The Sword of Light: The Complete Trilogy Page 2

Pain pounded at Eric’s head, but he fought it down. He glanced at Pyrros, and then leapt at the man with the club. Grinning, the thug lifted his weapon. A moment before he swung Eric dived sideways, twisting for the gap between the men. He almost made it.

  A club to his chest stopped him cold. For the second time that day he found himself flat on his back. Winded, he choked for air, the faces of the two men spinning above him. He could feel his anger taking hold. Overhead, thunder clapped. Drops of rain began to fall.

  Footsteps came from nearby. Pyrros appeared above him, a frown on his face. “The first thing a slave must learn is obedience. You disappoint me, Eric. I took you for a quick learner.”

  The man’s boot came up and crashed down on Eric’s stomach. The breath exploded from his lungs. Pain constricted his chest and he gasped, eyes watering, desperate for air. Inside, Eric felt the embers of his fury take light.

  “Stupid boy,” by now the rain was bucketing down, soaking through the clothes of his attackers. Pyrros’ foot lashed out again, smashing into his ribs and head.

  Eric curled into a ball as the assault rained down. He choked back his tears, fear and rage battling for control. There was a sudden roar as something within snapped, giving way to the chaos of his emotions. A terrible power exploded through his mind, slipping from the darkest recesses of his conscious. He no longer felt the blows, or the rain, or the dirt beneath him. All that remained was an all-consuming hate; a need to lash out. A scream of torment echoed through the alleyway. The last barrier in his mind shattered.

  Eric opened his eyes. Blue light lit the stone walls of the passageway, freezing the men in a sudden blue glare. He saw the hate in Pyrros’ eyes turn to terror, saw the men beside him glance up, heard the crackling and smelt the burning as it came. Then the lightning struck.

  The men vanished into the blue light, their screams cut short by the roar of thunder. There was no chance for escape. One second the three were there, the next the lightning had consumed them. But it did not stop there.

  With a deafening crack the sky tore asunder, unleashing a hail of lightning. The screams of the villagers rose above the crash of thunder, as destruction rained down on the defenceless village. Splinters of wood and stone flew through the air as the blue fire tore buildings apart.

  Eric struggled to his feet. His anger had vanished, his hatred spent. He stumbled towards the marketplace, mouth agape. Horror clutched his soul.

  No, no, no, this cannot be happening – not again!

  Eric watched the lightning burn a deadly trail through the marketplace. Booths exploded before its wrath, filling the air with smoke and debris. Dozens had already fallen, their clothes blackened and crumbling, their bodies broken. Gusts of wind swirled through the square, picking up tiles and rubble and flinging them into the air. The rain poured down, but even that could not wash away the smell of burning. Eric stumbled amid the chaos, powerless to save his hapless victims.

  There was no escape from the storm’s fury. It tore through the market, an unstoppable force of nature. Eric fell to his knees, his tears mingling with the torrent of rain. Lightning struck his frail body but he felt nothing. Bolts of energy danced along his skin, raising goose bumps wherever they touched. Yet he remained unharmed. He buried his head in his arms.

  Why?

  The thunder died away, leaving a devastating silence in its wake. Eric could hardly summon the courage to look. At last he opened his eyes. His gaze swept the wreckage with growing shock. There was not a stall left standing. Burnt beams and canvas covered the square and flames were already beginning to spread. Bodies lay scattered amid the ruin, at times half-buried by the rubble. Eric choked at the sight, his mind rebelling against the truth.

  This is my doing.

  Movement came from his right. He looked across as a man struggled to his feet. Their eyes met. Eric saw the horror grow in the stranger’s eyes. He looked down and saw that lightning still played across his chest and arms. Noise came from elsewhere now as more survivors rose to view the shattered remains – and to see the boy with lightning dancing on his skin.

  Eric watched them, heart filled with despair. The faces of those around him wore only hatred. He had to say something, but could not find the words. His body ached and his muscles burned but he struggled to his feet. A surge of blood rushed to his head. He swayed. Then, determined, he opened his mouth to speak.

