Stormwielder (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 1)

by Hodges, Aaron

  The blade struck home, and stopped dead. The steel jarred in her hand and a bone numbing shock ran up her arm. The sword slipped from her numb fingers. It was as though she’d struck solid rock, but the blade had not even pierced the demon’s skin.

  The demon turned on her, flames leaping from its cloak. It lashed out with a fist, striking her in the chest. The blow flung her to the sand. She tumbled across the beach and crashed into a stone pillar. Groaning, she placed a knee beneath her and fought to sit up. A sharp pain lanced through her chest. She gritted her teeth against the pain, the broken rib cutting and grinding. Lurching to her feet, she drew a hunting knife and stumbled towards the fight.

  Alastair was back on his feet, wielding his sword two handed with all the power he could bear. Each time the demon blade was there, turning aside his blows with ease. The demon was too fast, too powerful. Not even Balistor’s attacks could phase it.

  Inken dove in, feet unsteady, searching for an opening. The hunting knife had no reach, but she hoped she might distract it enough to aid Alastair. The demon began to laugh again, its rasping cackle ringing with the clash of blades. Only Alastair’s sword was able to touch the black blade, protected by whatever spell had been cast on the weapon.

  Alastair jumped back, chest heaving, hands trembling. Inken moved to stand with him, wishing for the strength help. They crouched low and then sprung forward to attack together.

  Lightning arced from the demon’s blade, smashing into the sand at their feet. The earth erupted, the force of the explosion picking them up and hurling them through the air. Inken smashed down and slid through the sand. Alastair flew backwards into the ocean and disappeared beneath the waves.

  Inken coughed, choking on sand, her body a mess of pain. She rolled onto her stomach and spat out a mouthful of black sand. Her dagger lay a few feet away. Bracing herself, she crawled towards it, glancing across at the demon.

  Balistor fought on, his face black with soot. But his powers were useless, the demon advancing through his attacks. Over the roar of the waves and flames, she heard Balistor shout. “Leave them, they’re mine!”

  Inken closed her eyes, willing strength to her muscles. Her fingers found the blade and clasped desperately at the hilt. It felt better to have a weapon in her grasp, although it was of little use in her state.

  The demon raised its sword to the sky, dismissing Balistor with a contemptuous turn of its back. The sky grew dark and flashes lit the underbelly of the clouds. Lightning lanced down with a boom of thunder, spearing the black sword. Another bolt followed, and another, gathering around the weapon as a great ball of energy.

  The demon’s laughter shook the earth. “You are all traitors and will suffer for it. Farewell!”

  Inken closed her eyes tight and braced herself for the lightning’s burning touch. She wished for Eric, for one last chance to embrace him.

  A roar echoed over the lightning’s boom. Inken looked up, eyes wide with shock. A shadow flew overhead, gold scales filling the sky.

  The demon’s eyes widened. The dragon dropped, streaking towards it, giant mouth open to bare a hundred fangs. It slammed into the demon, talons tearing to send it flying. The gathered energy flashed away, the blasts leaving glassy marks in the sand where they struck.

  The fiend spun in the air to land on its feet, sword held out before it. It dropped to a crouch, a snarl on its pale face.

  Inken stared, unable to believe her eyes. The dragon towered over them, twice the size of the Red that had attacked last night. Its wings spread wide as it prepared to take flight, casting the beach in shadow. The massive tail lashed out, shattering rocky spires like toothpicks. Its diamond eyes glared at the demon. Smoke snorted from the slits of its nostrils. On its back sat a girl with golden hair.

  Her clothes were torn and her skin streaked with dirt. She grasped the dragons neck with one arm, legs gripped tight to the scales. Her sapphire eyes glared down at them, fury written across her face. With her spare hand she pointed to the demon and screamed.

  White-hot flames leapt from the great jaws, far greater than any Balistor had summoned. For the first time fear showed on the demon’s face. It dove from the path of the flames, unable to stand before its cleansing heat. The dragon came after it, claws ripping up the black sand. There was no escape from its rage.

