Dawn of War (Legend of the Gods Book 3) Read online

  Dawn of War

  Legend of the Gods Book III

  Aaron Hodges

  Contents

  Foreword

  About the Author

  The Three Nations

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Epilogue

  Note from the Author

  I. The Sword of Light

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Also by Aaron Hodges

  Edited by Genevieve Lerner

  Proofread by Sara Houston

  Illustration by Zhivko Zhelev

  Map by Michael Hodges

  Legend of the Gods

  Book 1: Oathbreaker

  Book 2: Shield of Winter

  Book 3: Dawn of War

  The Sword of Light Trilogy

  Book 1: Stormwielder

  Book 2: Firestorm

  Book 3: Soul Blade

  The Praegressus Project

  Book 1: Rebirth

  Book 2: Renegades

  Book 3: Retaliation

  Book 4: Rebellion

  Book 5: Retribution

  Copyright © October 2018 Aaron Hodges.

  First Edition. All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-0995111424

  Aaron Hodges was born in 1989 in the small town of Whakatane, New Zealand. He studied for five years at the University of Auckland, completing a Bachelor of Science in Biology and Geography, and a Masters of Environmental Engineering. After working as an environmental consultant for two years, he grew tired of the 9 to 5 and decided to quit his job to travel the world. During his travels he picked up the old draft of a novel he once wrote in High School—titled ‘The Sword of Light’—and began to rewrite the story. Six months later he published his first novel—Stormwielder.

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  THE THREE NATIONS

  Prologue

  Merydith sighed as she entered her bedchamber and swung the door shut behind her. A thud followed as the latch caught in the frame, preventing the door from closing. Cursing, she swung back and lifted it more carefully, allowing it to click into place. The faint whisper of laughter from her guards carried through the thick wood. She resolved to have Damyn put them on double shifts for the next few days, but as she turned her back on the door, her exhaustion returned, and the thought drifted away.

  The leather sofa beckoned. Staggering across the room, she toppled onto the cushions. She groaned and closed her eyes, giving in to the call of sleep—until the thought of all she had left to do intruded on her peace. Cursing again, she sat back up.

  Her quarters had been cleaned while she’d been busy trudging up and down the long corridors of Erachill. Sparsely furnished, the polished walls were mostly of granite, though in places veins of silver streaked the surface. Her room was deep within the mountain city, and there were no windows, but an adjoining chamber led to her washroom. Other than the sofa, her only furniture was a small dining table she used to break her fast, and the double bed in the corner.

  The room would no doubt send a southern queen into a fit, but it was all Merydith needed. Indeed, it was far more than her ancestors had enjoyed in the dark days of the past.

  Her gaze lingered on the freshly-made bed, but the stench of her unwashed body hung around her like a cloud, and rising, she crossed to the washroom. A smile tugged at her lips as she saw the tub had recently been filled with hot water. Stripping off her long cotton and fur del, she lowered herself into the bath.

  She sighed as warmth enveloped her, banishing memories of the cold winter draughts that whispered through the tunnels of Erachill. Winter had finally arrived in Northland, and it showed no sign of relenting. Its icy hands would hamper her efforts to muster a defence for their border, but the snows would also slow the enemy, should the Tsar decide to advance.

  But then, her enemy’s forces were legion, his magic unmatched, and nothing was certain. The man controlled more power than any mortal had a right to.

  She and Enala had spoken of the matter many times, about whether her people might find a way to mimic him, but not even Enala’s century of wisdom knew how the Tsar had gained such power. So Merydith and her people would face him alone, and pray to the Gods they could match him.

  Lying in the hot waters, Merydith’s thoughts turned to the old woman. Silently, she wondered where her mentor was now. Enala had been in Merydith’s life since before she could remember. After her mother’s death, the old priest had become like a third parent to Merydith. But now she needed the woman more than ever, Enala had left, abandoning Northland in the time of its greatest need.

  No, Merydith reminded herself, she has not abandoned us.

  Despite the heat, Merydith shivered, thinking of Enala and Braidon as she’d last seen them, on the back of the Gold Dragon. They had flown off alone, intent on bringing the fight to the Tsar, on ending his darkness before it could spread beyond the reach of the Three Nations.

  No, Enala had not abandoned them. The old woman had placed her trust in Merydith, in the girl she had raised to be Queen, to defend the Northland territories as Enala had since the dark days of Archon.

  Merydith was determined not to let her down, and yet…she still longed for the old woman’s comforting presence, to know she was there should everything fall apart. Instead, there was only Merydith, only the Queen. If she fell, Northland would fall with her.

