Oathbreaker (Legend of the Gods Book 1) Read online

  A terrible sob tore from Alana’s lips. She could feel her brother trembling in her hold. Alana looked across the deck, seeking help, but as she looked on the faces of Devon and Kellian, their eyes fell away.

  “Come to me.”

  She gasped as her foot took an involuntary step forward. A low keening came from the back of her throat. She tried to release Braidon as her legs marched her towards the creature, but her hand had become a vice around his arm. He cried out as Alana dragged him with her. Their eyes met, and she wept at the horror she saw in his face. Tears streaming down her cheeks, Alana swung back to the demon.

  “Please,” she whispered, staring into the merciless face of the creature. There was no sign of life in its pitch-black eyes, no compassion on which to draw—only darkness.

  Alana suddenly realised that a great hush had come over the ship. The cries of the gulls had fallen away, the distant shouts of street vendors were silenced. Only the gentle creaking of the ship beneath them remained.

  She watched in open terror as the demon strode forward. It moved with a strange grace, its boots making no sound as it trod across the wooden planks. A chill breeze wrapped around Alana as it approached, as though its presence sucked the very life from the air. A thin white hand reached out, stretching towards her. She closed her eyes, waiting for its touch, knowing it would be the last thing she ever felt…

  “No.”

  The voice was gruff, almost shaking, but with an iron in it that brooked no argument. Alana’s eyes snapped open. She stared as Devon strode across the deck, placing himself between them and the demon. His amber eyes flickered in her direction, shining with fear, but, nonetheless, he turned and faced the demon. He held kanker gripped tightly in one hand.

  Awful laughter whispered over the ship as the demon looked at the giant hammerman.

  You are in my way, mortal.

  The muscles along Devon’s back rippled as he straightened. “You’re not taking her anywhere, demon.”

  Devon hardly knew what he was doing.

  A moment ago, he’d been standing beside the railing, staring at the dark creature that had appeared in their midst. As the black eyes had fallen on him, he’d frozen, memories rising up from his past. Demons had been the Tsar’s secret weapon during the civil war, the reinforcements sent in to sweep away the enemy when all else failed. He had watched creatures such as this one toss full-grown men around like ragdolls, had seen their dark magic tear buildings to pieces. Now one was standing on their ship, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. A glance at Braidon was all it took to see the boy was exhausted, his youthful energies spent from the hard ride across southern Lonia. Without magic, they didn’t stand a chance against the creature’s power.

  Then the demon’s voice had whispered across the ship, calling Alana to it. Her eyes had flickered in Devon’s direction, but he’d quickly looked away, kanker suddenly heavy in his hand as shame welled inside him. Yet even the legendary weapon could not aid him against such a creature. No mortal in recent memory had ever stood against a demon and lived.

  But as Alana had continued towards the demon, Devon’s gaze had caught in the crystal blue eyes of the Tillie, and her words from the road had come rushing back.

  You are stronger than you think, hammerman.

  And Devon had suddenly found himself moving forward, stepping between Alana and the creature, kanker held at the ready.

  “No,” he heard himself saying. “You’re not taking her anywhere, demon.”

  Now, as the awful eyes looked up at him, it was all Devon could do to keep himself upright. They bored into him, piercing his soul, robbing him of strength. He gripped the haft of kanker harder, willing himself to defy the creature, to stand strong. A shudder went through him as it laughed again.

  “Devon,” came Alana’s voice from behind him. “Don’t.”

  He ignored her. Breath held, he glared down at the demon, every muscle in his body taut, ready to do battle. He forced himself to move, to take another step towards the creature. It watched him come, a smile on its ghostly face. Slowly, it unfolded its hands and shook its head.

  Do not be a fool, hammerman.

  Devon gritted his teeth as the awful voice spoke in his mind. “Get off my ship,” he growled, drawing on his anger.

  The demon’s eyes flashed, and, despite himself, Devon found himself retreating a step. The dark laughter chased after him, sliding its way inside him. His legs shook, but with an effort of will, he forced himself to stop, to stand his ground.

  Very well.

