Stormwielder: The Remastered Edition (The Sword of Light Book 1) Read online

  A chill breeze blew through the alley and the hairs on the back of Eric’s neck stood on end. He looked up and saw Pyrros grinning back at him. But now his face no longer seemed so friendly.

  Slowly, Eric drew to a stop. Laughing, Pyrros turned back and placed his hands on his hips.

  “What’s the matter, Eric?”

  Eric shook his head as he retreated a step. Inwardly he cursed his stupidity, in allowing himself to be lead away from the crowd. His skull gave another sharp throb. Gritting his teeth, he struggled to concentrate.

  “I think I prefer the crowd to the garbage, thanks.” Eric swallowed as Pyrros’s eyes hardened.

  Quickly he turned away, preparing to flee. But two men now stood in the alley behind him, blocking his path. One held a wooden baton loosely in his hand, the other a heavy club. Both stood at least a foot taller than Eric. They were dressed in the plain clothes of villagers, but their smiles suggested darker intentions. They spread out across the alleyway, blocking Eric’s escape.

  “Don’t bother running, mate,” there was menace in Pyrros’s voice now. “Make this easier on yourself.”

  Eric half-turned, keeping the other men in sight. “What do you want?”

  Pyrros shrugged. “Trades hard with the Baronians ruling the wilderness. Not much work for an honest merchant.” He took a step towards Eric as he spoke, his boots crunching in the filth of the alleyway. “Gotta change with the times.”

  Eric retreated, but that only narrowed the distance with the other men. “I don’t have any money.”

  Pyrros laughed. “Don’t want your money, mate.” He looked Eric up and down. “Young lad like you should fetch a good price in the Trolan mines.”

  Ice wrapped around Eric’s heart. “You’re a slaver.”

  He shot the man a look of pure disgust. Slavery had been forbidden in the Three Nations for centuries. Those who still practiced the trade were considered the scum of the land – and faced execution if they were caught.

  “Eric, how could you accuse old Pyrros of such a thing?” Pyrros placed a hand on his chest in mock hurt. “I just keep my eyes open, is all. Help spot the ones no one will miss. Marked you the second you walked through the gates. Looked like a lost little foal, standing there in the square.”

  Eric clenched his fists. “My parents are coming later. They’ll look for me–”

  A burst of laughter cut him off. The men behind him were creeping closer. Eric shrank back from them, his eyes flickering back and forth as he weighed up his options. His heart raced and blood pounded painfully in his head.

  This cannot be happening!

  Scratching his beard, Pyrros casually took another step. “These Baronians will introduce you to that new life you were looking for, mate. Give it up.”

  Eric’s shoulders slumped, and bowing his head, he stepped towards Pyrros. The man grinned and reached for him, but at the last second Eric spun and leapt at the man with the club. As he moved he drew the knife from his belt, butt the man was already ready for him. Grinning, the thug lifted his weapon.

  Shifting on his heel, Eric twisted again and dove for the gap between the Baronians.

  He almost made it.

  The breath exploded between Eric’s teeth as the club caught him in the chest and hurled him backwards. The dagger slipped from his fingers as his strength fled. Choking, he slumped to his knees, before another blow sent him tumbling backwards.

  Fury flared in his chest as the Baronians entered his vision, broad grins darkening their faces. Overhead, thunder clapped, and raindrops began to fall.

  Footsteps came from nearby. Pyrros appeared, a frown on his rugged face. “You disappoint me, Eric. I took you for a quick learner.”

  Lifting his boot, Pyrros slammed it into Eric’s side. Agony tore through Eric’s chest as he rolled onto his side, eyes watering as he gasped for air. But another blow caught him in the stomach and hurled him back.

  Groaning, Eric gritted his teeth, the embers of his fury taking light, burning suddenly in the darkness of his mind.

  “Stupid boy.” Now the rain was bucketing down, filling the alleyway, soaking through the clothes of his attackers. Pyrros’ boot lashed out again, smashing into his ribs and head.

  Eric curled into a ball as the assault continued. He shrieked with the pain of each blow, fear and rage battling within.

  Then red flashed across his vision, and something snapped inside of him. A terrible light exploded through his mind, slipping from the deepest recesses of his consciousness. Its power swept through him, washing away all thought, all sensation. He no longer felt the blows of his attackers, or the rain, or the dirt beneath his fingers. All that remained was an all-consuming hate, a need to lash out.

  A tormented scream echoed through the alleyway as the last barrier in his mind shattered.

  Eric opened his eyes. Blue light lit the stone walls around him, freezing the men in its glare. He watched the rage in Pyrros’s eyes turn to terror, saw the Baronians glance up, smelt the burning as it came.

  Heard the boom as the lightning struck.

  The men vanished into the blue light, their screams cut short by the roar of thunder. There was no chance to escape. One second the three were standing there, the next the lightning had consumed them.

  But it did not stop there.

  With a deafening crack, the sky tore asunder, unleashing the lightning hidden behind the black clouds.

  Screams rose over the thunder, as destruction poured down on the defenceless village. Splinters of wood and stone filled the air as the blue fire tore whole buildings apart.

