Eric’s mouth went dry. Fear clawed at his throat. He remembered Antonia’s terror when she spoke of Archon. He swallowed, struggling to suck in a breath. If even the Gods feared Archon, what chance did they have?
“Calm yourself, Eric. There is still hope.”
“What?” Eric croaked.
“Thomas’s line has ended, but he had a sister. A sweet girl called Aria. Aria had Thomas’ blood, but the curse did not affect her. When we discovered what had happened, I took Aria into hiding. Only her descendants have the power to wield the Sword now.”
“The family?”
Alastair nodded. “Antonia came to me a long time ago and asked me to track them down. But her descendants had vanished and everywhere I looked they had died out or moved on,” he took a deep breath. “I failed. If it were not for Elynbrigge, I would never have found them. That couple and their daughter are the last of Aria’s line. Enala is now the only person left who can wield the Sword of Light. If she is lost, so are the Three Nations.”
Eric stared, speechless. How could this have happened? How could the Gods have let the lives of every man, woman, and child in the Three Nations come down to life of one girl. And Archon was already one step ahead of them, his hunters ready to murder the girl on sight.
I know you desire redemption, and I would like to offer you that chance Antonia had said. He knew what she meant now, the secret the Goddess had emitted. This was his quest. Help Alastair save this girl and maybe, just maybe, he could put his ghosts to rest.
Can I do it? Eric asked himself, and then shook his head. It didn’t matter. He could not run from this. If they failed, everyone died.
The door to their room burst open. Eric looked up in shock. Lightning flashed outside, showing Caelin standing in the doorway. He took a step inside, the door swinging shut behind him. Thunder roared, whisking away his words. Eric heard the five that mattered.
“I think I’ve found her.”
******************
Inken sipped at her ale. The cool drink ran down her throat. The alcohol slowed her thoughts, but did nothing for her worries. The tavern was alive with the laughter of her fellow bounty hunters. It was a sight to see the grizzled men and battle-hardened women dancing as if they were children again.
Her friend Kaiden sat beside her, one hand on a jug of ale, the other grasping a greasy haunch of lamb. Words ran from his mouth, something about the rain and the water import market, but Inken’s thoughts were elsewhere. Her spirits were low, weighed down by debt.
She had spent much of the last week resupplying, but even with the fresh rain, equipment in Chole was expensive. She had gone through several lenders to garner the funds she needed and it would take years to pay back the loans.
Maybe her spirits would be higher if it weren’t for the horse. That particular decision irritated her beyond measure. The gelding was a nice animal and the only decent horse she could afford. But the colour! What was she going to do with a white horse? A bounty hunter had to remain inconspicuous and even the thickest criminal would soon hear about a warrior on a white horse riding into town.
The rest of her equipment was sound, if expensive. The sabre she wore was light and well balanced, and would be useful in a fight on horseback. It would serve well, as would the short recurve bow she had leaned against the bar. The maker had carved the black stained bow with great care and the oak would give extra distance to her arrows.
A man brushed passed Inken as he made his way through the tavern. She smelt a wisp of ash as he passed. He wore a black cloak with the hood pulled up, casting a shadow across his face. All she could see was the glow of his eyes. He wore a sword at his side, but that was common in this bar. Even so, something about him made her gaze linger. She watched as he walked up to one of the larger tables.
Several men looked up as he stopped before their table. Their conversation broke off as they stared at the man in confusion. Suddenly, he leapt. His feet easily cleared the tables top and his muddy boots slammed down on the wood. Plates crashed and food went flying. The men cursed as ale spilt in their laps and glasses crashed to the floor.
The room fell silent. Even Kaiden was staring, open mouthed. The stranger spun, sweeping the room with his dark gaze. His cloak swept out behind him, but the hood remained, hiding his face.
“Bounty hunters!” his voice boomed to the stunned room. “I have a message for you. Some days ago, a message came from the Magistrate of Oaksville, offering a lifetimes gold in reward for the death of a demon. Many of your companions rode to claim it.”
Inken saw that many of her fellow hunters were glaring in anger at the stranger. The men he’d knocked from their chairs scrambled to their feet.
“They failed!” the man’s announcement halted any pending violence. “The demon is here, in this proud city, and Oaksville’s Magistrate is slain. His word no longer counts for dust.”
There were angry mutters from around the room. Inken’s eyes widened. Her pulse quickened at his words. Had she been right? No, he must be wrong.
“However, my word is gold,” he spoke over his audience. The man reached into his cloak and drew out a cloth bag. He tossed it to the ground where it split. Gold coins spilled across the floor, the chime they made silencing the tavern. “And I will reward a bag just like that to each and every bounty hunter who comes with me, now. We will bring this demon, and all his accomplices, to justice. Who’s with me?”
The room erupted around Inken. She stood to join in, although her heart was sinking. She stared at the gold, thoughts racing. The reward would more than cover her debt. And if the hunt was for a demon, why should she hesitate?
Yet what if it was Eric?
Inken shivered. The man had leapt from the table and was leading the crowd out the doors and into the rain.
Inken rose, picking up her bow. She toyed with the carved wood, staring at the smooth workmanship.