  Grinning, the creature reached down and drew its sword. The black blade glinted in the sunlight as it slid free, gripped in a paperwhite hand. Lifting it high, the demon laughed, and a darkness pulsed from the weapon, stretching out to encircle the creature.

  From somewhere deep within, Devon found the courage to speak. “A pretty trick, demon,” he laughed. Hefting his hammer, he started towards it.

  For a second, a flicker passed across the creature’s face. The brow of the boy it had once been creased. A low hiss came from the awful mouth as it pointed the blade at Devon.

  Die!

  The shadows swirling around the blade crackled, gathering on its iron tip. A boom sounded across the ship, and then the darkness rushed from the sword towards Devon.

  Watching it come, he found himself smiling. The fear had fled now, the doubt of the last five years vanishing like mist before the dawn. Gripping the weapon of his ancestor, he lifted it high and screamed a battle cry. The dark magic rushed onwards and crashed into the steel head of the hammer.

  Another boom rang out, sending gulls screaming in flight. Across the deck, men were thrown from their feet. Devon stumbled back, still waiting for the pain, for the rush as his life was swept away.

  Instead, there was only a strange, drawn out silence.

  Blinking, Devon shook his head and straightened. He glanced down at his body, expecting to see a tangled mess, but he remained whole. Not even the stained fabric of his brown tunic had been touched by the creature’s power. His eyes turned to kanker. The weapon glinted in the morning sun, but the ancient runes on its head glowed with a light all of their own, although it was already fading.

  Devon smiled as he looked back at the demon. Around him, the occupants of the ship were picking themselves up and staring with wonder at the giant warrior standing against the demon.

  The demon still stood with its arm outstretched, sword extended, a look of pure bewilderment written across its ghostly face. It was clearly as shocked to see Devon still standing as he was himself.

  Devon’s laughter rung out across the deck as he pointed kanker at the demon.

  “Now you die, demon.”

  Still cackling, he advanced on the creature. The demon blinked, drawing back its sword and straightening. For a moment it stared at the oncoming warrior, before pointing the blade again. The shadows gathered once more. With a scream from the demon, they sliced across the deck towards him.

  This time, Devon did not so much as break stride. With a contemptuous swing of kanker, he sent the darkness swirling off into the harbour. The water hissed and boiled where it struck, and pure hatred twisted the demon’s face.

  With a roar, he charged.

  For a moment the demon’s hatred gave way to fear. It staggered back, the dark cloak rustling around it, the sword extended uselessly before it. Devon closed the gap, his powerful shoulders directing the hammer down at his foe’s head.

  Sparks flashed as the demon recovered and raised its blade. Moving with impossible speed, it twisted in place, its own sword arcing back out to slash at Devon’s ribs. He leapt backwards, cursing softly as he felt the tip slice through his shirt. Not wanting to draw attention to themselves, he had neglected to put on his mail-shirt before boarding the ship.

  The demon growled, chasing after him with eyes of dark fire, its tiny figure belying its awesome strength. Kanker leapt to meet it, the ancient hammer shining like gold as it deflected an
other blow from the black blade. Vibrations shuddered down Devon’s arm as their weapons met, but he held tight to the hammer’s haft, and swung it back at the creature’s face.

  Spinning, it ducked the blow. A grin spread across its face as its blade lanced for Devon’s stomach, too close to avoid. Dropping kanker, Devon’s arm swept down and caught the creature by the wrist, halting the attack. The demon’s eyes widened as he lifted the thing from the ground and hurled it at the mast.

  A dark cackling carried across the ship as the creature twisted, landing easily on one foot. Its blade flashed up, black energies crawling along its length to surge at Devon, but he had already recovered kanker and batted the attack aside.

  Steel rang as they came together again. Devon grunted, the demon’s speed and strength forcing him back, only raw instinct keeping him alive. The creature’s movements grew more frenzied, its arms becoming a blur, and twice he felt the lick of its blade on his flesh. There were no words now, only silence as the two combatants tore at each other.

