Oathbreaker (Legend of the Gods Book 1) Page 21

  They raced on through the morning, the cold wind blowing harder as the land narrowed. She glimpsed the sea to their west now, its blue waters a mirror of those to their east. Storm clouds were forming in the distance, and she prayed they would come soon. Rain would wash away their tracks, giving them a chance to lose Quinn and his men in the lands beyond the fortress.

  As they drew closer to Fort Fall, the last of the vegetation vanished, the earth becoming barren beneath their feet. The ground turned to a soft red sand, sinking beneath each footstep and slowing their progress. Narrow gorges criss-crossed the wasteland, barring their path in places. Devon took the lead once more, guiding them through the maze of gullies.

  They ran on, boots slipping in the soft sand, eyes wary for loose rocks. Every few minutes, Alana cast a glance over her shoulder, checking on their pursuers’ progress. Despite their speed, Quinn and his men kept pace with them, then, as the day dragged on, began to close the gap.

  Muscles burning, Alana gritted her teeth and forced herself on. Exhaustion weighed on her shoulders. The loose sand dragged at her feet, draining her strength with each laboured step. Time slipped by, her strides growing shorter. Ahead, the towering walls and spires of Fort Fall seemed no closer.

  Bit by bit, they fought their way across the northern desert of Lonia.

  Dusk found them nearing the walls, legs weary and backs bowed by the weight of their exhaustion. Walking with her head down, Alana almost slammed into Devon’s back as he staggered to a stop. Blinking in the red light, she looked around, surprised to find the empty arch of the gates just a few dozen yards away. Beneath the granite blocks of the wall, the shadows of the gate tunnel beckoned.

  She frowned at Devon. He stood over her, his eyes fixed in the direction from which they had come.

  “What are you doing?” she snapped, exhaustion making her impatient. “The gates are right there!”

  He nodded. “Yes,” he murmured. “Almost there.”

  Devon turned and moved across the open ground towards the tunnel. After a moment, she followed him, still wondering why he had stopped. Then the shadow of the wall fell over them, and she looked up at the massive structure. They were approaching the southern wall of the fortress, which only stood fifty feet high and was attached to the inner citadel. Towers rose to the east and west, their marble ramparts looking out over sheer cliffs that dropped down into the hungry oceans.

  A cold breeze blew across Alana’s neck as she found herself at the mouth of the tunnel. Darkness opened out before her, beckoning. She shivered as something moved in the gloom, before her eyes adjusted and she realised it was only Devon. A frown formed on her lips as she saw he had drawn kanker from its sheath.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered, glancing behind her. Beyond the gates, the ground lifted slightly, cutting off her view of the Stalkers, but they couldn’t be far now.

  “Go, Alana,” he said quietly.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We’ll never outrun them,” he replied. “Not unless I slow them down.”

  “No!” Alana’s heart lurched in her chest as she stepped towards him. “Devon…you don’t have to do this.”

  “I do,” he whispered, still not meeting her eyes.

  A lump lodged in Alana’s throat as she looked at him. The warmth came flooding back, wrapping her chest in tendrils of heat. Silently, she cursed herself a fool for judging him, for thinking less of the man who’d saved her from a demon. Tears welled in her eyes as she shook her head, but the words would not come.

  Swallowing, Alana stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Please don’t do this,” she croaked.

  Devon didn’t move, but his eyes flickered down at her. Grief radiated from their amber depths, mingling with the shame and guilt written on his bearded face. A smile touched his lips as their eyes met. Transferring his hammer to his left hand, he reached out and wiped a tear from Alana’s cheek.

  “Go, princess,” he murmured. “I’ll hold them as long as I can.”

  Alana nodded, choking on a grief all her own. Blinking back tears, she stumbled past him, and onwards into the darkness.

  Chapter 32

  Devon let out a long breath as the crunch of Alana’s footsteps faded into silence. His heart ached with the parting, but for one reason or another, he knew he had made the right decision. Together, they would never have escaped Quinn and his men. There were too many of them to fight and win, no matter their strength or courage. But here beneath the wall, he might delay them long enough for Alana to escape.

  Where he stood, the tunnel curved inwards to its narrowest point, the design intended to funnel attackers onto the defenders’ spears. It was still three-men wide, but with his hammer in hand, Devon was confident he could prevent the Stalkers from encircling him. With luck, they would pay a heavy toll to gain entry to the fortress.

  His heart twitched as his thoughts turned to the night before, and he saw again the accusation in Alana’s eyes. She’d been disgusted by his admission, but he could hardly blame her—he’d felt the same self-loathing every day for the past five years.

  But this was his chance at redemption. Closing his eyes, he pictured the beast inside him, the awful bear chained at his core. The creature represented everything he hated about himself—all his rage and bloodlust tangled into one awful monster. For half a decade he had kept it shackled, hiding it from the light. He would need it now, though, if he was to stand any chance of holding back the tide of dark-cloaked warriors.