“Are you coming?” Kaiden stood beside her, open greed in his eyes.
She pictured the gold coins spilling across the ground. This was too great an opportunity to pass up.
It can’t be Eric. The boy is no demon, she told herself.
Inken smiled. “Of course. Let’s go.”
******************
The man in the black cloak strode down the street. He did not look back. The fools would follow, they always did.
His anger flared. It had been a mistake to underestimate Alastair and now he was paying for it. These hunters were only loyal to gold. They were no replacement for the followers he had lost. They had known what they fought for and were dedicated themselves to the cause. They truly wished to be free.
He cursed to himself. He should not have waited so long to set his plan into action, but it had been worth the risk. If Alastair had found the girl for him, the battle would have been won. But after three days, time was up. The plan would still work. They would finally be rid of the vexatious old Magicker. It would be a heavy blow to the cursed Goddess.
They strode through the muddy streets, the inn looming ahead. He reached out with his mind, searching for the aftertaste of magic. It clung to the boy like mud, seeping from his pores. Such power, misplaced in one so young and naïve. But it was missing now. They had were not in the inn.
He left his hunters outside and went inside to investigate. The innkeeper told him they had left an hour before, heading towards the eastern wall.
Outside again, he signalled for several of the men to follow. The rest he left to take up stations around the inn. He would take no chances this time. If Alastair and the others returned by a different path, they would not escape his net.
He moved down the street with his followers. They came to a crossroads. He stationed them there, ready to ambush the fools when they returned. In the meantime, there was one more thing to do this night, one last chess piece to eliminate. He allowed himself a smile. The game was at an end. The ball was rolling and there would be no escape.
Alastair would finally die t
onight.
******************
Eric took another step up the worn stone staircase. He heard the footsteps of Caelin and Alastair from above, but he dared not look anywhere but his feet. To his left, the staircase ended in an abrupt thirty-foot drop to the city below. Silently, he willed himself on. The top of the wall could not be far now.
The wind grew stronger as they ascended, tearing through their rain soaked clothes and threatening to hurl them to the cobbles below. Eric shivered, wishing for the cloak he had left behind. They’d left with such haste he had not thought to grab it from his chair.
The crunching of footsteps above him ceased and Eric froze, gaze still locked to the steps. He blinked the rain from his eyes, cursing his fear. He could feel his weakened magic stirring and up on the city walls that could prove fatal. He took a deep breath to calm himself.
Laughter came from above. “What are you doing, Eric?” Caelin called down
“Why have we stopped?” Eric shouted back.
Alastair answered with a humour in his voice he had not heard for days. “We’ve reached the top. You’re just a few steps away.”
Eric’s cheeks grew warm. He walked up the last few steps and scowled at two men. Then, ignoring them, he walked out onto the battlements. The path along the top of the wall was neatly bricked and slick with rain. The ramparts stood up past his waist on either side of them, providing scant shelter from the wind.
Caelin moved past, leading the way along the parapet. Eric followed, looking back out over the ramparts. To the west, the city spread out beneath them, fires burning to ward off the chill of the coming night. He found himself longing the warm embrace of the inns fireplace. Gritting his teeth, he looked to the east where the three peaks of Chole towered over them. The slope of the nearest volcano stretched right to the base of the wall.
Lightning flashed above, a long way up. Thunder rung out and the wind howled. The air smelt of rain and wood smoke. The storm had continued nonstop for three days now. Eric could feel its energies whipping about him, charging the atmosphere with its power. It taunted him, daring him to reach out with his magic. He resisted. Turning his thoughts to the missing Enala, he followed Caelin’s broad back through the hissing rain.
The night closed around them; until it seemed they were the only ones left in the world. Nevertheless, someone else was up here. A guard who claimed to have seen a young girl leaving the city. Caelin had gotten that much from him, but he was sure there was more to his story.
A figure loomed through the gloom. He wore a heavy trench coat pulled tight around him and his back was hunched against the rain. Neither looked to be doing him much good. The rain blew almost horizontal in the strong winds atop the wall.
A spark of lightning lit the mountainside behind him. Eric squinted and thought he saw movement on the slopes. Before he could make anything out, the rain closed in again.
Caelin moved towards the guard. Words passed between them, shouted over the storms rage. Caelin nodded and moved back. “He won’t talk,” he ran his hands through his soaking hair. “This is the man I spoke to though.”
Alastair scowled and elbowed past. As he approached the guard, he slipped one hand into his pocket. The guard flinched backwards, reaching for his sword. Alastair drew a small bag from his cloak and tossed it to him. The surprised guard fumbled the parcel and Eric heard the chink of coins from within.
The man’s eyes widened when he looked inside. “Thank you, sir. I remember now. There was a girl. She left by the north gate a few hours ago. Pretty little thing. I was on gate duty then. Shouldn’ta been complaining. Commander put me up here when he heard.”
Alastair nodded impatiently. “Yes, things can always get worse, can’t they? Now, the girl. What did she look like? Did she follow the road?”