  The initial thrill of combat faded, and Devon felt his energies tiring, his body unused to the rigours of armed combat. Still he fought on, driven by a primal need to conquer the enemy before him, to best the creature who dared challenge him. Swinging his hammer, he roared, fighting his way back against the demon’s blistering assault.

  Devon saw something cross the creature’s eyes as he pressed forward. The black blade still moved with unnatural speed, flicking out to turn aside his blows, but there was a hesitation now, a doubt before each movement. This was a beast unused to defiance. Its enemies fell to its power like trees before the storm, devoured by its magic.

  Yet now a mortal man stood against it, unyielding, and Devon could sense its doubt.

  Snarling, the creature pressed forward again, but Devon began to laugh. He swept his hammer down, blocking a disembowelling cut.

  “Is that all, demon?” Devon’s mirth boomed out across the waters.

  The demon’s face twisted and a screech tore from its throat. The air grew cold, and it seemed the very light was being sucked from the world about it. Yet where Devon stood, kanker in hand, the sun shone brightly, setting the runes of his hammer aglow. Screaming, the demon hurled itself forward.

  Devon met the creature’s charge with a scream of his own, kanker rising to block its desperate attack. Once, twice, three times their weapons met. Then, with a shriek of breaking metal and boom of sundered energies, the black blade shattered. Bellowing his triumph, Devon drove forward and brought the ancient hammer down on the creature’s skull.

  A white brilliance flashed across the ship, and with a sharp suddenness, light and sound and life were restored to the world. A gull cawed, circling overhead, and the sun shone brightly across the watchers on the Songbird. Wind blasted into the sails, sending the ship surging forwards.

  Drawing back his hammer, Devon watched as the creature collapsed face first onto the deck. A whisper went through the crew and, looking around, he saw the fear in their eyes. Ignoring them, Devon dropped kanker and strode across to the creature. Lifting the frail body above his head, he carried it to the railing. In the distance, he could see the Stalkers gathered on the docks, watching the Songbird’s retreat.

  With a great heave of his shoulders, Devon hurled the body of the demon over the side. It struck the waters with a crash and vanished beneath the surface without a sound, as though it had never been.

  Chapter 25

  Quinn stood on the deck of the Ice Queen and looked out over the empty waters, seeking sign of the missing ship. The air was crisp and cool, the sun sinking towards the western coastline. Wind crackled around him, called by his magic, filling the sails to drive them on through the silent waters. Yet still a cold dread clenched around his heart.

  Devon had killed the demon. It shouldn’t have been possible, but he had seen it himself. He had watched in disbelief as the giant hammerman turned aside the creature’s dark magic and fought off its frenzied attacks. The shock of the final blow had caused him to stagger back in horror. In silence, Quinn had stared as Devon carried the body to the side of the ship and hurled it out into the harbour.

  His message had been clear: come after us and die.

  Yet, here he was.

  Quinn shivered again, forcing the doubt from his mind. The man might have found a way to counter the creature’s power, but Quinn still had the weight of numbers on his side. He had brought another company of Stalkers with him from Lon. Their sixteen men would be more than enough to kill Devon. The man was a fearsome warrior, but he was not invincible.

  If only he could convince his men of that. Already he had caught them speaking in hushed whispers of the giant warrior, about his exploits in Trola and his battle with the demon. Enraged, Quinn had ordered any man caught spreading rumours about the hammerman be lashed. All his life it seemed he had been standing in the shadow of the man. In Trola, Devon had been promoted to lieutenant ahead of Quinn, despite his common upbringing and lack of magic. When the fool had rescinded his commission and quit, Quinn’s hatred had only grown, seeing it as an attack on everything in which he had ever believed.

  It galled him now to find himself still standing in that same shadow. Worse yet, Alana stood with the man.

  He gritted his teeth, turning his mind to other pursuits. Leaving the railing, he strode across the deck to where the captain stood at the helm. The man’s nervous eyes flickered in Quinn’s direction as he approached. He hadn’t wanted to set sail after the escapees, but Quinn hadn’t given him a choice, commandeering his ship and crew in the name of the Tsar. To refuse would have meant death.

