled by the forest around them, the dying sounds of the battle being fought on the road was an all too vivid reminder of Oaksville’s fate.
******************
The air exploded from Gabriel’s lungs as he struck the ground. Pain shot through his chest and he struggled to draw breath. Beside him his horse kicked and screamed in agony, the black shafted arrow still sticking from its chest. His men stampeded around him, their formation turned to chaos. Leaderless and taken by surprise they were unable to fight back against whoever, or whatever, had attacked.
Gabriel scrambled in the mud for his sword. The press of horses threatened to crush him but he finally managed to scramble to his feet. Body aching, heart racing with fear, he looked around at the cacophony of men and horses. The rain of arrows had ceased but now men streamed from the trees, launching themselves at the panicked townsfolk. Each wore the black leather armour of the Baronian’s.
A shiver ran down Gabriel’s spine. There were too many. Already half his horsemen had fallen to arrows and the rest were quickly being dispatched.
Gabriel swore. How could this be happening? They had been so close, had the boy within their grasp. Now their quarry had disappeared in the chaos and his followers were dead, dying, or fleeing for their lives. At least the footmen they had left behind would be warned of the coming raid. They could to retreat back to the town and close the gates. Oaksville may still survive – if there were enough men left to man the walls.
The scream of a dying horse interrupted Gabriel’s thoughts. He turned in time to dive from the path of a battle-axe. He slammed into the ground and rolled, springing back to his feet with his sword at the ready.
The axe man grinned, his face black with soot to match his armour. He raised his axe and with a scream of rage, charged. Gabriel leapt backwards as the axe carved an arc through the space where he had stood. There would be no blocking such a blow with his tiny short sword.
As the axe swept past Gabriel rushed forward, sword stabbing out to disembowel his opponent. The axe man met him with a fist to the face that knocked Gabriel flat on his back. His vision swum. Instinctively he rolled and heard the thunk of the axe blade as it embedded itself in the soft ground. He k
icked out at his foes legs and heard a satisfying grunt as the man fell.
Ignoring the pain throbbing from his nose, Gabriel threw himself atop his attacker. His sword had been lost when he fell so he smashed his fist into the axe man’s face. The man surged against him, but he was no match for the strength Gabriel had built as a blacksmith.
Grimacing, Gabriel gripped his black garbed foe by the throat and began to squeeze. He saw panic flash across the man’s coal speckled eyes. Arms flailed at him, struggling to break his iron grip. Veins popped on the man’s forehead and his eyes began to turn red.
Gabriel clung on, determined to destroy this man who had thwarted his revenge. His vision swept with red and his ears filled with a wild cackling. A madness swept over Gabriel, and he was suddenly sure it was the laughter of the demon boy, taunting him with his freedom.
When the laughter finally died away, Gabriel found himself strangling a dead man. Tears streamed down his face. He swallowed hard and stood, running his hands through his thick hair. What is happening to me?
He looked up at the crunch of nearby footsteps. Another axe man approached, a grim look on his face. Rust speckled the blade but it looked as sharp as any he had seen.
Gabriel swept up his sword and regained his feet. He sidestepped the man’s first blow but this time was more cautious with the counter attack. Their weapons clashed, sparks leaping between them. The sounds of the battle faded away until there was only the ring of their weapons, the crunch of their boots, and his opponent’s laboured breath.
The axe man raised his weapon again and Gabriel caught the flash of blue eyes staring out from beneath bushy eyebrows. He ducked forwards without thought and the decapitating swing passed over him. His shoulder struck the ground but he rolled forward and regained his feet.
His opponent’s eyes widened in surprise. He struggled to bring his weapon about to defend himself, but Gabriel’s blade was already in motion. It plunged through the man’s leather armour and deep into his chest. A rattling sound grew in the man’s throat. The axe slipped from his fingers as he fumbled at the blade impaling him. His legs gave way beneath him and he slumped to the ground.
Stormwielder (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 1) Page 5
