Soul Blade Page 2

  Sucking in a breath, May ceased to resist the demon’s pull. She still had the dagger and she raised it to strike.

  The demon laughed and released her.

  May hesitated, the dagger hovering over the creature’s head.

  Their eyes locked and a shudder went through her soul. There was no fear in the depths of its black stare. Instead, she saw triumph.

  “Archon has come,” the words rose from its lips like death itself.

  Almost without thought, May plunged the blade into the demon’s skull. But she felt no joy at the victory now, no pleasure. Despair crept through her heart, the demon’s words hovering like a ghost in the air around her. She did not hear its last gurgling gasp. Her mind was already far away, lost on a tide of dread.

  The demon’s words meant the end of peace, the end of the Three Nations, the end of life as they knew it.

  The cries of the reinforcements as they finally reached the wall came from around her as the defenders swept the last of the enemy from the battlements. May hardly noticed, her mind consumed, lost in the grip of the demon’s final words.

  Archon has come.

  One

  Eric staggered as a stray root caught his boot. Before he could right himself he found himself falling, toppling to the muddy ground. The breath whooshed from his lungs and he choked, thrashing in the puddle he’d landed in. When he finally managed to suck in a breath of air he swore, pulling himself to his knees.

  Climbing back to his feet, he tried to wipe the brown muck from his clothes. It coated him from head to toe now, the result of days spent trekking through the untamed wilderness. Looking around, he took stock of his progress up the steep hill.

  Thick forest rose all around him, making it difficult to determine how far he’d come. Lichen clung to the branches overhead, thriving in the cool damp climate of Witchcliffe Island. Dense ferns dominated the undergrowth and low-lying vines threaded their way through the mossy carpet, making movement anywhere within the forest a constant battle.

  If he’d had a choice, Eric would have been a long way from the cursed island by now. Yet over a week had passed since he’d slain the demon, the cool days giving way to freezing nights, and still he remained. His clothes were torn and filthy and he’d hardly eaten for days, but he refused to quit. He would not leave his friend, would not abandon Enala to the forces that had taken her.

  Of course, she was more than a friend now – though he doubted he would ever adjust to their true relationship.

  “Sister,” he whispered the word to himself. “Where are you?”

  Even now the revelation still shocked him, though there were more pressing concerns to distract him from that now.

  Despair clutched his heart. It had grown with each passing day, weighing on his soul as he marched through the dense forest, clambering up the muddy hills and searching the empty forest. In the week that had passed, he had not glimpsed a single sign of his sister, not a footprint or stray thread of clothing.

  Nothing.

  He saw again the burning temple, his last glimpse of the girl as she disappeared into the trees. Earth magic had radiated out around her, surging from the Soul Blade clutched in her hand. Its power had taken her, and Eric had been powerless to stop it.

  Shuddering, he prayed for the thousandth time that he would find her in time. The longer the magic held her in its thrall, the less chance there was Enala could be saved.

  For all he knew, it might already be too late.

  Pushing down the thought, Eric sucked in a breath and started off again. The pommel of the sword strapped to his back struck him in the neck with his first step, forcing him to reach back and readjust it. As his fingers brushed across the leather grip he felt a crackling of power race down his arm.

  He flinched back, his chest constricting with fear. He’d almost forgotten it was the Sword of Light he carried, not some ordinary blade. The weapon possessed power far beyond his understanding, and was not to be taken lightly. Only members of the royal bloodline of Trola could touch the blade – though their direct line had now come to an end.

  Thankfully, Eric and Enala were distant relatives.

  Even so, he had hesitated to touch the blade since his battle with Archon’s demon. Its power was overwhelming and only his desperation had given him the strength to wield it. Now though, fear made him pause. He had no wish to suffer the same fate as his sister.