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

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

  He watched as the lightning rained down, burning a deadly trail through the marketplace. Booths exploded before its wrath, staining 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 rubble and tearing roofs from buildings. The rain streamed down, but even that could not wash away the stench of the burning.

  Eric stumbled amidst the chaos, powerless to save his hapless victims. Falling to his knees, he watched the destruction through the haze of his tears. Lightning struck his frail body, but he felt nothing. Bolts of energy danced along his skin, raising goosebumps wherever they touched. Yet he remained unharmed.

  Why?

  When the thunder finally died away, a devastating silence spread over the square. Eric’s gaze swept the wreckage, taking in the burnt beams and canvas. Not a stall was left standing, and the flames were already beginning to spread. Bodies lay scattered amidst the ruin, half-buried by the rubble.

  This is my doing.

  Movement came from his right. He looked across as a man struggled to his feet. Their eyes met, and the man’s eyes widened with horror. Looking down, Eric saw that lightning still played across his chest and arms. He closed his eyes, unable to face the guilt, the accusations.

  Noise came from elsewhere now, as more survivors rose to view the shattered remains of their lives – and see the boy with lightning dancing on his skin.

  Eric stared back, his heart heavy. He had to say something, to explain, but he could not find the words. His body ached and his muscles burned but he struggled to his feet. He swayed as blood rushed to his head. Then, determined, he opened his mouth to speak.

  “Demon!”

  Eric froze as a man drew a dagger from his belt and started towards him. Others quickly rose to join the man, tearing makeshift clubs from the rubble as they went. Their faces hardened to grim masks, and the angry buzz of voices filled the square.

  Fear caught in Eric’s throat as he stumbled backwards. He searched again for the words of explanation, to tell them about his curse, that it had not been his fault.

  Because in his heart, he knew it would be a lie.

/>   He had prayed the curse had lifted, that he might finally be free. But deep down, he had known the truth, the danger he posed to everyone around him.

  A weight settled on his shoulders as he realised he could run no longer. This was all his doing; he needed to accept responsibility, to finally put an end to the darkness inside of him.

  The villagers hesitated as they neared him, fear giving them pause. Burns marked their skin and clothing, but flames burned in their eyes, fuelled by the horrors they had witnessed.

  Trembling, Eric stared at the makeshift blades and cudgels. His heart raced and he clenched his fists, struggling to ignore the hollow in the pit of his stomach. His ribs ached where the clubs had struck him earlier, and the bruises were already beginning to swell on his arms and legs. He shuddered at the thought of the pain still to come.

  Cautiously, the survivors edged closer, numbers fuelling their courage.

  Eric backed away, his courage fading with each step. The villagers increased their pace, sensing his fear. He stumbled backwards over the rubble, unable to tear his eyes from the crowd, and crashed to the ground. The shock lifted the spell.

  Scrabbling to his feet, Eric ran for his life.

  Two

  Eric sprinted down the burning streets. The roar of angry voices chased after him, driving him through the downpour. Dodging past the wreckage of shattered homes, he squinted through the rain, seeking out a path. Wind whipped across his face, slicing through his waterlogged jacket and sending icy drips down his spine.

  His eyes watered as clouds of acrid smoke drifted across his path. Lifeless bodies lay amidst the pooling water, thick droplets of rain splattering around them.

  Eric ran on. Soot clung to him, mixing with the rain, turning his skin black. He passed a hand through his filthy hair, struggling to think, to find a way through the chaos. His legs trembled, and he sucked in great, shuddering mouthfuls of air. He was at the end of his endurance.

  The glow 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 wind buffeting him, his footsteps splattering in the flooded streets. Water filled his boots and his leggings squelched with every stride.

  A shout came from behind him, followed by the clang of a crossbow. Eric ducked as a steel bolt struck the wall a few feet to his right. Glancing back, he saw a crowd racing down the street and ducked into an alley before the bowman could fire again.

  Why?

  The thought chased itself around his head. He scrambled through the alley, scarcely able to see in the shadows. A jagged piece of steel tore his arm, but he ran on.

  He burst from the alleyway back into the open streets. The sun had finally set, leaving only the dying flames to light his way. They cast the world into a realm of shadows.

  Curses came from behind him, and Eric glanced back in time to see the first of his hunters emerge into the street. They held flaming torches high above their heads, casting back the shadows, exposing their gaunt faces to the light.

  Weaving through the rubble-strewn street, Eric listened for the tell-tale whistle of arrows. Water flicked up in his wake, shining in the fire’s light. An arrow shrieked past his shoulder, raising goosebumps as it went.

  He glanced back without breaking stride, and saw a man with a crossbow hurriedly winding his weapon. The clack of its springs echoed down the street, before the smoke closed in, hiding them from view.

  Turning, 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. 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 for footsteps in the street outside. A chill breeze drifted through the hole in the wall, sending a violent shiver through his rain-drenched body. His teeth chattered, but he clenched them tight, terrified they might give him away.

