The Sword of Light: The Complete Trilogy Page 11

  The skeleton halted a few steps away. “Yield, and your deaths shall be quick,” its rusty voice grated like nails on a chalkboard.

  Alastair answered with steel.

  Their blades rang as they met, sparks flying in the dry air. Alastair jumped back as the scimitar reversed its cut. The tip tore through his shirt, narrowly missing skin. He swore and slashed out. The rusty blade spun to block. The shock of the collision rattled Alastair’s sword arm.

  The creature pressed forward, but Alastair dove to the side. Its blade whistled over his head. Rocks ground through his cloak as he rolled to his feet. His foe turned to follow him and Thomas darted past.

  Alastair allowed himself a smile and almost lost an arm for it. Time disappeared, as he found himself locked in desperate battle with the monster, all thought driven from his mind. His sword became a blur, each movement made through sheer instinct. Even so, it was not enough. The scimitar came closer and closer, tearing shallow slices down his arm and chest.

  Another attack slipped past his guard. The rusted blade flashed out. The blunt tip lanced into his side, tearing through chainmail and driving into flesh. The shock forced him back a step. Pain struck, forcing a scream from his lips that he quickly cut short.

  The blade began to twist in his side, and this time he could not bite back his cry. The blade burned and the strength fled from his muscles. His sword fell from limp hands. He collapsed to the ground. The skeleton jerked back its bloodied sword and raised it over his head.

  The rattle of gravel was all that gave Thomas away. With a hiss the skeleton spun, parrying Thomas’ desperate attack. Its blade flashed out at Thomas once, twice, three times. On the third blow, Thomas’ blade shattered. The creature was angry now. Its scimitar rose, aimed now at Thomas’ head.

  “No!” Alastair flung what little strength he had left at the skeleton. A last, desperate attack.

  The magic swelled and rushed at his foe. It struck the skeleton, sweeping it backwards into the canyon wall. The blade slipped from its hand, tearing a gash down Thomas’ cheek as it spun through the air.

  Thomas ignored the wound. He rushed to Alastair’s side and hauled him to his feet. With his spare hand he swept up Alastair’s fallen sword. Alastair hung one arm over Thomas’ shoulder and the two of them stumbled for the exit. The distance seemed to grow with each step; the skeleton would be on them at any moment.

  Alastair felt Thomas’ strength fading beneath his weight. “Leave me, you fool!”

  Thomas took no notice, staggering on towards the great archway.

  From behind them came the grinding of bone on rock. Their deathly foe stepped back into the light. Air hissed between its teeth. Alastair closed his eyes and hobbled faster.

  “For that, your deaths will take an eon,” the ground shook with the creature’s rage.

  Above, the rocks began to creak. Dust seeped into the air. Alastair glanced up and saw cracks racing along the weakened cliff face. The rattle of stones as they shook loose came from overhead.

  For every step they took, the skeleton took two. The click of its bony joints echoed amid the sound of creaking rocks. Then, with a mighty roar, half the cliff face broke away. The cursed skeleton had only a second to turn and roar its defiance – before a tonne of rock smashed down on it. It disappeared beneath the rubble.

  Thomas and Alastair stumbled for the exit, the landslide rumbling its way towards them. They passed beneath the arch and the mist rose up to meet them. At its soft touch, the sound behind vanished.

  Safe, the word echoed through Alastair’s mind.

  Blazing light lit the world, banishing all sight. When it faded, the citadel of Kalgan had materialised before them.

  Alastair looked around, taking in the great grass lawns within the walls of the keep. The night sky was clear overhead, revealing a full moon that lit the world beneath. The seamless granite walls of the inner citadel stood before them, the only entrance a pair of massive steel doors.

  Somewhere in the darkness, an owl began to hoot. The chirping of crickets soon joined in. A cool sea breeze touched Alastair’s face, bringing with it the tang of the ocean. The scent of freshly baked bread hung in the air, its source somewhere in the city outside the walls. They had returned to the real world; it was almost enough to wash away the debilitating pain of his wound.

  Almost.