  An angry buzz of voices assailed him. To his left a man drew a dagger from his belt. He started towards Eric. Another quickly followed suit, ripping a makeshift club from a pile of rubble as he approached. The broken ground crunched beneath their booted feet. Each wore a grim mask of determination. When they were a few feet away they hesitated, eyeing him with caution.

  Eric struggled to find some words of explanation. He wanted to tell them it had not been him, that he could not control this curse. Yet he knew in his heart it would be a lie. He had known his presence brought a terrible danger to all around him. A heavy weight settled on his shoulders. There was nothing he could offer these souls but his life.

  More survivors joined the first two men, arming themselves with whatever makeshift weapons were within reach. Each sported burns across their arms and clothing, and dark bruises on their faces. A fire burned in their eyes, fuelled by the horror they had just witnessed.

  Eric trembled, staring at the blades and cudgels held by men and women alike. His heart pounded in his chest. He clenched his fists, struggling to ignore the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. His rib cage ached where the club had struck him earlier. Bruises from the beating were already starting to swell on his arms and legs. His mind shuddered at the thought of the pain still to come.

  Cautiously the survivors edged towards him, numbers fuelling their courage.

  Eric backed away, his own courage fading with each step. The villagers moved faster, sensing his fear. He stumbled backwards over the rubble, unable to tear his gaze from the madness in the eyes of the crowd. He stumbled over a pile of rubble and crashed to the ground. The shock lifted the spell. Eric scrabbled to his feet and ran for his life.

  Two

  Eric sprinted down the burning streets. The roar of angry voices and pounding footsteps from behind drove him through the downpour. He dodged past the wreckage of shattered homes, squinting through the rain, searching for a path. The whistling wind whipped across his face and sliced through his waterlogged jacket.

  His eyes watered as he ran through clouds of acrid smoke. Lifeless bodies lay scattered across the flooded streets. Thick droplets of rain splattered around them.

  Eric ran on. Soot clung to his skin, mixing with the torrents of water washing over him. He passed a hand through his filthy hair, struggling to think, gasping for air. His muscles burned and great shivers ran through his body. He was at the end of his endurance.

  The light of approaching torches flickered in the lengthening shadows. The day was dying and Eric could only pray the darkness would come soon. He drove himself on; the freezing autumn wind buffeted him, his footsteps splattering in the flooded streets. Water filled his boots. His leggings squelched with every stride.

  A shout came from behind, followed by the clang of steel-tipped arrows as they struck the wall a few feet to his right. Eric ducked, glancing back to see a crowd of people sprinting towards him. He slid into a nearby passageway before the bowman could fire again.

  Why? The thought chased itself around his head. He scrambled through the alley, scarcely able to make out a path through the shadows. A jagged piece of tile tore a slice of skin from his arm. Blood gushed from the wound and ran down his side. Eric winced, fighting down the pain.

  He burst from the alley into a broad avenue. The sun had finally set, leaving only dying tongues of flame to light his way. They cast the world into a realm of shadows. Curses came from the alley behind him. Eric did not stop to wait for them.

  Voices chased after him. He glanced back to see the first of the townsfolk emerging from the alley. Flaming torches lit
the murky gloom and exposed the gaunt faces of his hunters.

  Eric weaved through the rubble strewn street, listening for the telltale whistle of arrows. Water flicked up in his wake and mingled with the drifting smoke. An arrow shot past his shoulder. The shriek of its passage raised goose bumps down his neck. He looked back without breaking stride and saw two bowmen hurriedly nocking new arrows. Then the smoke closed in, the wind driving it down into the street, and they vanished.

  He ran on through a world twisted by his destruction.

  ******************

  The darkness was finally complete, the last flames snuffed out by the blanket of night. The rain had ceased and the clouds parted to reveal the star-studded sky above. The moon had yet to show its face, yet to cast its pale glow on the devastation below.