  She had delivered her message to the Tsar’s emissaries the night after Braidon and Enala had left, refusing their request to return the boy. The decision still surprised even her—after all, Braidon was the Tsar’s own son, though he retained no memory of his past. Yet Enala had been right: Braidon was innocent, and son of the Tsar or not, she could not turn him over to that madman.

  The Tsar’s people had told her to expect an answer within the day, though they had not mentioned how they planned to communicate her message so quickly across the hundreds of leagues between Erachill and the southern capital of Ardath.

  Now, two full days later, she was still waiting for their response. The five southern emissaries had all but vanished, retreating to their quarters. Merydith allowed the faintest of hopes to enter her heart. Could Enala and Braidon’s plan have worked? Could they have found a way past the Tsar’s defences, and finally put an end to his tyrannical rule?

  Merydith quickly quashed the thought. Others could envisage such daydreams, but the fate of Nort
hland rested on her shoulders. She could not afford to indulge in such fantasies. No, until proof of the Tsar’s death was placed before her, she needed to prepare as though the man still lived, as though he were planning to march on Northland within the month.

  Because in all likelihood, that was the truth.

  Rising from the cooling waters, Merydith took a cotton towel from its hook and wrapped it around her body. She wound her long auburn hair in another towel, then wandered out into her bedchamber. A silver mirror hung on the wall above her bed, but she hardly spared it a glimpsed. She didn’t need the mirror to remind her of the grey streaks in her hair, nor the faint lines that had appeared around her eyes. At forty-five, she was fitter than most men in their thirties, but even her iron determination could not turn back the slow advance of time.

  She started as a knock came from her door. Scowling, Merydith glanced at the wooden panels, wondering who would disturb her at such a late hour. Sleep was beckoning once more, and loath to deny it. She was about to tell them to go away when the knock came again. Grating her teeth, she considered finding something to wear, then decided otherwise.

  “Whoever it is, tell them come back in the morning,” she called out.

  “It’s Damyn, your majesty,” one of her guards called back. “He says it’s urgent.”

  Merydith closed her eyes and begged the Gods for patience. Damyn was her most trusted advisor and oldest friend, and while he had a habit of overstepping his bounds, even he would not have come to her so late if the matter wasn’t truly pressing.

  “Send him in,” she called back, lifting the latch to unlock the door and then returning to the sofa.

  The door creaked as Damyn entered, followed by the click of the latch as he closed it behind him again. He looked as exhausted as she felt as he crossed the room. His black hair was still unwashed, his forty years of age showing in the silver streaks around his temple and the wrinkles across his brow. Shadows ringed his brown eyes, and he grimaced as he looked at her.

  “Damyn, what is it?” she asked, sitting up straighter.

  Damyn paused when he saw her state of undress, though they had seen each other naked many times while swimming in the mountain rivers as youth. He raised an eyebrow, and she scowled.

  “I was just finishing my bath,” Merydith replied to his questioning look. She gestured to the space on the sofa beside her. “Now sit down and tell me what’s happened.”

  He nodded and sat, though she noticed there was a distracted look to the way he averted his eyes. “It’s Joel, the Tsar’s emissary,” he said, dispensing with the niceties. “He…he wishes to see you.”

  Though she kept her expression unchanged, Merydith cursed inwardly. Joel was the Tsar’s head ambassador. If he was ready to talk, it meant they had received a reply from the Tsar. Which meant Enala and Braidon had failed…

  “He can wait until morning,” she replied, her voice hoarse.

  “He wants to see you now.”

  She cast a glare in his direction. “I am the Queen here,” she snapped. “Their demands can wait.”

  Damyn nodded, though the uncertainty remained in his eyes.

  Merydith sighed. “Was there something else, Damyn?”

  He cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. “It’s just…he followed me here, Your Majesty.”

  Merydith closed her eyes in exasperation. “Of course he did.” Sucking in a lungful of air, she looked at her companion and shook her head. “It’s okay, Damyn. I guess the Tsar’s ambassador is not used to being told no.” She smiled. “But you will give him my message anyway. With the point of your sword, if needs be.”

  Damyn grinned at that. His hand drifted to the hilt of the sabre he wore at his side. “It will be as you say, Your Majesty.”

  Rising, he crossed to the double doors and tugged them open. Before he could step outside, a shadow flickered in the doorway, and a slender man slipped inside. Wearing a sickly smile on his pale face, he sidestepped the startled Damyn. Merydith rose smoothly to her feet as Joel slid towards her, his movements almost snakelike.