  Fire encircled the demon, forcing it to turn. Its sword slashed out, a bolt of lightning lancing for the girl. Inken’s breath caught in her throat. The girl flinched back, but golden wings rose to protect her. The lightning shattered on the thick scales.

  Then the dragon was attacking again, flames licking at the heels of their foe. The demon fled across the sand, chased by an inferno that left a path of glass in its wake. The dragon charged after, clawing its way into the air. The great wings beat down. It roared.

  The fiend swung around, sword raised. Lightning twitched along its length and flashed at the dragon’s unprotected stomach.

  Flames rushed to meet it. The forces collided mid-air and exploded outwards. The shockwave whipped sand into Inken’s face. She squinted through the grit and saw the flickering blue lightning succumb to the all-consuming fire. The demon disappeared into the conflagration.

  A hideous scream filled the air. Within the inferno she saw the outline of a figure riving against the flames. The dragon kept on, relentless.

  A flash split the sky, blinding the onlookers. Inken scrunched her eyes closed, but it seeped through to burn her anyway. Pain flashed through her skull. The light vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

  Inken opened her eyes, her vision slowly returning. The flames had died away. The dragon stood back on its hind legs, its great head staring at where the ground had turned to molten black glass. All that remained was a trail of glassy footprints burnt into the sand, leading for the forest. The demon had fled.

  Inken looked up at the dragon and the girl.

  Enala stared down at her.

  Twenty Three

  Caelin pulled himself to his feet. The dragon loomed over the beach; scales gleaming, fangs bared, eyes glaring. Caelin ignored it. Turning, he sprinted for the sea. The surf roared up to meet him as he dove over the raging waves. The salty water stung his eyes as he searched for Alastair.

  He bobbed to the surface moments later, Alastair slung over his shoulders. Straining beneath the weight, he dragged himself back to shore and up the beach. Dumping the old man to the sand, he collapsed beside him, gasping for breath. Alastair gave a hacking cough as he fell, water gushing from his mouth.

  Balistor moved to his side. “Is he okay?”

  Caelin nodded, shivering in the brisk sea breeze. He glanced again at the dragon and the girl who rode it. It was an astonishing sight and he could not help but appreciate the irony. After all they’d had gone through to find her, it had been Enala who had saved them.

  “I’m going to talk to her,” he said to Balistor. “Look after him.”

  He walked towards the dragon. The golden scales glistened in the morning sunlight, blinding him. Its giant head turned to watch him come, eyes alive with intelligence. Its jaws cracked open, revealing rows of dagger length teeth. A gust of wind carried with it the stench of rotting fish.

  Caelin shivered. Alastair’s blade lay on the sand nearby. The dragon growled when he reached down to scoop it up. He lifted it slowly; an arm raised in submission, and slid it into his empty scabbard. Showing his empty hands, he continued forwards.

  His gaze drifted to where Eric lay. A pool of blood stained the sand around him. Michael and Inken sat at his side, but even from this distance he could see the gaping wound. He fought back tears.

  Summoning his resolve, he focused again on Enala. The girl glared down at him, following his approach. Her blond hair fluttered in the breeze and he noticed now the copper lock dangling across her face. Dark circles ringed her eyes.

  When Caelin reached the dragon, he dropped low in a bow. It had been a long time since anyone had visited the tribes, but he knew the courtes
ies expected.

  “Who are you?” Enala demanded.

  Caelin frowned, his curiosity mounting. It was common knowledge that even the Gold dragons did not allow people to ride them; even during Archon’s war it had been a rare occurrence. He wondered how Enala managed it.

  Even so, he knew the correct etiquette. Ignoring the girl, he addressed the dragon first “Dragon, my name is Caelin, Sergeant of the Plorsean army. I know the name of the one you carry, but may I enquire as to yours?” he offered.

  Air hissed from the dragon’s nose in what might have been laughter. “Well met, Sergeant. I am Nerissa.”

  “Nerissa, excuse my curiosity, but why do you bear this girl?”