  Eric huddled among the ruins of an old building, listening carefully as the footsteps of his pursuers passed him by. A chill breath of air sent a violent shiver through his body. His clothes were soaked, ruined. His teeth began to chatter. He clamped a hand over his mouth, terrified of being overheard. The stench of his own body filled the small space, an overwhelming mixture of soot, sweat, and death.

  At last Eric allowed himself a deep breath, satisfied for the moment he was safe. He sat back, his hand pressing against something soft and cold. A shiver ran through him and his eyes slid down to where his hand rested. The glassy eyes of a dead man stared up at him. Terrible burns blackened the man’s shoulders and face. His skin had turned a pale grey.

  Eric threw himself back from the body. He scrambled to his feet as his stomach swirled. With a gut wrenching heave, he emptied the pitiful contents of his stomach onto the cracked floor.

  He fell back, holding his face in his hands, fighting back tears. Choking, he turned away and returned to his spy hole to check if anyone had noticed the noise. All was silent. How he wished he’d had the courage to give himself up. By now the torment would be over. He deserved what they had in store. No torture could match what he had wrought on these people.

  Through the broken roof he watched a full moon rise into the sky. Its cool light offered no warmth, yet the sight gave him comfort. Eric glimpsed his soot streaked face in a nearby puddle. Leaning down, he cupped a handful of water and tried to wash the dirt from his face. It clung to him, rasping along his skin. Finally he fell back on his haunches, defeated even by this simple task.

  The soft sound of a footstep on gravel carried to him from outside. Another followed, barely audible over the thudding of his heart. Eric swallowed hard, struggling to dislodge the lump in his throat, and peered out into the street. His keen eyes searched the darkness. The silhouette of a man shifted in the shadows, coming closer.

  A pale brown cloak billowed out in a gust of wind, revealing the gold embossed hilt of a short sword strapped to the man’s waist. The man moved faster, emerging from the shadows and making straight for Eric’s hiding place. Lines of silver embroidering wove an intangible pattern across the arms of the man’s cloak. The same designs had been worked into the black leather of his boots. A grey hood obscured his face but Eric could feel the man’s eyes as they searched the wreckage.

  Eric crouched in his hiding place, muscles tensed, ready to spring. He fought to control his breathing, told himself he was hidden, concealed by the shadows. Fists clenched, he watched as the man made straight for him.

  “Come out,” the man whispered in an old, crackling voice. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

  The man pulled back his hood to reveal long grey hair and a clean-shaven face. His lips curled into a frown that sent a shiver down to Eric’s stomach. Piercing green eyes stared straight at where Eric hid. The man continued to advance.

  Eric found his gaze trapped in the heat of the old man’s glare. For a moment it seemed time stood still. Eric felt as though his mind was an open book; that this man could stare into his very soul and read his every thought. Staring into those awful eyes, Eric felt the shame well up within, felt the crushing weight of guilt crash down on him. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to curl up and die.

  The old man blinked and Eric shuddered as the spell broke. He sank to his knees, staring at the muddy ground. Fresh tears welled in his eyes and streamed down his face. Sobs racked his body. The man stood over him, sword in hand.

  It took a long time for Eric to regain his composure. Finally he stood. Taking a deep breath, he met the old man’s eyes. The moon lit the space between them, turning the world to black and white. Eric spoke in a whisper. “What do you want?”

  “To help you,” came the reply.

  Eric could have laughed. “Why? Who do you think I am? Look around you,” Eric threw out his arms. “This is what I create. This is my existence – chaos and destruction. Are you some demon, come for an apprentice in murder?”

  The man’s eyes hardened. “I am no demon, boy. I am a man who understands what you are, a man who sees the good within you. And I am perhaps the only chance you have to control that power inside you. If you want to live, I suggest you come with me.”

  Eric stood rigidly in front of the old man. His mind was spinning, trying to make sense of what he had heard. “Who are you?” he whispered.

  “My name is Alastair. Now come, before the others find us.”

  Alastair. The name had a familiar ring. Regardless, he was not prepared to trust so easily; not after what had happened in the marketplace. Who knew what this man planned. Then again, what had he to lose? If he wished him harm, he need only to swing his sword.