  The citadel was dark, its doors barred shut. The building stood empty, the people long gone north to the battle for The Gap.

  It did not matter. What mattered was the crystal case that stood centre stage of the lawn. Within, throbbing with a dull white glow, was The Sword of Light. It stood tip down, its three-foot blade silver in the moonlight. He knew that with the coming of dawn, the blade would turn the softest gold. Leather wrapped around a two-handed grip below the hilt, although the blade was lighter than any short sword. A smooth diamond decorated the pommel of the blade, shining like a tiny sun.

  A shriek pierced the night’s silence. “You made it!”

  Antonia came sprinting across the lawn towards them. For a second it looked like she would make a running leap at the two men. He braced himself for the impact, angling himself to protect his wound.

  At the last moment Antonia skidded to a stop. She eyed Alastair, concern replacing joy. “Are you okay?”

  Alastair grunted, fighting to stay conscious. His legs buckled, but Thomas kept him upright.

  The king answered for him. “He’s been stabbed.”

  Antonia nodded and moved to stand with them. She laid a hand on Alastair’s wound. Warmth flooded his side. He watched the concentration etched on the young girl’s face and kept his eyes averted from his wound. The sight of his own flesh knitting itself back together tended to make him retch.

  When Antonia finally removed her hand, Alastair allowed himself to look down. The jagged hole in his side was gone, and the pain had vanished. He sighed and took his weight off Thomas.

  “Thank you, Antonia,” he looked across at The Sword of Light. “What now?”

  “Now...” the Goddess hesitated.

  “Now Thomas must take up The Sword. If Darius meant anyone to use it, it would be the kings of Trola. I know your father tried, Thomas. But age had stripped him of his strength and I believe you are strong enough to succeed where he failed. If you can wield its power, together we will have the strength to stop Archon,” a man’s voice spoke.

  Alastair glanced up as Jurrien strode into view. The Storm God had seen better days, but looked more alive than the last time they had met. Exhaustion still lined his face, but determination shone from his ice blue eyes. There was a spring to his step now and some black had returned to his greying hair. His clothes were blood stained, although he did not seem to notice. The musty scent of fresh rain clung to the air around him.

  He drew up beside Antonia. “You must do it now, Thomas. The two of you have been gone for over an hour. Chole won’t last much longer.”

  Thomas nodded, eyes locked on the Sword of Light. There was a determined set to his jaw. He knew the risks. If Jurrien was wrong, the Sword would burn the king to dust.

  Alastair turned back to the Gods, his chest tight with fear for his friend. “Is there anything you can do to protect him?”

  Antonia shook her head. There were tears in her eyes.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Thomas walked towards the case. “If we cannot use the Sword, we all die.”

  Thomas carried Alastair’s sword in a tight grip as he walked. A powerful spell had been cast on the crystal to protect the Sword of Light, but Alastair’s blade was infused with spells of its own. Thomas lifted the weapon above his head and brought it down on the case. Light flashed, and then came the tinkling of a thousand tiny crystals falling to the ground.

  Thomas let Alastair’s sword fall as well. Slowly he reached out a hand. His fingers wrapped around the leather hilt of the Sword of Light. He lifted it from the case, hands shaking with reverence. He stood for a moment, eyes closed and brow furrowed as if h
e fought some great battle within his mind.

  When his eyes finally opened, he wore a smile on his face.

  The tension fled from Alastair’s muscles. He grinned back at the young king.

  Antonia broke the silence. “Okay, we must be quick,” her voice was all business. “Thomas, all we need is for you to link the power of the Sword to ours. We will do the rest.”

  “How?”

  “Spread out,” Antonia and Jurrien stepped back, so that the three of them made a triangle. Alastair backed away.

  “You should be able to call on the Sword’s magic the same way you do your own, Thomas. When you feel the Sword’s magic respond, focus it into the centre of the triangle. Like this.”

  Her face closed over, her lips drawn into a grimace. Alastair shivered, feeling the power emanating from her tiny body.

