Oathbreaker (Legend of the Gods Book 1) Read online

  Devon stared back at her, eyes aflame. “And what is right?” he shouted. “The Tsar says your brother is dangerous. We all saw the deaths at the stepwell. We know what wild magic is capable of. Perhaps I should take him back with me. Maybe that is the right thing to do.”

  Alana reached for her sabre, clenching her hand around its hilt. It slid silently into the air. She pointed it at Devon’s chest and bared her teeth. “Just you try it,” she said.

  Devon stared down at her, eyes hard. There was no fear there now, and when he spoke his voice was calm. “Put that toy away, princess, before I take it from you. You may be fierce, but I will crush you in one hand if you ever point that at me again.”

  “You will not touch my brother,” Alana growled, standing her ground.

  After a moment, Devon shook his head. “I should take you both back, and beg for a pardon,” he rumbled, eyes sad. “But I won’t.”

  Turning away, he walked off into the trees. A tremor swept through Alana, slowly growing until her entire body was shaking. She tried to sheathe her sabre, but her hand was shaking so badly she could not find the sheath, and she dropped it with a curse. Steel rang out as it struck the ground. Silently, she sank to her knees.

  Leather scuffed on stone as Kellian crouched beside her and picked up the blade. She looked at him, expecting anger and hatred to match Devon’s, but there was only sadness. He took her sword belt and carefully sheathed the blade.

  “I’m sorry about Devon,” Kellian said finally. Offering his hand, he pulled Alana to her feet and led her across to a fallen tree. “He is…quick to anger.”

  Alana shook her head. “He’s right, I shouldn’t have drawn you all into this. I’m sorry, truly.”

  “I know, Alana, but it is not your fault. You were only doing what any sister would do, protecting your brother.”

  Hanging her head, Alana fought back tears. “I thought we were safe, once we left Ardath.”

  “Ay,” Kellian’s voice drifted off for a moment, then: “I wonder, how did they find us?”

  “The Arbor.” They looked up as the old priest strode across to join them. Lifting a hand, she tossed a strip of beef jerky to each of them. At the sight of food, Braidon finally sat up, blinking back sleep, and then wandered across to join them. “Raided the saddlebags,” Tillie said as she offered him a piece, “and to answer your question, innkeeper, the Arbor’s dark magic must have lured them into the forest.”

  “But where did the other half of Quinn’s men go?” Braidon asked.

  A frown appeared on Tillie’s face. “There were more?”

  Alana and her brother shared a glance. “We counted twelve when they rode past where the road split in two.”

  “Then the rest must be ahead of us,” Kellian ventured. His eyes darted to the road, then back to the others. “Quinn is a canny strategist. If he split his forces, it was to ensure no one escaped. They’re likely waiting on the other side of Sitton forest for us. Or heading this way right now.”

  “There’s only four,” Braidon said, clenching his fists. “We can take them.”

  Tillie chuckled. “I admire your spirit, young man,” she said softly. “But after your display in my temple, I doubt you have the strength for another round with the Tsar’s Stalkers.”

  Braidon looked at the old woman in question, and she laughed again. “Your magic is not infinite, young Braidon. It came to your aid in the temple, but not without cost. That is why, even now, you are so exhausted.”

  “I’m fine,” Braidon said. He made to stand but stumbled sideways into a tree and fell on his backside.

  Alana’s laughter rang out through the trees. Braidon scowled at her, but she only shook her head and looked at the priest. “We could still fight our way through,” she offered.

  “I would prefer to avoid bloodshed,” Tillie replied, her voice soft.

  Looking into her eyes, Alana caught a glimpse of sorrow in their sapphire depths and quickly turned away. “What other option do we have?”

  “We leave the road,” the old woman replied simply.

  “No!” Alana’s head shot up at the suggestion, her heart suddenly racing. “The trees!”

  The wrinkles spread across Tillie’s face as she smiled. “I know this forest well, my dear. We will not encounter the Arbor where I will lead you.”

  Alana stared back at her, unconvinced. Her heart still hammered painfully against her ribcage.