  Still he hesitated. “I don’t trust you, Alastair.”

  Alastair frowned down at him, a hint of anger in his eyes. Then with a heavy sigh and shrug of his shoulders, he offered a small smile. “Fair enough,” he flicked his sword into the air and caught it by the blade. He handed it hilt first to Eric. “You hold onto this for now, if it makes you feel safer. You can give it back once I’ve earned your trust.”

  Surprised, Eric took the sword. Still hesitant, he gave Alastair a quick nod. Alastair nodded back and took off down the road. Eric followed, moving as silently as he could through the debris strewn across the ground. His senses probed the gloom, but the streets were deserted. The mob had moved on.

  Ahead Alastair slipped off the road and into another alley. Eric followed close on his heels. He held the sword close to his body with the tip pointed down. He had never used a sword before. It felt strange and awkward in his hands.

  The old man moved on, drawing Eric deeper into the gloom. The alleyway grew narrower as they went, and with a shiver Eric realised the buildings on either side of them had collapsed. The walls of each building now leaned out into the alley, forming an unstable tepee above their heads. Streams of moonlight flooded through the cracks above them.

  Eric swallowed hard at the thought of the unstable stone and wood perched above him. Swallowing his fear, he picked his way further into the alley, following the silver streaks of Alastair’s cloak. The man moved with a confident stride, seemingly indifferent to the danger looming above.

  The scuff of leather on stone echoed off the walls. They froze. The shuffling sound of someone moving down the tunnel followed. Then a dark figure stepped forward into a column of moonlight. Brown eyes locked on Eric.

  “You,” it hissed.

  Three

  Gabriel knelt in the mud, head bowed, and let the grief wash over him. Pain wrapped around his heart, its thorny tendrils robbing him of strength. Sharp stones cut through the fabric of his pants. He no longer cared. Agony twisted through his mind, burning away all other sensation.

  The night’s chill seeped through his rain-soaked clothes and sucked the warmth from his body. He could almost feel his life fading away, but he could not muster the strength to care. At least in death he might finally be free from this all-consuming grief.

  Until this morning he had lived a simple life, toiling alongside his father in the family forge, surrounded by the love of his parents and soon-to-be wife. Their faces flew through his mind, sm
iling and full, and then as he had last seen them – twisted in death.

  There had been no warning, just a flash of light and clap of thunder. Then death had rained from the skies. There was no defence, nowhere to run. Lightning danced through the streets, its fiery touch tearing through flesh and mortar. The wind had followed, ripping up roofing tiles and flinging them down on the streets below. Debris hurtled through the air to smash the fragile bodies of those caught in the open. Death was indiscriminate, claiming young and old alike, leaving the few survivors to stare in shock at the tattered remnants of their lives.

  Somehow Gabriel had survived with only minor burns and bruises. He had stumbled through the shattered streets towards his home, each step bringing a growing sense of dread. By the time he rounded the final corner he had already known what he would find.

  Everything looked the same through the howling wind and rain, and at first he was unable to process the sight that greeted him. Then with sudden realisation, he recognised the remains of his home. The two-storey villa was gone; all that remained were broken walls and scattered roofing. Flames flickered amid the wreckage, already growing.

  Gabriel plunged into the ruins, ignorant to the danger. He called out for his family, desperate for a response, for any sign of life. His father, mother, fiancé, they had all been home when he left.

  He found them in the back of the house where they must have gathered to wait out the storm. Tears ran down Gabriel’s cheeks. He collapsed to his knees, fingers reaching for the bloody beam impaling his father. Empty eyes stared up at him, frozen in terror. Partly sheltered by his father’s body lay Gabriel’s mother. The same beam had stolen her life. Blood still seeped from the gashes in her arms and face.

  The final blow came as Gabriel found his fiancé. She lay behind his parents, buried beneath heavy tiles, only her loving face left untouched.

  A sharp moan escaped Gabriel. At the noise, his fiancé’s eyes fluttered open. He was at her side in an instant, heart racing with sudden hope.