Oathbreaker (Legend of the Gods Book 1) Page 13

  “I don’t deserve to wield it,” he whispered.

  “Why not?”

  Devon shook his head, unable to put the truth into words. “I am afraid of what I might do.”

  “It is just a hammer, Devon,” she replied. “It has power, but there is no darkness in it.”

  “Ay,” Devon murmured, “but there is darkness in me.”

  The priest said nothing at that, only stared at him, eyes soft, waiting.

  Swallowing, Devon went on. “I used kanker to do terrible things in Trola,” he said. “I will not bring any more shame to my ancestor’s name.

  “Rubbish.” He looked up at the anger in the priest’s voice. Her eyes flashed as she continued. “You brought shame to Alan’s name when you refused to fight for Alana back in Sitton. You shamed him when you threatened to take two innocents back to those who want them dead.”

  Devon’s own anger flared in answer. “You wouldn’t understand—”

  “I understand fear when I see it,” Tillie hissed. Moving in close, she gripped his reins, bringing his horse to a stop. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You are afraid, hammerman. Afraid of yourself, of your own strength, your anger, your life.”

  Devon’s rage died at her words and he looked away, unable to form a response. Silence stretched between them as he stared ahead, watching Alana and Kellian as they rode on. There was still no path, but the fields made for easy riding, and he trusted his friend to navigate them safely through the countryside. Glancing at the sun, he saw it was dropping quickly towards the horizon. Winter was looming closer, and it wouldn’t be long before the snow found them. He hoped they had reached the safety of Lon by then.

  “You are stronger than you think, hammerman,” the priest said finally, her words wriggling their way into Devon’s soul. “When next danger threatens, take up the hammer. I fear Alana and her brother cannot survive without it.”

  At that, she walked away, leaving Devon sitting alone on his horse at the rear of their party. Kicking his horse back into motion, he stared off into the distance, his mind drifting, far away in another time, another place. Only as the setting sun stained the horizon red did he remember to check their backtrail. Glancing over his shoulder, his heart sank as he saw the distant shadow of riders on the open fields.

  Chapter 19

  We should ride on,” Alana insisted, looking around at the others.

  Their exhausted faces stared back at her. Dark shadows ringed their eyes. Her brother was barely on his feet, and his skin had turned an unnatural shade of yellow.

  Shaking her head, Tillie stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. “We can go no further today, Alana,” she said kindly. “I know you’re afraid, but the riders will not reach us tonight.”

  Alana’s heart beat faster at the mention of the Stalkers. Devon had warned them of the riders’ presence as the sun was setting, and they had ridden hard through the fading light, desperate to put as much distance between themselves and the hunters as they could. They had reached the second river Devon had mentioned, fording it as the last light slipped away.

  They had only been halfway across when darkness found them. Alana shivered at the memory of the black water lapping at her legs, only the power of the horse beneath her keeping her from the cold. Without sight to guide them, they had kept together using the sound of each other’s voices. Only when she had felt the thud of her horse’s hooves touching solid ground did Alana realise she’d been holding her breath.

  Now though, an urgent need to continue was building in her chest. According to Devon, the riders were still at least half a day’s ride away—but that lead would be cut down to nothing if the Stalkers rode on through the night.

  “We can’t let them catch us,” she whispered, her eyes flickering to her brother.

  “If we press on, the horses won’t make it through the night.” She looked around as Kellian spoke, and he went on. “They’ve hardly rested in two days. Another night of riding through the dark and their strength will give out. They need a respite as much as any of us.”

  Alana clenched her fists, a helpless frustration gnawing at her soul. She wanted to be galloping with her brother across the open fields, to put as much distance between themselves and the hunters as possible. Yet she could not argue with Kellian or Tillie’s words—if they continued now, they risked losing everything.

  Her shoulders slumped and she nodded quickly. Wordlessly, she moved across to her brother and drew him into her arms. She felt his thin body trembling, the cold and exhaustion wearing him down, and squeezed her eyes closed.

  The boom of thunder forced her to look around. She caught a flash of light as lightning forked across the sky to the north. Beside her, Devon swore.