  “It won’t be a long journey,” Tillie went on as though she hadn’t noticed Alana’s discomfort. “We only need to reach the river. With horses, the crossing won’t be hard, even overloaded as they are. Lonia waits on the other side. Its lands were never touched by the demon’s magic. We will be safe there from the Arbor.”

  “And in open farmland,” Kellian countered. “How long before Quinn and his men catch us there?”

  “That depends on where the Alana and her brother intend to flee.”

  Alana swallowed as three sets of eyes turned to stare at her. She shared a glance with Braidon, caught by a sudden indecision. Dare she tell these strangers the truth? Devon had already threatened to take them back—what if they told the Stalkers their plans? But without them, she knew now their chances of reaching Northland were next to none. Making up her mind, she let out a long breath.

  “Northland,” she said quietly.

  “We heard there were other Magickers there,” Braidon added, “ones who fled the Three Nations when the Tsar first outlawed their existence.”

  “Northland is a long way from here,” Kellian mused, “and farmland most of the way.”

  “Leagues and leagues,” Devon said, striding back through the trees.

  Alana’s head snapped up at his voice, the blood throbbing painfully in her skull. Their eyes met for a moment, but it was Devon who looked away this time.

  “It’s our only chance,” Alana snapped defensively, her own anger stirring at Devon’s reappearance. “What else do you suggest we do?”

  “Give yourself up,” Devon replied matter-of-factly. “Don’t expect leniency for yourself now, but at least they might spare your brother.”

  “Spare him?” she snorted. “You don’t seriously believe that?”

  Devon shrugged by way of answer. Beside Alana, Kellian shook his head. “He might be right. Now that they’re on your trail, they won’t stop. They’ll catch you long before you can reach Fort Fall. Sooner, if the Tsar sends his demons.”

  A ball of ice lodged in Alana’s throat at the mention of the dark creatures. Unbidden, an image flickered into her mind, of jet-black eyes staring at her from a pale face. She quickly pushed it away. “We’ll take our chances, thanks,” she said bluntly.

  Kellian raised his hands. “We’re just discussing options.” Moving across to a patch of grass, he sat down. Crossing his legs, he gestured for them to sit. A dagger appeared in his hand, flickering between his fingertips as he waited for them to join him. When no one moved, he sighed and explained. “We took half their horses. I don’t think Quinn will have ridden after us at night with such few numbers. He wouldn’t want to risk being ambushed before he could summon his magic. And the others have the entire forest to circle. So, we have some time to make a plan.”

  “I’d rather sleep,” Braidon muttered, lying down on the grass beside the innkeeper.

  Alana bit her lip, glancing from Kellian to her brother. Even as she stood there, she could feel her eyelids drooping, the soft pull of sleep calling to her. Cursing, she pinched the skin of her palms, forcing herself awake, then moved to sit with Kellian. Devon and Tillie joined them.

  “Why are you still with us, priest?” Kellian asked as the woman sat.

  The woman laughed. “Where else would I be?”

  Flicking a glance in her direction, Alana frowned. She was about to question her further when Devon interrupted.

  “The road to Northland crosses two rivers, passes through the Lonian foothills, and dense beech forest south of Fort Fall. Even on horseback, the journ
ey would take weeks. My guess is you have a matter of days before the Stalkers catch you.”

  Alarm prickled Alana’s stomach at the warrior’s words. “That’s your opinion,” she retorted, though the words sounded unconvincing, even to her.

  Devon scowled, but before he could reply, Kellian interrupted. “We’re not your enemy, Alana,” he said softly. His eyes turned on Devon as he continued. “Like it or not, we’re all in this together now. Devon speaks the truth. Quinn is an accomplished tracker—he has spent the last five years hunting Magickers. It’s unlikely we can evade him for long. He also possesses powerful magic. As terrifying as your brother’s ability is, he won’t stand a chance against a fully trained Magicker.”

  “We could take a ship,” Devon said suddenly.

  Alana’s head whipped around at the warrior’s words. The hammerman stared back at her. Anger still lurked in the amber depths of his eyes, but it had lost its edge.