  Finally he allowed himself to breathe, satisfied for the moment he was safe. He sat back on his haunches, and his hand brushed against something soft and yielding. Glancing down, he saw the glassy eyes of a dead man staring back at him. Terrible burns blackened the man’s face and clothing, and where the flames had not reached, his skin was a pallid grey.

  Stomach wrenching, Eric threw himself back from the body. His gut heaved, and bending in two, he emptied the pitiful contents of his stomach onto the cracked floor.

  When there was nothing left to throw up, Eric sat back on his haunches and held his face in his hands. His throat burned and anxiety gnawed at his chest. Silently he returned to his spy hole and peered outside to check if anyone had noticed the commotion.

  Through the cracks in the walls, he watched the full moon rise slowly into the sky. Its cool light offered no warmth, yet the sight still gave him comfort.

  Eric froze as the soft crunch of a footstep on gravel carried to him from the street outside. Another followed, barely audible over the thudding of his heart.

  Swallowing hard, he tried to dislodge the lump in his throat. He peered out into the street and saw the silhouette of a man moving through the shadows.

  A brown cloak billowed out in the wind, revealing the gold embossed hilt of a short sword strapped to the man’s waist. Moving faster, he emerged from the shadows, seeming to make straight for Eric’s hiding place. Silver lines of thread embroidered his clothing, weaving intangible patterns down his arms and legs. A grey hood obscured his face, but Eric could feel his eyes as they searched the wreckage.

  Crouched in his hiding place, Eric hardly dared to breathe. Muscles tensed, he told himself he was safe, hidden by the shadows. But still the man came closer.

  “Come out,” the man whispered, his voice old and rasping. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

  Pulling back his hood, the man revealed his long grey hair and a clean-shaven chin. His lips curled into a frown as his piercing green eyes searched the shadows where Eric hid.

  Staring into those eyes, Eric found himself trapped in the heat of the man’s glare. Time seemed to slow, and for a moment Eric felt as though his mind must be an open book, as though those eyes could see straight to his very soul. Shame welled within him, the crushing weight of his guilt threatening to overwhelm him.

  Then the old man blinked, and Eric shuddered as the spell broke. He sank to his knees, staring at the muddy ground as the crunch of footsteps drew to a stop beside him. Exhaustion curled its way through his limbs, and he closed his eyes in listless surrender.

  But nothing happened. A long silence stretched out, before he finally looked back up. “What are you waiting for?” he spoke through gritted teeth. “Just do it.”

  The emerald eyes stared down at him, but the old man made no move to draw his sword. Anger flickered in Eric’s chest as he straightened, giving him strength.

  “What do you want?” he growled.

  The old man blinked again. “To help you.”

  Eric stared up at the old man, struggling to find the words to respond.

  “To help me?” he said at last. He threw out his arms, gesturing at the wreckage. “Why would you want to help me? Can’t you see what I’ve done, what I create? Only a demon would want to help someone like me.”

  The man’s eyes hardened. “I am no demon, boy. I am just a man. But I am the only chance you have of controlling that power inside you.”

  Slowly, Eric pulled himself to his feet, until he stood in front of the man. “Who are you?” he whispered.

  “My name is Alastair. And I suggest you come with me, now, before the others find us.”

  Alastair.

  The name had a familiar ring – where had he heard it before? Regardless, he was not prepared to trust again so easily – not after what had happened in the marketplace.

  He stood his ground as the man started to turn awa
y. “Why should I trust you, Alastair?”

  Alastair glanced back, a frown tugging at his lips. Then he shrugged. “You probably shouldn’t,” reaching down, he drew his sword from its sheath and flicked it into the air. Catching it by the blade, he offered 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.”

  Eric stared at the blade for a second, before reaching out to accept the old man’s offer. Alastair nodded as the sword left his hand, and then stepped from the crumbled building back out into the street. Eric quickly followed, doing his best to avoid the debris strewn across the cobbles.

  Ahead, Alastair slipped off the road and into an alleyway. Eric followed close on his heels, the sword clutched close to his body. He had never used one before, and the weapon felt awkward in his hands.

  The old man moved on, drawing Eric deeper into the gloom. Silently he cursed his naivety, allowing himself to be led into another alley, and he gripped the blade tighter.

  But Alastair did not look back, and glancing around, Eric realised with a shiver the buildings to either side of them had collapsed. The heavy stone walls had remained intact, but now they leaned out into the alley, forming an unstable roof above their heads. Moonlight flooded through cracks in the stone, lighting the way ahead.

  Eric swallowed at the thought of all that stone and wood perched preciously above him. But the time for doubt had long since passed. Silently he followed the silver streaks of Alastair’s cloak through the gloom, taking reassurance from the man’s seeming indifference to the danger looming above them.

  As they neared the end of the alleyway, Alastair came to a sudden stop ahead of him. Eric froze, holding his breath as he listened for signs of movement.

  A shuffling sound came from the shadows as a dark figure stepped into a column of moonlight. Brown eyes flickered with recognition as they fell on Eric.

  “You,” a voice hissed.

  Three

  Gabriel crouched in the shadows, his head bowed, and waited for the end to come. Grief wrapped around his heart, its thorny tendrils tearing at his soul, its agony far worse than the dull ache of his battered body.