  Again the snort of laughter. “Her parents and she often visited this place. Her blood is old. She may ride with us, for we still honour the pact we made with her ancestors. She and I have flown together many times.”

  Caelin nodded. Nerissa spoke of the pact the old kings had made with the dragons to fight Archon. King Thomas had been the orchestrator of that pact. The dragon had confirmed Enala truly was related to the ancient king.

  “Who are you all? Why are you here?” Enala spoke through grated teeth. The fire in her eyes dared him to defy her again.

  He bent his head in apology. “My apologies. These are the hunter Inken, Magickers Balistor and Alastair, and Alastair’s apprentice, Eric,” he pointed to each of them in turn. Then he looked up at the girl. “And we are here for you, Enala.”

  The girl stiffened. The dragon dropped into a crouch, a low growl rumbling up from its chest. Sand crunched beneath its claws as it stepped towards him. A tongue of flame licked the sand.

  Caelin raised his hands in surrender, fighting back the instinct to draw his sword. “Wait! We mean you no harm, Enala.”

  “That is all anyone wishes for me,” her lips curling back in a snarl.

  “Please, let me speak. We came here to help you!”

  Enala paused, nostrils flaring. She leaned closer, though she sat high above him. Her gaze seemed to look right to his soul. “How did you plan to help me, Caelin? When you cannot even save yourselves,” she gave a cruel laugh.

  Caelin’s cheeks flushed, but he pushed on. “There are others hunting you, Enala. Archon wants you dead.”

  The laughter died. “Archon?”

  “Yes.”

  “What would he want with me?” there was fear in her voice now.

  “You are a threat to him. You are the descendent of Aria, sister to King Thomas. And you are the last one who can wield the Sword of Light.”

  Enala’s eyes widened. “What?”

  “You must come with us, Enala. The Three Nations need you.”

  Her eyes hardened to crystal. “There is nothing for me there now. Everything and everyone I ever loved is gone. I am safe here with Nerissa. So, Caelin, why should I care?”

  Caelin gaped. He had come too far to care for the ravings of a selfish teenager. Whatever Enala had been through, he would not allow her to abandon her nation.

  “Why should you care?” he shouted. “Because people will die. Because without you there is nothing to stop Archon unleashing his terror on our world. Because if you don’t, a thousand other children will lose their parents, just as you have.”

  Enala stared down at him, face expressionless.

  ******************

  Balistor looked up at the arrogant young girl. She sat there on her dragon; beautiful, brave, naïve. Did she really believe she would be safe from Archon here? Archon had the power to turn a dragon to dust if he chose. There would be no escaping him once he came, and so long as Enala lived, she was a threat to his plans.

  Balistor smiled. So she had to die. He felt a surge of pleasure looking at the girl. They had finally found her. Her death would redeem him in the eyes of his master. The only obstacle left to surmount now was the dragon. Fortunately, he had a piece of dark magic that might just have the power he needed.

  He looked down at Alastair, lying so weak at his feet. The deception had been easier than he’d expected. How desperate the old man had been for help. No one had even questioned his story.

  His anger flared. Why had Archon sent the demon? Things had been under control. He could not believe his master could sentence him to death so easily. There was no treachery in caution. Besides, it was not his fault things at the inn had gone so wrong. Two people had been responsible for that. The first was whichever foolish hunter had shot him in the back. A small wound, but it had prevented him from burning the lot of them alive in the haystack. By the time he had recovered, they were a long way from his hired help. There had been no choice but to go along with the fools.

  The second was Inken, and he would ensure she endured a long death as punishment for her betrayal. He smiled, pausing to appreciate her heartbroken sobs. It was a satisfying sound.

  “She’s the one,” Alastair coughed, a smile on his lips. He closed his eyes and drifted into unconsciousness.

  Balistor’s thoughts returned to his present problem. Two threats remained to his plans. The dragon he was sure he could best. Then there was Alastair. The old man’s strength was phenomenal and he did not think it would take long for him to recover. It seemed whatever he faced, Alastair found a way to triumph.

  Not this time, he decided with a smirk. The girl’s sweet throat will have to wait.