  Unfortunately, the Ice Queen had proven a poor choice. Despite full sails, it was sluggish in the water, and Quinn guessed it had been a long time since the hull had been scraped clean of barnacles. Silently, he cursed the captain for a fool.

  “How goes our progress?” he asked out loud.

  “With your magic, we’ll catch them, my lord,” the captain replied, an edge to his voice.

  Supressing his anger, Quinn shook his head. “We had better, captain,” he said dangerously. “It’ll be your head if we don’t.”

  With that, he wandered across the deck to where the captain’s cabin waited. His soul was weary, the strain of using his magic draining him. Yet he could not release it—without his power, the ship would slow to a creep.

  Pulling open the cabin door, he moved inside and slumped onto the captain’s bed. Leaning his head back against the wall, he struggled to keep his eyes open. Magic still poured from him, drawing wind into the sails, but as he looked inside, he saw his pool of power shrinking. It would only last a few more hours.

  They would not catch Devon’s ship before then.

  Defeat settled on his shoulders like a blanket. His heart ached, and he wondered how long it would be before the Tsar came for him. Despite all his faithful years of service, this failure would cost him everything.

  If only Julian’s informant had come sooner, he might have caught them before the ship departed. If only there had been another ship ready to leave the instant the Songbird had escaped. If only he’d had the power to strike the ship down with lightning.

  Instead, he’d been forced to watch, helpless, as the Songbird carried his prey beyond reach. He had robbed the wind from their sails, even tried to force them back with his powers, but the rowers aboard were strong, and he was not strong enough to overcome all of them.

  Now he found himself aboard another ship, leagues behind his quarry, praying to long dead Gods to bring them within his reach.

  Hours crept past as Quinn tracked his magic’s slow decline, until it was nothing more than a blue spark in the darkness of his mind. Outside, night had fallen over the ship, but still they sailed on. He sighed as he heard the sails overhead flapping, then fall silent as the last breath of wind left them. Curses whispered through the wooden walls as the captain shouted for the few sailors he could spare to take to their oars.

  Closing his eyes
, Quinn lay back on the bed as the ship rocked beneath him. The rowers would soon tire. Devon and his wards had slipped through his fingers again. Within days, they would disappear forever into the vast expanse of Northland. And he would feel the Tsar’s wrath.

  He fought against the pull of sleep, dreading what would find him there, but it was insistent, his exhaustion beyond his will to resist. Slowly the darkness wrapped around him, drawing him down into nothingness…

  When Quinn woke, the gloom was still all around, but he was no longer alone. A man moved through the shadows, his aura flickering with multicoloured hues, drawing closer. Quinn shuddered as he looked on the figure and felt the fiery blue eyes of the Tsar pierce him.

  “You have lost them.” The voice rang with power.

  Quinn bowed his head. “The demon failed.”

  “You failed,” boomed the voice.

  Shuddering, Quinn drew back, but bands of fire swept out to wrap around him. He screamed as the flames burned into his spirit. He reached for his magic, but the power was gone, consumed by his futile pursuit of Devon.

  “For years I have watched you.” The Tsar’s voice was soft now. “Nurtured you, made you one of my most trusted servants. And how have you repaid me?”

  “I am sorry, your majesty,” Quinn croaked, forcing back a scream. Bowing his head, he began to beg. “Please, they have not escaped me yet. I can catch them!”

  “You cannot,” came the Tsar’s reply. “Your weakness has betrayed you.”

  Anger gave Quinn strength. Summoning his courage, he looked into the Tsar’s burning eyes. “No!” he growled. “They shall not escape me, not while I still breathe.”

  The form of the Tsar flared, the spiralling colours of his form shifting. A smile appeared on his ethereal lips. “Your spirit remains, Quinn,” he spoke quietly. “Perhaps you might yet serve me.”

  “Anything, your majesty,” Quinn whispered as the flames binding him died away.

  A long silence stretched out as the Tsar studied him. Colours spun and grew amidst his form, red and green and white and blue, plus a thousand others unnamed. Quinn found himself drawn to them, a part of himself yearning to join the swirling display.