  It wasn’t long before the first man appeared over the lip of the hill leading up to the fortress. The others quickly followed, their long shadows stretching out across the plain towards him. He counted them as they approached, though he already knew their number.

  Sixteen.

  Each was heavily armoured, their torsos covered by glimmering chainmail, with iron greaves and gauntlets to protect their arms and legs. They glittered prettily in the fading light and Devon couldn’t help but grin. They would kill him in the end, but their armour would not protect them from kanker. The warhammer had been created to kill men in armour. A sense of harmony settled on his soul as he gripped the weapon tighter.

  Inside, the beast growled, tasting freedom.

  The Stalkers slowed as they approached the tunnel, their hands dropping to their sword-hilts as they saw the man waiting for them. Devon’s grin faded as he recognised their leader—Quinn. The man’s brown eyes swept over him, studying the empty tunnel before returning to Devon. A smile appeared on the lieutenant’s face as he drew to a stop.

  “All alone, Devon?” His voice echoed through the shadows.

  “I thought I’d stay behind to greet you and your friends,” Devon replied gruffly. He brought kanker up, pointing it at the man’s chest.

  Quinn’s soft laughter echoed through the tunnel. “Come now, Devon,” he said finally. “Do you really want to die here?”

  Devon rolled his shoulders, his neck cracking loudly in the silence that followed. “Seems as good a place as any.”

  Anger replaced mirth on the lieutenant’s face. “So be it.”

  The man’s arm snapped out. A great roaring came from beyond the tunnel, and a rush of air struck the lieutenant, sending his cloak whirling about his body. Sand lifted from the ground to join the conflagration. It hovered there only an instant, and then came rushing down the tunnel towards Devon.

  He met it with a roar, swinging his hammer in defiance. The ancient weapon struck the whirling gusts and a sharp hiss whispered through the tunnel. As quickly as they’d appeared, the winds died away, sucked into the shining head of kanker.

  In the mouth of the tunnel, Quinn swayed on his feet for a second, arm still outstretched, teeth bared.

  Devon’s laughter boomed in the darkness. “You always were a coward, Quinn,” he said, taking a step towards the waiting Stalkers. “No wonder they passed you over for promotion so many times.”

  “How dare you?” the Magicker growle
d.

  “I have earned the right to dare, coward,” Devon spat. “While you cower behind your magic, I meet my enemies face to face, man to man. You think yourself a warrior? Prove it!”

  He watched as the lines on Quinn’s face tightened, saw the uncertainty in his former comrade’s eyes as he glanced at his men. Baring his teeth, Quinn drew his sabre and started towards Devon.

  “Very well,” he said quietly. There was no trace of fear in his voice now. “Come then, Devon. Let us discover once and for all who’s the better man.”

  His sabre cut the air as he moved forward, his boots shifting carefully on the packed sand beneath the wall. Devon grinned in response, widening his stance and hefting kanker. He stood almost a head over the Stalker, and the long haft of his hammer gave him more reach than the man’s sabre. Still, despite his mocking words, he had seen Quinn fight during the war. The man was a deadly swordsman.

  “Let’s see if the legend bleeds,” Quinn hissed.

  He darted in, sabre flashing for Devon’s face. Standing his ground, Devon raised kanker to block the blow. The clash of steel rang loudly in the passageway. Devon shivered as the beast in his soul shook free its bonds and roared. Unleashing a roar of his own, Devon charged, his hammer swinging out at his opponent’s chest.

  Quinn danced back, his feet moving lightly to carry him clear. Devon gave chase, seeking to close the gap, but the sabre danced out once more, almost impaling him on its silver tip. His feet sliding on the uneven ground, Devon was forced to retreat as Quinn went on the offensive, his blade slashing out again and again.

  Teeth clenched, Devon fended off each blow, studying his opponent’s actions, waiting for the right moment to counter. But Quinn moved in perfect balance, his feet shifting in constant movement, his blade never still.

  Devon was breathing heavily when they finally separated. Eyes fixed on Quinn, he sucked in a great gulp of air, struggling against his exhaustion. Across from him, the Stalker chuckled, rolling his head on his shoulders.

  “Need a break, Devon?” he asked.

  Devon lifted kanker and charged again, a battle cry on his lips. Sparks flew as Quinn’s sabre deflected the blow sideways. Then Quinn surged forwards, his blade lancing out. Devon swayed to the side, unable to bring kanker up in time to deflect the attack. Pain rippled through his arm as the sword sliced his skin.

  Kicking out, Devon’s boot caught Quinn in the chest and sent the smaller man staggering back. Devon chased after him, but the lieutenant recovered quickly, his blade hissing out, almost catching the hammerman mid-charge.