  “There are captains in Lon who make the occasional trip north with…sensitive cargo,” he continued. “I know a few people who could point us in the right direction.”

  “But we have no money,” Alana said, her heart sinking.

  Kellian shrugged. “I have a few investments in Lon I’ve been meaning to settle. It might take a few days, but I believe I could arrange the coin to buy us passage.”

  “But…” Alana trailed off, struggling to keep the tears from her eyes at the man’s kindness.

  The innkeeper offered a gentle smile. “It’s nothing, Alana,” he said, glancing at Devon. “As my friend here has been quick to point out, the quiet life was growing dull.”

  Alana was about to say something more, but Tillie stood suddenly, her eyes flickering to the road north. “Looks like you were wrong, innkeeper,” she said, her voice low. Waving them up, she moved to her horse and grabbed the reins. “Quinn’s other party must have ridden through the night!”

  Even as Alana stood, she heard the distant rumble of hooves through the trees. Cursing their delay, she grabbed her brother and dragged him upright. Shoving him towards their horse, she looked at the road. There was still no sign of the riders. Amidst the trees, sound carried strangely, and there was no telling how far off they might be. Helping Braidon into the saddle, she stepped up after him and turned the horse to the west.

  “Ready?” she hissed, glancing around at the others.

  They nodded, eyes fixed on the dense trees. Alana glanced at the old priest as the woman edged her horse into the lead. She bit her lip and surreptitiously checked the surrounding tree trunks for the Arbor, but the bark was bare. Within minutes, the road had disappeared from view.

  Ahead, Tillie lifted a hand, bringing them to a halt. Alana cursed under her breath, her heart racing. The pounding of hooves had grown to a roar. Closing her eyes, she imagined the men riding hard along the Gods Road, eyes peeled, seeking out sign of their quarry. They had ridden all night in pursuit of them—surely they could not miss the tracks leading off into the woods?

  It was a long moment before Alana realised the pounding of hooves had begun to fall away again. Blinking, she looked around, seeing the relief on the faces of her companions. She looked at Tillie, eager for them to continue their flight, but the old woman shook her head, arm still raised. They waited in silence for several more minutes, listening as the last thump of horses’ hooves died away.

  Only when silence returned to the forest did Tillie lower her hand and smile.

  “They won’t take long to realise their mistake,” she said in a low voice. “Let’s ride.”

  Chapter 18

  There was no road where they forded the river, but it was hardly needed where they came ashore in Lonia. Sitting atop his horse, Devon glanced back from the muddy shore of the river. The trees of Sitton forest rose above the far banks, casting their shadows across the broad waters. He had travelled through the forest many times since his retirement, but never before had he noticed the malevolence that hung over the trees. The second they had climbed the banks into Lonia, he had felt a weight lift from him, as though a cloud had passed from the sky.

  Remembering the terror of the Arbor, Devon silently vowed to never step foot in the forest again. Shivering, he urged his horse forward. Kellian had taken the lead now, starting his horse up through the thin trees on the Lonian riverbank and out into the green farmland.

  They rode on through the day at an easy pace, taking turns to walk and rest their horses. Devon stayed at the rear, checking their backtrail every so often for signs of pursuit. The horizon behind them remained empty, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before Quinn and his men found the trail where they had left the road. At best, Lon was a two-day ride away. Despite their exhaustion, they would have to press on through the day to stand any chance of reaching the Lonian capital before their pursuers.

  His eyes drooped as he rode, and he found his mind drifting, the warm haze of sleep settling around him. He clung harder to the saddle horn, struggling to stay awake. Ahead, he could see Kellian talking with Alana. Braidon was asleep in front of her, his young head bobbing with each thump of the horse’s hooves. Tillie was taking her turn to walk alongside them.

  Devon felt a pang of regret for his angry words. Braidon’s sleeping face was one of innocence, a young boy alone in the world but for his sister. Idly he wondered what had happened to the pair’s parents, why they had not been the ones to bring them on this journey. He remembered Alana as he had first seen her that night outside Kellian’s inn. Her eyes had held a familiar strength, a determination to survive whatever the odds. They reminded Devon of himself, all those years ago when he’d marched off to defend his nation from the Trolans.