  “There’s a storm rolling in,” he growled. “Come on, I spied a grove of trees before we crossed the river.”

  A groan came from her brother, and despite her earlier argument, Alana found herself echoing him. Separating, Alana took up the reins of their horse and lead it after Devon. She could already feel the temperature dropping as the storm raced in from the north. Air burned in her nostrils as she sucked in a breath. Lightning flashed again, followed by an awful crash that seemed to break right above their heads.

  A horse screamed, and releasing her brother, Alana gripped the reins in both hands. The horses were the only thing keeping them ahead of the pursuers. They couldn’t afford to lose any now.

  Eyes rolling in its skull, her mount reared back, almost tearing the reins from her grasp. Alana held on, speaking softly through the violent crackling of the storm. As the thunder fell away, the horse dropped back to all fours. Hearing her voice, it seemed to calm, and with her heart beating wildly in her chest, Alana chased after Devon.

  They walked for several minutes, trusting Devon’s sense of direction, before finally stumbling across the grove. It was little more than a few trees clustered together in a circle, but their broad trunks and thick canopy would at least keep off the worst of the storm.

  Tying her horse to a low-lying branch in the shelter of the trees, Alana stroked her mount’s coat. She could feel the poor beast trembling beneath her hands. Its eyes were wide with terror, and its snorting breath revealed its exhaustion. Brushing down its coat, she untacked the saddle and dragged a blanket from the bags to throw over the mount. Finally she turned to the others.

  Devon was tending to Kellian’s mount, while his friend had set about lighting a fire. He already had a small blaze burning in the centre of the clearing. Though the trees protected them from the worst of the wind, Alana watched as the fire flickered dangerously, threatening to go out. She quickly moved across to the innkeeper and used her body to help shield the flames from the wind. Slowly, Kellian added more wood, building up the flames.

  A few minutes later the five of them sat around the warmth of the fire, listening as the power of the storm raged around them. Lightning flashed, casting long shadows between the trees, and Alana shuddered as memories of the Arbor returned, their dark tendrils reaching out for her. The crash of thunder drew her back to the present.

  Another flash of light came, but this time there was no thunder to follow. Looking around, she saw the terror on her brother’s exhausted face. He flinched as a far-off boom rolled across the plains. Light flashed from his palms, flickering and growing before dying away. A moan whispered from Braidon’s throat as he clenched his fists tight.

  “Braidon, what’s going on?” she hissed, shuffling across to him.

  He shook his head, his blue eyes wide with terror. She gripped his wrist and felt the rapid pounding of his pulse beneath her fingers. She looked into his eyes, but they were far away. Taking him by the shoulders, she shook him gently, calling his name.

  Blinking, Braidon looked around at her. “Alana,” he croaked. A shiver went through him. “Alana, it’s inside me.”

  Fear slid down Alana’s throat at his words, though she could make no sense of them. Braidon flinched as blue lightning lit the cleari
ng, marked by an awful boom. White light shone from her brother’s hands, burning their eyes.

  “Braidon!” Tillie’s voice came from Alana’s side as the old woman crouched beside them. “Braidon, you must calm yourself!”

  Her brother’s terrified eyes turned to the priest. He opened his mouth to reply, but another crash of thunder drowned out his words. The wind howled, sweeping through the grove, scattering the fire. As Kellian and Devon struggled to save it, Tillie pushed Alana aside and grabbed her brother by the shoulders.

  “Braidon, listen to me!” she shouted over the gale. “Your magic seeks to protect you, but you are too weak. If you allow it free rein, its power will consume you.”

  Braidon stared back at her, his mouth opening and closing, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

  “I can help you, Braidon,” the old priest yelled over the raging storm. “But you must listen. You must trust me.”

  A gurgling growl came from deep in Braidon’s throat. For a second, his eyes flashed white. Alana blinked, terror clamping a vice around her chest, but when she looked again, her brother’s blue eyes were staring back at her.

  “How?” he croaked, his voice strained.