  Worse yet, the demon’s second Soul Blade slapped at his side. That he had absolutely no desire to touch. It contained the Storm God, Jurrien, and if Enala’s transformation was anything to go by, to touch it meant a fate worse than death. Enala had awakened the Earth magic of the other Soul Blade in time to heal them, but before she could release it, the God magic within the blade had overwhelmed her.

  Willingly or not, she had sacrificed herself to save him.

  Eric could not let that stand.

  Reaching out, he tore aside another fern frond, anger fuelling his limbs. For days he had eaten nothing but berries and beetles; in his desperate flight from Kalgan, he had not thought to pack supplies. At least the two years he’d spent in self-imposed banishment had taught him how to survive in the wilderness.

  Pressing on, he reached out with his senses – sight, sound, magic. He was desperate to catch any whiff of Enala or the magic controlling her. Even inexperienced as he was, he had sensed the magic of others before and knew its taste. Yet he had felt little of the God magic within the Soul Blade – only flashes of power now and then. It gave little hint of his sister’s location.

  Eric smashed his way through the trees, unconcerned by the noise he made. As far as he could tell, Witchcliffe Island was deserted. That was probably why the traitorous King Jonathan had hidden the Sword of Light here in the first place.

  A breeze rustled the branches overhead, catching in his hair, and he was again tempted to fling himself skyward. His own magic gave him power over the weather, and with a little effort the wind could carry him high above the island. Unfortunately the island’s dense vegetation made searching from the air an all but impossible task.

  Eric stumbled again as the ferns ahead of him gave way to an open field. He breathed a sigh of relief, pleased for a moment’s break from the fight with the dense undergrowth. He strode forward, eyes searching the open grass.

  He paused as the hairs on his neck rose in sudden warning. Closing his eyes he reached for his magic, felt its power rising at his touch.

  “Don’t,” a voice challenged from the treeline opposite him.

  Goosebumps pricked Eric’s skin. He hesitated, searching the trees. “Why? Who are you? Show yourself!”

  Movement came from across the clearing as men stepped from the trees. Eric’s eyes raced over the men, counting ten in all. Each held a bow with arrows nocked, their tips pointing in Eric’s direction.

  Except for one, he realised, his eyes returning to the man at their centre.

  His white robes had been stained by the muck of the forest, but there was still no mistaking the markings of a priest of the Light. His face was lined with the beginnings of age and his fiery red eyes were locked on Eric. He wore a sword at his side and Eric guessed from his stance he knew how to use it.

  “Who are you?” he asked again. Despite the presence of the priest, he was not about to trust the strangers. He had been betrayed too many times for that.

  “Who are you?” the man in the white robe replied. His voice was gruff, but Eric recognised it as that of the original speaker. “You are trespassing on royal land.”

  Eric hesitated, uncertain of his next move. The priest was clearly a Magicker – and he had already sensed Eric reaching for his magic. There was no way to know what powers he might possess, but from prior experience he knew it was best not to guess.

  Then, of course, there were the archers.

  Still, despite his fear of the weapon, he had the Sword of Light. Its magic was more than enough to deal with a Magicker, and its power would incinerate any arrow befo
re it came close. His fingers twitched as he weighed up his options.

  “I warn you, trespasser, our patience is short. We have other matters to attend to. Tell us your name, now.”

  Eric grimaced, making his decision. For all he knew these were Archon’s men, or King Jonathan’s. Quick as lightning, he reached up and drew the Sword of Light clear. The blade ignited at his touch, bathing the clearing in its brilliant light. Heat washed across his face as he pulled it down and held it in front of him.

  He swallowed as the first wave of magic washed through him. White fire swept up his arm, spreading to fill his body, to flood his mind. It burned within him, lighting up the darkest confines of his mind, illuminating his every secret regret. Eric shrunk before its strength, withering beneath its glare.

  Then his own magic flared, its stormy blue glow erupting outward to mingle with the white. The sight gave him strength. He had mastered that dark force – now he would use it as a weapon against this new power. Reaching out with his mind, he gripped his magic and pulled it to him, twisting it into ropes of power.