  Antonia raised an arm and green light flowed into the centre of the triangle. The pure embodiment of the Earth flowed like water, rolling across the grass. As he stared into its depths, Alastair glimpsed images of great forests and rolling hills.

  Jurrien did not bother raising an arm. Blue light seeped from his body, joining with the Earth magic. It swirled between them, mixing, but never becoming one. The image of a stormy sky over a raging sea appeared in Alastair’s mind.

  He watched Thomas close his eyes, his breath slowing. For a long while there was nothing, though his face shone with sweat. Bathed in the glow of the God magic, Alastair held his breath and waited.

  The glow from the Sword of Light flickered and grew brighter. Thomas opened his eyes. Arm shaking, he pointed the blade towards the centre of the triangle. The air crackled with energy and a beam of pure white light poured from the Sword. It joined the whirling tide of magic.

  The conflagration flickered, colours changing now – white, then green, then blue. The magic began to bubble and steam, leaping and pushing against invisible barriers, seeking escape. It grew higher, towering above them, a column of pure, unimaginable energy.

  “Now!” yelled Antonia.

  The column burst. Light shot upwards. A thousand feet above there came another explosion, and a million colours flooded the sky. The magic spilled outwards in all directions, burying the stars.

  In that instant, Alastair thought he glimpsed a shadow sliding towards the trio. He took a step towards them, but it vanished before the flickering glow of the magic above. Shaking his head, he dismissed it as a trick of the light.

  He looked up at the sky, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders. This was the end of Archon. With the Gods’ power over the three elements restored, they were invincible. It was time to stop jumping at shadows.

  The dream ended and Eric woke.

  Antonia sat at his side. The fire had died, leaving the night in almost perfect darkness. “Did you see?”

  Eric nodded. “I did. You saved us all. But how does that explain Alastair’s purpose today?”

  “Ask him. For now, you have seen what you needed to. Don’t worry, the answers will come soon. Now sleep.”

  She stood. Eric made to follow, but his legs refused to obey. A great weariness settled over him and he fell from the log. His eyelids felt like lead.

  “Good night, Eric,” Antonia whispered.

  Eric was already asleep as she vanished. This time, there were no dreams.

  Eleven

  Eric woke to a long wet tongue dragging across his face. Choking in disgust, he rolled away from the unknown assailant. Opening his eyes, he saw the long snouts and friendly eyes of the two horses staring down at him. They shook their heads and snorted, the sound almost like laughter.

  Eric found himself laughing as well, glad to see they had returned in the night.

  “Good morning, Eric,” Alastair called. “How was your night?”

  Eric’s smile widened when he spotted Alastair standing over a fresh fire, a rack of sausages hanging over the flames. Eric’s mouth began to water as he smelt the cooking meat. His stomach rumbled with hunger. The sun hung low on the horizon behind him, colouring the sky bright orange. The morning was still young, but he could already feel the heat of the desert searing his skin.

  Walking across to the old man, Eric drew him into an embrace. His eyes stung, but he did not cry; there had been enough tears the night before. Pulling away, he grinned at Alastair.

  Alastair smiled back. “Glad to see you too, Eric. I take it we had an unexpected visitor last night?”

  Eric nodded. “Unexpected doesn’t begin to describe it. You didn’t tell me you were on a first name basis with the Goddess of Plorsea!”

  Alastair laughed. “We have a complicated past.”

  Eric stilled. “I know,” he hesitated. “She showed me Archon’s war. Who knew you were so old!”

  Alastair scowled. “Old and a great deal wiser than you, boy. How much did she show you?”

  “Until Thomas and the Gods cast the spell to banish Archon.”

  “I see. Did you see what happened after Archon had been banished?”

  Eric shook his head.

  “Typical Antonia, always forgetting the finer details. It was the clash between Archon and the God magic that created those,” his hand swept out to encompass the trio of volcanoes marring the horizon. “The collision of magic tore the crust of the earth, releasing the pent up forces beneath. The three cursed peaks were what resulted.”

  Eric shivered, remembering the power the Gods had unleashed. “I see.”