  “Your Majesty, so nice of you to see me at this late hour,” he said smoothly.

  “Get out,” she snarled, pointing a finger at the door. “Before I have my guards drag you to the dungeons.”

  The man smiled in the face of her rage. Coming to a stop a few feet away, he spread his hands. “My apologies, Your Majesty,” he said as Damyn moved alongside him, eyes narrowed. “But my message could not wait. The Tsar was most displeased with your news regarding his son.”

  “What message could you possibly have that could not wait until morning?” she snapped.

  The smile faded from Joel’s face. “Death.”

  Before Merydith or Damyn could react, a dagger appeared in the man’s hand. Caught off guard, Merydith gasped as he lunged forward, the steel blade flashing for her throat. Beside the emissary, Damyn shouted, his hand snaking out to catch the southerner’s cloak. But the assassin was already too close.

  Reacting with the instincts of a thousand childhood drills, Merydith spun on her heel, twisting into a fighting stance—even as her hand whipped down to strike his wrist. She gasped as fire sliced across her thigh, but she had managed to deflect the dagger from a killing blow.

  Her other hand caught her assailant by the arm. Twisting into her attack, she slid her shoulder beneath his arm. He cried out as she thrust back with her hips, heaving him over her shoulder and driving him into the ground. His skull gave a satisfying crack as it struck the polished granite, but she still did not release his wrist.

  Wrenching his arm, she drove her knee into the back of his elbow, shattering the joint. The dagger clattered to the ground as he screamed. Driving her weight into his chest, she swept up the blade and pressed it to his throat.

  “Traitor!” she hissed. “Why?”

  The man groaned, his eyes whirling in his skull. They had glazed over, but as he looked up and saw her crouched over him, they cleared a little.

  “For the Tsar,” he breathed.

  Before Merydith could say anything else, the man started to shake. His eyes rolled up into his skull, and a long, hissing whisper escaped his throat. Red bubbles burst from his mouth in a sudden cough. Then the life seemed to drain from his body, and he breathed no more.

  Dropping the dagger, Merydith stood and staggered back. Her towel had been lost in the scuffle, but she was too horrified to care. She stared at Damyn, seeing the fear in his eyes, a mirror of the terror that had already taken lodge in her heart.

  “What does this mean?” he whispered.

  Merydith shook her head, her gaze traveling back to the dead emissary. “It means Enala failed. It means war is coming to Northland.”

  Chapter 1

  Keep going, Alana.

  Agony encircled Alana’s throat as she followed the voice through the forest, her strength fading with every step. Her shirt was wet with the blood dripping from the wounds around her neck, and the past few hours had turned to a blur. She wasn’t sure when the voice had first made itself known—only that in her desperation she had followed it, though she couldn’t say whether it was real or a product of her fractured consciousness.

  Hardly.

  Was it her, or did the voice seem amused by her plight?

  Gasping, she continued on, only dimly aware that the light was fading, beckoning in the night. Inside her head, her last moments in the throne room played out again and again, and she saw her father, the Tsar, standing over her, felt the bite of the sword as it wrapped around her neck.

  Only Quinn’s foolishness had saved her, his weakness showing as he gave in to her pleading. No doubt he would pay for it when her father discovered his part in her escape.

  As would the guards she had coerced into aiding her. She had found them while staggering through the endless corridors of the citadel, before the voice had appeared to guide her. The squadron had not heard of her betrayal, and had leapt to obey their princess. They had led the injured A
lana deep into the bowels of the citadel, to a private passageway down through the cliffs to the royal docks.

  There she had commandeered a skiff and left the guards behind. Unable to summon the strength to wipe their memories with her magic, she had ordered them to remain at their posts until she returned. She wondered how long it had taken her father to find them.

  Was he even now searching for her with his power?

  No, his powers are exhausted for the moment, the voice came again.

  In a moment of clarity, she recalled it had first come to her on the skiff, as she set sail across the lake. In her exhausted state, she had mistaken it as that other part of herself, the gentler, more innocent personality she had created as a mask the first time she’d escaped her father.

  Go west, the voice had said, and Alana had obeyed.

  On its urging, she had abandoned the skiff on a bend in the Brunei River, pushing it back out into the current after she’d disembarked. Now she was lost in an unknown forest, pursued whatever dark creature her father might send next, still following the voice of some unknown entity, which for all she knew might be leading her into even greater danger.