“Afraid I can’t tell you much. Rains great an all, but makes keeping watch a right chore. Her hair was soaked and hooded, but it was blond I guess. Small face, small nose, small girl. Her cloak hid everything else. They kept north, as far as I could tell.”
“They?” Alastair interrupted.
“Yeah. She was with some guy. Didn’t get a good look at him either. He had a sword though. Can’t have been much older than her I’d say. Strange business, two young folk venturing out in this.”
“Yes, quite. Well, thank you, sir. I’d appreciate it even more if you told no one else about the girl.”
The man clutched his money to his chest and grinned. “Don’t think I need too, sir. A good day to you.”
Alastair led them a few steps down the wall. They huddled close to hear his whispers. “This girl may or may not be Enala; the rogues at the house said nothing about a boy. But it’s the only lead we have. Eric and I will go after them. Caelin, you find Balistor and head back to the inn. Bring the horses and catch up with us. Eric, are you listening?”
Eric was not. He stared into the distance, eyes searching the darkness. The movement had come again with the last flash of lightning. It was closer now and seemed to be moving faster. He sucked in a breath. There’s nothing there. It’s not what you think. It can’t be.
Lightning tore across the sky. Its glow fell across the mountain slopes, revealing stark rock and stone. And mud, mud rushing down the slope towards them. A wall of earth snapped free from the mountain. As he watched, its dim rumble finally struck them.
“Landslide!” he screamed.
They all turned. The sky lit up with his voice and they all saw it. Tumbling earth, an entire mountainside rushing towards them. The wall shook beneath their feet.
“Run for your lives!” the guard sprinted past them.
“Gods”, Caelin cursed. “It’ll bury half the city.”
No, no, no! Not again! Eric sank to his knees, hands tearing at his hair. He watched the destruction approach, all his hopes disintegrating. He felt no fear or anger, only resignation. A sick sense of inevitability gripped him. “It’s over,” he whispered.
Alastair stepped up to the ramparts. The wind ripped around him, trying to cast him to the rocks below. He stood against the storms fury, watching the landslide come with cool eyes. With slow determination, he raised his arms over his head.
“What are you doing?” Eric shouted above the roaring earth.
“What I must,” Alastair faced the mountain.
Eric’s head pounded. The rush as Alastair unleashed his power was like nothing he had felt before. Red burned across his vision, blinding him for a moment. The earth shook harder, knocking him from his feet. On hands and knees, he crawled to the ramparts and looked out on a nightmare.
The mudslide rushed on, but now the ground before the wall was rising into the air. Boulders and stones and soil and water hovered before them. The air shimmered with magic.
Alastair’s arms began to shake, the tendons on his neck strained to breaking point. His lips drew back in a manic grin, his teeth grinding as though he held the city on his shoulders. The tremors quickly spread to the rest of the old man’s body. Alastair dropped to one knee, arms still stretched out before him. His fingers bent to claws. Still more debris rose to join the conflagration before them. The landslide drew ever closer.
Eric closed his eyes, still on his knees. This task must be beyond even Alastair’s power. He could not imagine how Alastair could draw on such energy. Surely he had spent his strength by now, yet still the air burned with magic. The old Magicker would never give up. He would die first.
Alastair’s back bent, the pressure forcing him down. It could not be long now. The old man’s lips moved. His teeth glinted in the storms light. If Alastair spoke, Eric did not hear.
Then Alastair threw down his hands. Eric felt another surge of energy and suddenly there was a second landslide, racing uphill to meet the first.
Mud sprayed forty feet in the air as the two mammoths of earth met. A high pitch screech split the air. Rock exploded on rock as boulders clashed with the force of galloping horses. Eric and Caelin ducked for cover while rock rained down a
round them. The grumbling of moving earth echoed off the walls. Mud swirled on the plain before the wall and began to settle.
Alastair crumpled to the ramparts. Eric crawled to where he lay. The old man’s face was deathly pale. His eyes were closed and he did not respond when Eric shook him. He felt his wrist for a pulse and found the faintest beat. Cold sweat ran beaded Alastair’s pale skin.
“Is he alive?” Caelin whispered.
“Barely,” Eric responded.
Caelin shook his head. “I don’t believe it. He did it.”
Eric nodded, looking out at the mess below them. He couldn’t believe it either.
Seventeen
Elynbrigge opened his eyes. A cool breeze blew through the open window. Every breath was an effort now, each exhalation leaving him gasping. The blood flowed sluggishly through his veins and his chest ached with the pain of his labouring heart. With each beat, he drew closer to death.
Summoning his strength, he called out. “Michael! Michael I need you.”
It did not take long for the priest to appear. He frowned when he saw Elynbrigge and knelt beside him. “Are you okay? You’re pale as a ghost.”
Guilt bored a hole in Elynbrigge’s chest. What he was about to ask would change the doctor forever. He closed his eyes and thought of the sacrifices he had made over the centuries. Now he must ask another soul to take his place.
“I am old, Michael, that is all. But my health is not your concern now. There are others who need your help.”
Michael frowned. He rocked back on his haunches, studying the old priest. “Why do they need me? I’m only a doctor – surely you would serve them better.”
Stormwielder (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 1) Page 18