  Balistor drew his sword.

  ******************

  Inken’s eyes burned. Her throat was hoarse from crying, her shirt soaked with tears. She sat on the soft sand cradling Eric’s head in her lap. His eyes stared up at her, flickering with whatever waking dream had taken him. A shiver ran through his body. She placed a hand on his forehead and found his skin cold with sweat. When he coughed, red foam dripped down his chin.

  She wiped the blood away with her sleeve. “Please, Eric, stay with us.”

  Michael laid a hand on her shoulder. He had done his best to stem the blood, but they all knew the wound was mortal. “I can give him something to ease his passing, Inken.”

  “No!” she screamed at him. “No no no!” she sobbed.

  Michael shrank back from her wrath and she instantly regretted the outburst. All she wanted was for someone to hold her, to tell her everything would be all right.

  Eric coughed again, eyes scrunched closed in pain. When they opened again, he caught her gaze. “Don’t worry, Inken,” he gasped. “It’s… going to be okay.”

  Inken leaned close and kissed him. “Don’t you leave me,” she whispered.

  Eric’s eyes slid down the beach. His skin was a pallid grey, his lips blue. He smiled. “We found her, Inken. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  Inken couldn’t bring herself to smile back. The demon’s blade had pierced Eric’s lung, leaving him to drown in his own blood. The wound was beyond any doctor’s skill to heal.

  Eric’s grin faded away. He struggled to raise an arm. A spasm shook his fragile body, a groan rattling up from his chest in a gurgling cough. Red flecks stained her shirt. Amidst the seizure, she made out one word. “Alastair!”

  Inken shook her head in confusion. She turned to look at the rest of their fellowship.

  Down the beach, above the raging surf, Balistor stood over Alastair. His sword was in his hand. She watched as he raised it above his head.

  “Caelin!” she shrieked.

  ******************

  Caelin heard his name over the roar of the surf. He looked up, saw Inken pointing at him. No, not at him. Behind him. He spun, fuelled by the terror on her face.

  Balistor loomed over Alastair, sword poised above the fallen Magicker. He had frozen at Inken’s cry, a look of hesitation on his face. Their eyes met. Balistor grinned. The sword lanced down.

  Time seemed to stand still, freezing the scene in Caelin’s mind. He heard the crash of a wave on the beach, the great rushing breath of the dragon, Enala’s gasp, Inken’s painful sob. He saw the hate in Balistor’s eyes – the hate he should have seen long ago.
<
br />   A spark of sun pierced the clouds above, catching on Balistor’s sword. For a second it seemed the traitor held the Sword of Light itself. Then the blade plunged home, burying itself in Alastair’s chest, and the light died.

  Alastair lurched against the blade, one last gasp escaping him, and then slumped to the sand. Caelin thought he heard the whisper of a word, but the wind whipped away all meaning.

  Balistor wrenched back his blade and began to cackle. Blood dripped from his sword tip and a pool was already gathering around Alastair. His laughter carried across the beach, fuel to Caelin’s fury.

  “Traitor!” he drew the sword he had gathered from the beach.

  Balistor walked towards him. “Traitor? No, I don’t think so. Spy would be more apt. I never served your king, only Archon. Thankfully, you’re a gullible fool, Caelin.”

  Caelin gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to attack. Nothing made sense here.

  “Who are you?” he hissed.

  Balistor smirked. “Perhaps Inken might recognise me,” he waved a hand. His purple robes darkened to black.

  “You!” Caelin heard Inken hiss from behind him. He did not take his eyes from Balistor.

  “Still cannot guess, Caelin? I am the one who hired Inken and her hunter friends, the one who has been hunting you. And this time, you won’t escape.”

  The pieces began to click together. “All this time?” he choked.

  Balistor continued his march up the beach, growing ever closer. “Yes, although I had intended to be done with you all at the inn. An unfortunate series of events messed up my plan, Inken’s interference most of all,” his eyes swept across to where Inken crouched. “And believe me, Inken; you will scream for mercy before you die.”

  Inken growled. “Not if I kill you first.”