  Staring at the white flame, Eric gathered his courage and unleashed the threads of his magic. They raced from him, wrapping about the power of the Sword. Flashes of white erupted through his mind as it fought for freedom, blinding his inner eye, but he held strong. Slowly, the strands of blue wrapped around the white, binding it to his will.

  At last Eric opened his eyes. Though only a second had passed, the clearing had changed, bathed now by the white fire of the Sword.

  “I am Eric,” he announced.

  As one, the men who faced him dropped to their knees, heads bowed.

  Eric blinked, turning to look behind him to ensure it was not a ploy. But the clearing remained empty but for himself and the kneeling men.

  He turned back to the leader, the Sword gripped tight in his hand. He could feel its power writhing within, fighting at its bonds.

  “Who are you?” he growled through gritted teeth. “I will not ask again.”

  The priest looked up from the ground. “I am Christopher, priest of the Temple of the Light. I am here representing the Trolan council,” he waved at the other men. “We are here to find King Jonathan and the girl known as Enala. The Magicker, Eric, too – though I guess we have found him,” he trailed off. “But how? How is this possible?”

  Shaking his head, Eric allowed himself a smile. He could hardly think with the power wrapping about his insides. Without another thought, he extinguished the Sword’s flames and sheathed it.

  “That is a long story – but the short of it is Enala and I are twins, separated at birth by our parents to protect Aria’s line. When Jonathan betrayed us and injured Enala, I was forced to take up the Sword.”

  The man stood as the light of the Sword died away, his head still bent. “I am sorry; we did not know. Please, allow us to start over. I am one of the few remaining councillors left in Kalgan. We were sent to rein in our wayward king. But we had no idea how far he had sunk.”

  “I would say he was far more than wayward,” Eric growled.

  Christopher raised his hands. “I would have to agree. From the signs I saw at the temple, it appears he tried to steal your… sister’s magic. We found his body and guessed one of you had put an end to him,” a hint of uncertainty hung in his voice.

  Eric almost smiled. If they had been to the temple, they had also seen the forest created by Enala as she fled. It had taken him an hour to cut himself free; even healed he’d been too exhausted to use his magic. More than enough time for her to vanish.

  “I killed him,” he answered Christopher’s unspoken question. “He didn’t leave me much choice. He stabbed Enala in the chest and would have done the same to me if he’d had the chance.”

  Whispers spread amongst the men and Christopher bowed his head again. “I am sorry for your loss.”

  “My loss?” Eric shook his head. “Enala is not dead. She saved us both. She was able to use the Earth magic trapped within the Soul Blade carried by Archon’s demon to heal us.”

  Christopher frowned. “So that’s where the trees in the temple came from, why there was such evil in the air. I could not begin to decipher what had happened there. Where is she then?”

  Eric clenched a fist. “Lost. She has not even learnt to use her own magic. The God magic in the Soul Blade overwhelmed her and she fled before I could stop her. I have been searching for her, but…” he trailed off, his voice trembling.

  Christopher glanced at his men. “I might be able to help you. I have felt the power shaking through the island. From its strength, I thought it was the Sword at first. But it moved too quickly and did not feel like Light magic. Together, I’m sure we could track it though.”

  “I’ve tried,” Eric ran a hand through his hair. “I have only sensed flashes. And there’s been no trace of her anywhere.”

  “Like I said, together we may have more luck,” Eric looked up as the priest stepped closer. “A magic like that cannot hide, not while it possesses your sister. We will find her.”

  Eric felt a surge of hope, but crushed it down. “Why should I trust you?”

  King Jonathan had warned them about the council, and though obviously his word meant little now, Eric was still wary.

  Christopher’s face darkened at Eric’s implication. “I don’t know what our dear king told you of the council, but they have done their best to fill the void left by his melancholia. While he vanished with the Sword, we have provided Trola with what leadership and guidance we could. And when Jurrien came to us, desperate for aid, we mustered our armies and sent them north. Did you not notice Kalgan is all but abandoned?”