  He swallowed, forcing the memory from his mind. His eyelids drooped again, the warmth of sleep falling on him, dragging him down.

  “You are not what I expected, hammerman.” Devon’s head snapped up as the old woman’s voice spoke from beside him.

  Blinking, he looked around and found the priest walking beside him, her blue eyes watching him closely. He shook his head, throwing off his fatigue. “What you expected?”

  “Ay,” she smiled. “My mother knew your ancestor, Alan. She fought alongside him at Fort Fall, when the end came for him. She spoke highly of him.”

  Devon grunted and looked away. “People always do.”

  Tillie laughed. “You mistake me, Devon,” she replied. “I only meant you were right earlier—you are your own man. Alan was a great warrior, no doubt, but, at the end of the day, he was only human, like all the other men and women who stood at Fort Fall.” Her voice trailed off, before she added, “Just as you were only human when you marched with the Tsar against Trola.”

  Silence fell as Devon stared at the horizon. They were moving across open fields now, the distant movement of cattle wandering the paddocks the only signs of movement. Finally, he shook his head.

  “It was different. They faced an army they could not defeat, and faced it with courage,” he said quietly, clenching his fists. “The Trolans were our equals—until the Tsar trapped their army between his magic and our blades. After that, their nation lay helpless. There was no need for the slaughter that followed.”

  “Perhaps,” Tillie mused. “Or perhaps it prevented more years of conflict. Did you know, before the Gods came, Lonia and Trola were at war for decades? Their battles cost tens of thousands of lives—and turned the land we now know as Plorsea into a wasteland.”

  “A shame the Gods abandoned us, then,” Devon muttered.

  Tillie bowed her head, the words leaving her. It was a while before she spoke again. “Perhaps they trusted us to govern our own lives.”

  “Or perhaps they grew tired of settling our petty disputes,” Devon snorted, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter now, though, does it? They’re gone. This is the way things are. The Three Nations are a joke—there is only Plorsea now, only the Empire. The Tsar rules us from east to west.”

  “But not the north,” Tillie whispered.

  �
��What is the north but jagged mountains and desolate plains?” he asked. His stomach twisted at the words. “Some exile,” he finished bitterly.

  “Why not fight instead?” the priest questioned.

  “Fight?” Devon’s head whipped around at that. “You can’t be serious? Quinn alone has twelve men. Even without them, I would be no match for his magic. And that’s just one squad of Stalkers. The Tsar has hundreds. Not to mention an army. Oh, and dragons.”

  Laughter shone in Tillie’s eyes. “Did you not just say Alan was a hero because he fought against impossible odds?”

  Devon chuckled. “Trying to trap me with my own words, priest?” He shook his head. “Ay, Alan fought the hordes of Archon, knowing he would lose. But he also knew the evil Archon would unleash on his world. Men stood beside him because it was right. Who would stand with me against the Tsar? As you said, there is no right or wrong here. He is evil to Alana and her brother because he seeks to stop their magic. He is a threat to me and Kellian because we inadvertently stood with a Magicker. But to the common people, he is protecting them from the menace of wild magic.”

  The priest watched him for a long time, her blue eyes seeming to see straight through him. Finally, he shivered and looked away, unable to meet her gaze any longer.

  “All that is true,” her voice carried over the clip-clop of hooves, “but that is not why you will not fight. Why did you set aside Alan’s hammer?”

  At its mention, Devon’s eyes were drawn to kanker. It hung from his saddle horn, bouncing with each stride of his horse. Fear tingled down his spine as he thought of lifting it, of wielding it. Back in the temple, when Alana had handed him the weapon, he’d felt a surge of strength sweep through him. For a moment he’d been tempted to charge Quinn—to end his threat there and then. Bloodlust had flooded through him, and only Alana’s cry to flee had turned him aside.

  He swallowed, remembering other such moments when he had not stopped, when he had allowed the beast inside him free reign. A lump lodged in his throat as he looked up at the priest.