  “Do you see the greater lesson there, though?” Alastair probed. A gust of wind toyed with his thin grey hair.

  Confused, Eric shook his head.

  “Even pure magic, cast with the best of intentions, can have disastrous results. Nature is an infinitely complex force, and magic is only a small part of that complexity. The smallest act can set in motion a chain of events not even the wisest of Magickers could predict.”

  “Was that how this desert formed?”

  “That is a part of it. The peaks created a rain shadow over Chole, cutting it off from the moisture laden air blown from the ocean. But the severity of the desert was Archon’s last curse. The God magic was enough to banish him and shatter his armies, but without complete control of the Light, it was not enough to remove all trace of his presence. Here was where his army made camp and where he cast his magic. Their evil still lingers here, cursing the land and everything in it. Maybe if Darius were to return it would be different. But without his true mastery of the Light, here it remains.”

  Eric shivered, glad the light of day had returned to the desert. His thoughts turned to the young king who had risked everything to wield the Sword of Light. “What happened to Thomas?”

  “He lived a good life and then he died,” Alastair said softly.

  “But what about his life?”

  The tales spoke little about the king after the war had been won.

  Alastair sighed. “He was a good king and a good friend. He travelled the Three Nations for many years, visiting the new kings and helping the lands to rebuild after the war. He led several hunting parties after the last of Archon’s creatures. And he visited the wildlands of each nation, even Dragon Country for a time.”

  Eric sat up at that. “Why?”

  “With his Earth magic, Thomas could befriend most creatures.”

  “Was it the dragons who killed him?”

  “No, though it was there that he died. I was not with him at the time, but I had left him well protected. Yet when his party reached Malevolent Cove, where they were to meet one of the great dragon tribes, something went wrong. When they did not return as expected, I set out at once. I found them there on the shoreline. Some had died by the blade, others had fallen without a mark on them. Thomas was not among them. I searched for weeks for a trace of my friend, but to no avail.”

  Eric swallowed. “And the Sword of Light?”

  “It passed to his children, and grandchildren after that, and so on until today.”

  There was a sense of finality in Alastair’
s words. Eric fell silent, his mind conjuring images of events long since passed. At last he rose to his feet and wandered over to the horses. Reaching out to stroke Briar’s long snout, he pondered again over the question he had asked the night before. Antonia’s story had not given an answer.

  Across the camp, Alastair began to pack the last of their food into the saddlebags.

  Eric took a deep breath and asked the question before his courage deserted him. “What is your purpose, Alastair?”

  Alastair grew still. His head turned slowly to lock Eric in his steely gaze. “Antonia did not tell you?”

  Eric shook his head. “No.”

  For the briefest of seconds, confusion swept across Alastair’s face, and Eric wondered if he would answer.

  “I am looking for a family.”

  “Who? Why?”

  “You don’t need to know just yet. Now let’s get moving. We still have one more night in this hellish desert, let’s not make it two,” he finished strapping the last of the saddlebags to Elcano and swung himself into the saddle.

  Eric sighed. Scrambling onto Briar’s back, he glared at Alastair. “Any idea when I will need to know?”

  The old man laughed. “When you’re ready. Now, let’s ride!”

  He gave his horse a quick kick. Elcano leapt forward in response, steel shoes slashing into the scorched earth. Splinters of rock flicked up behind him as he galloped away.

  Briar pranced about in the dust cloud Elcano left behind. Eric coughed, hacking up the mouthful of dust he’d swallowed. He struggled to point Briar out of the dust cloud and then turned the horse to follow. Ahead Alastair had already checked his speed, and as Eric bounced in the saddle the distance between them quickly evaporated.

  Eric groaned as his bruises began to throb. Resigning himself to another nightmarish ride, he locked his eyes on the volcanic peaks and prayed for them to grow.

  ******************

  Gabriel jogged across the barren plain, buoyed by a newfound energy. He carried his sword in one hand, his waterskin in the other. It was easier than having them slapping at his side and catching between his legs. The skin was already half empty, but the wolf had promised it could find more water.