  Eric nodded, remembering the empty corridors of the citadel.

  “I was one of the only Magickers left in the city. Without me, the Kalgan is all but defenceless to magic, but I came all the same.”

  Eric took a breath and nodded, shamed by the fire in Christopher’s eyes. He could read the truth there, his sense of betrayal that Eric and Enala had fled their custody. Jonathan had tricked them all with his lies. Thinking back, he remembered the kindness the guards had shown him, the comfortable room he’d been left in. They had not even taken his sword.

  Shaking his head at his own stupidity, Eric met Christopher’s gaze. “I’m sorry. I should have guessed the truth.”

  Christopher gave a sad smile. “He fooled us all, had us believing he was a broken man when all along he was scheming,” he waved a hand. “But we must put that in the past. Come, tell me all you know of Enala and this Soul Blade. If she remains on Witchcliffe Island, we will find her. You have my word.”

  Nodding, Eric began to tell him their tale.

  Two

  Elton stifled a yawn and then swore as the horse shifted beneath him. The creature was eager to return to its stable and it took a firm tug of the reins to put the animal back on track. In truth, he could not blame the gelding’s nerves. They were close now, and even his own heart had begun to thump hard in his chest.

  Raising a hand, he squinted up the hill, seeking for a glimpse of their quarry. The first rays of the morning sun peaked over the horizon behind them, casting shadows across the rolling hills. Below, their ship still bobbed at anchor, awaiting their return. The ride across the lake had been rough, the winter winds tearing at their clothes and flinging freezing water over the sides. It was a relief to escape, though it did not seem to have helped King Fraser’s mood.

  He stared at the king’s broad back, wondering again at the change in the man. His temper on the journey across the lake had set the men on edge. Glancing around, Elton glimpsed nervous fingers lingering close to swords and swore silently to himself. This was not the disposition one would expect of a welcoming party.

  Especially not when treating with creatures as sensitive as gold dragons.

  Swallowing, Elton resolved to ignore the tingle of warning raising the hairs on his neck. Memory of the dragons’ arrival was still fresh in his mind. Their appearance over the water
s of Lake Ardath had sent panic through the ranks of men manning the city walls. Unsure of their intentions, the city defenders had come within seconds of firing on the dragons. Only his friend Caelin had prevented the disaster.

  If only he had done it without bloodshed. Elton closed his eyes, seeing again the body of Katya, the blood pooling around her. The king’s rage at the woman’s death had been terrifying to behold. In his anger he had locked away Caelin and his companions, at least until their true allegiance could be determined.

  Shaking his head, he returned his thoughts to the present. Before the dragons had departed they’d invited the king to join them and plan for the war to come. Elton had expected King Fraser to meet with them within a day, but it had now been over a week since their arrival. He hoped the dragons did not consider the delay an insult.

  Ahead the winding trail was finally approaching the top of the hills surrounding the lake. Long grass grew up on either side of them and the mud-streaked trail had made the trek difficult for the horses. It had clearly not been used for some time. Even so, the trip had taken less than an hour and the scouts reported the dragons were nesting at the top of these hills.

  A low growl came from overhead and Elton felt a tremor run through his horse. Craning his neck, he looked up at the ridge and saw a massive head rise into view. Sunlight glittered off golden scales as the blue globes of its eyes shifted to stare at them. Another rumble carried down to them as the jaws opened, revealing rows of sword-like teeth. It shifted again, dragging one giant claw into view, then another. Bit by bit the lumbering body appeared as it pulled itself onto the ridge.

  Stretching out its wings, the dragon watched their approach, intelligence glistening in its eyes.

  Elton’s horse shied as they drew level with the ridge. He tugged at the reins, struggling to keep the horse in line, and cursed as it jostled against his control. Around him the other guards were experiencing similar problems. Glancing at the dragon, he swore he caught a glint of amusement in the curl of its jaw.