  Tillie pressed her hand to either side of the boy’s face. “Close your eyes, young Braidon,” she murmured. “Breathe.”

  Jaw clenched, Braidon closed his eyes. Alana could see his hands shaking in the flickering light of the fire, the tendons straining on his neck. She crouched nearby, hardly daring to move, a terrible helplessness holding her frozen.

  “Take a deep breath, young Braidon,” Tillie’s voice was gentle, calm despite the crashing thunder.

  On the ground, Braidon sucked in a quivering mouthful of air. Light flickered in his hands, seeming to pool in his palms now, growing and shrinking. Beside him, the old priest never took her eyes from Braidon’s face.

  “Focus on your breath, boy, let it out, that’s it, now take another. Listen to my voice.”

  The light in Braidon’s hands flickered again as he followed the woman’s instructions. His throat swelled as he swallowed, his brow furrowing with each boom of thunder. Kellian and Devon had the fire blazing again now, its heat washing through the grove. They moved quickly into the trees in search of more fuel. Her brother’s trembling eased as the freezing cold released its icy grip.

  “That’s it, in and out, think only of your breath. Feel your heart slow, allow yourself to relax, forget the storm, the hunters, the magic. Only your breathing. In and out.”

  Slowly, the light in Braidon’s hands died away, seeping back into his flesh as though it had never been. His eyes remained closed, his breathing deepening, his chest rising and falling with each inhalation. As Alana watched, the tension drained from her brother. His shoulders slumped, and he sagged forward into Tillie’s arms.

  And slept.

  Lowering the boy gently to the ground, Tillie covered him with a blanket before moving back to the fire. Alana checked on her brother before joining her in the warmth.

  “What…what was that?” she breathed.

  The old woman let out a weary sigh. “Wild magic, young Alana. In his exhausted state, your brother’s fear of the storm overwhelmed him, giving life to his magic.”

  “But what did you do?”

  “I only helped to steer him through the storm,” Tillie said with her familiar smile. “Among priests of the Earth, it is called meditation, among others, mindfulness. It is the same—a way of controlling our emotions.”

  “And it helped him control his magic?”

  “In a fashion, yes.”

  “Thank you,” Alana said softly, turning her eyes to the fire. “I don’t know what I would do if I lost him.”

  Twigs crunched as Kellian and Devon returned, their arms laden with firewood. They took in the sleeping boy. “He okay?” Devon asked, his voice gentle, almost kind.

  “Sleeping,” Alana replied with a weary smile.

  The two nodded and took their places on the other side of the fire. Kellian added several branches to the flames. Outside the grove, the rumbling of the storm had moved away, but rain was beginning to fall now. Shivering, Alana hunched closer to the fire, glad for the heavy jacket she’d found in the saddlebags of her stolen horse.

  “It’s a good thing they already knew where we were,” Devon commented wryly as he sat back.

  Alana sighed. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this, Devon.”

  Across the fire, Devon shrugged his massive shoulders. His eyes flickered to Tillie, then back to Alana. “I shouldn’t have needed dragging,” he said quietly.

  An uncomfortable silence settled over the group as they sat there. Beyond the trees, the soft patter of rain grew, becoming a roar as the storm broke over them. Rising, Kellian moved into the shelter of the trees and returned with a pot. Filling it with water from their skins, he placed it over the flames and began adding roots and salted jerky from the saddlebags.

  “May as well have something in our stomachs,” he muttered.

  Alana smiled, just the thought of a hot meal already warming her. She moved around the fire and helped the innkeeper prepare the broth. Devon wandered into the woods and returned a few minutes later with large chunks of bark torn from the trees. Washing them with water, he passed them round. A few minutes later, Kellian announced the stew ready, and they each held out their rounded pieces of bark to receive their portions.

  Their stomachs rumbling, they ate quickly, the meagre stew disappearing in minutes. Finally they sat back, their hunger sated.

  “At least we’re dry,” Devon said, stretching his arms with a groan. “Bet Quinn is cursing us tonight.”

  Kellian chuckled. “No trees on that side of the Jurrien,” he said with a grin. “Although I don’t think the rain’s going to do anything for his temper.”

  Smiling, Alana shook her head. “You said you knew him?” she asked, looking at Kellian.

  “We both did,” Devon answered for his friend. “We fought with him against the Trolans. Always was boring as old leather, though.”

  Alana looked away at that, remembering her dreams, how Quinn had come to her, demanding an answer to his question.

  Are you ready?

  Always she had felt the familiar terror at his question. His brown eyes unnerved her, robbing her of strength, demanding an answer. Yet in the broken temple, when they’d finally come face to face, it hadn’t been terror she’d felt, but warmth—and confusion. Her anger had quickly risen to mask it, but thinking back now, she couldn’t help but wonder at it.

  That, and the fact he’d known her name.

  It could mean only one thing, though she couldn’t bring herself to picture it. It meant their parents had given them up, had sent the Stalkers after them. Her heart ached with the knowledge, and she quickly forced the thought from her mind.

  Yet as she lay down beside the fire and sought sleep, Alana’s mind returned to the confrontation in the temple, to the Stalker’s greeting as he stepped towards the fire. Thinking of Quinn staring at her, she found herself wondering at the strange look he’d worn on his face.

  Her thoughts drifted, giving way to the pull of sleep. She fought it at first, knowing what waited for her there, and not waiting to face it. But exhaustion weighed on her, pulling her down. There was no fighting it any longer. Slowly the mists of sleep formed around her mind, the brown eyes of her hunter appearing through the darkness.

  And her heart quickened.

  Quinn led his men toward the river banks at the first light of dawn. He had felt the flicker of the boy’s magic during the night, but out on the plains at least, such power could do little damage. It had died quickly, without the surging rush of release, and he wondered whether the boy had somehow found a way to control it. The priest, perhaps…

  He shook his head and turned his attention back to the path. Ice crunched beneath their horses’ feet, and snow lay piled around them as they forced their way towards the river. What had begun as a torrential downpour had t
urned to heavy snow during the night. The night had been so cold, he and his men had hardly slept. Only by burning the coal in their saddle bags had they survived. Now, as the sun crested the horizon, he welcomed its heat on his face.

  His breath misting in the dawn’s light, Quinn pressed on, leading his seven remaining men. Vim had met them near the ruins of Sitton around midday, empty handed. Cursing, Quinn had led them back along the Gods Road until they discovered where Devon’s party had left the path. Barely more than a deer trail, they had followed their prey to the river and crossed into Lonia. But their horses were tiring by then, and while they’d pressed on hard through the day, they hadn’t been able to catch their quarry before the light faded.

  Today, though, Devon and the others would not evade them. The boy’s magic had not been far, just across the river, and their horses had to be close to exhaustion. They would catch them before the day was done. Then he would finally crush the fool Devon and end his pitiful life.

  The ground rose slowly beneath them as they climbed the river bank. The man in the lead drew his horse to a stop at the top of the bank, his eyes flicking back to Quinn. Seeing the worry written on the man’s face, Quinn cursed and pressed his horse into a trot. Moving alongside him, he looked out over the river…and swore again.

  Brown water lapped at the edges of the riverbanks, rushing past in a swirling torrent, engorged by the night’s rain. Massive trees tumbled amongst the flooded waters, and he glimpsed the white body of a sheep as it bobbed to the surface before vanishing back into the murky depths. There would be no crossing the river now, not until the floodwaters receded.

  Quinn’s eyes continued across to the opposite bank. Snow had covered the lands beyond, where they rose slowly away from the river, up into the foothills of the Lonian mountains. Yesterday the land had been a rich green, but there was only white now, a wasteland barren of life. Except where a lazy curl of black smoke rose from a frozen grove of trees.

  As Quinn watched, a dark-garbed figure stepped from the grove leading a horse. He recognised Devon from his size and clenched his fists. The others followed, until all five stood there in the open, taunting him. The soft whisper of their laughter carried on the wind, drifting down to Quinn. The giant figure of Devon raised a hand and waved.