  Leaping sideways, Devon narrowed his eyes, studying his former comrade as they circled one another. Blood dripped down his left arm, but a quick glance told him the wound wasn’t deep. Quinn closed on him, his eyes hard, sabre poised at the ready. A slight sheen of sweat showed on his forehead, but otherwise the lieutenant looked as fresh as when the fight began.

  Quinn came at him in a rush now, his sabre hissing out, fast as lightning, and it was all Devon could do to catch the blows on kanker’s shining head. He was forced back a step, then another. Around him the walls of the tunnel widened. His eyes flickered to the other Stalkers and he saw several of them beginning to edge forwards.

  Sucking in a breath, Devon straightened. He brought up his hammer to deflect another blow, and then struck out at the lieutenant’s head. Quinn ducked, but the riposte halted his momentum. Muscles straining, Devon surged forward, forcing his opponent to retreat. Anger fed strength to his weary limbs. He was Devon, hero of Plorsea, slayer of demons. He would not be defeated by a mere mortal.

  Laughter echoed through the tunnel as Devon swung the ancient hammer. A madness took him then. Blood pounded in his ears, drowning out the clash of steel and gasping of breath, until there was only the roar of his inner beast. He grinned as he saw the change come over Quinn’s face. With each attack, his confidence seemed to shrivel. Fear shone in the man’s eyes as he was forced back, each swing of Devon’s hammer drawing closer to finding its mark.

  Then the Stalker slipped, his feet tripping over a crack in the earth, and he went down. Screaming his triumph, Devon lifted kanker, ready to crush the man’s skull with one final blow.

  Before it could land, a sharp pain tore through Devon’s shoulder, sending him reeling backwards. He gasped, clutching the hammer to his side as the strength fled his arm. Swaying, he glanced at his shoulder and saw the crossbow bolt sticking from his flesh. He turned and found the archer standing amidst the other Stalkers. The click-clack as he rewound his crossbow echoed loudly in the tunnel.

  Rage swept through Devon as he turned his gaze on Quinn. The lieutenant had recovered and was standing nearby, a grim smile on his face.

  “Coward,” Devon hissed.

  Quinn’s face twitched, the smile faltering for half a second before falling back into place. “This is war, Devon. There is no honour in death.”

  “No,” Devon said. Gathering his courage, he straightened, switching kanker to his left hand. “So come and die.”

  Quinn’s laughter chased him down the tunnel. “Such bravery.” He shook his head. “Your skills are wasted here, Devon. A shame your legend must end this way, in disgrace and death.”

  Devon bared his teeth but said nothing. Agony radiated from his shoulder, and it took all his willpower not to give voice to the pain. He could feel the wound pulsing, his strength fleeing with every ounce of blood trickling down his side. Beyond Quinn, the crossbowman raised his weapon again, but the lieutenant waved him down.

  “No,” Quinn whispered, “he’s mine.”

  Despite the pain, Devon found himself smiling. He licked his lips, his eyes flickering to the other Stalkers, then back to Quinn. Smiling, the man darted forward. Devon growled and tried to meet the man’s charge, but his movements were sluggish now. He stumbled, and Quinn slipped past, his sabre flashing out.

  A scream tore from Devon as the sabre slashed through his hamstring. His legs gave way and he found himself suddenly on his knees. Kanker slipped from his hand, pain stealing away the last of his strength. Swaying, he looked up at Quinn. Silently, the lieutenant placed his blade to Devon’s neck.

  “Any last words, Devon?”

  Chapter 33

  Alana fled through the shadows of the citadel, blood pounding, breath coming in ragged gasps. From behind her she could hear the ring of steel as blades met, and knew Devon still stood. Her heart screamed for her to turn back, but she ran on, driven by her friend’s final command. Her eyes swept the gloom, finding a corridor to her right. She took it, not knowing where it led, only that she had to keep moving.

  The gate tunnel had led into the unlit hallways of Fort Fall’s citadel. Without a torch to light the way, she’d been forced to stumble blindly through the endless courtyards and receiving rooms, finding her way by instinct and guesswork. But now the last glow of the sunlight had dropped behind the outer walls, and Alana feared she would never find her way to the northern battlements.

  Panic rising, she forced herself to breathe, to stop and think. Standing alone in the darkness, she closed her eyes, struggling to overcome the terror rising in her chest. How long could Devon hold the men at the gates? How long did she have before they came stalking through the corridors, hunting her with torches, their swords poised to strike her down?

  She cursed loudly, forcing the thoughts from her mind. Swinging around, she squinted through the gloom. She stood at another fork in the corridor. Her eyes flickered from left to right, struggling to choose which way to take. Then she frowned, ice forming in her chest as something flickered in the left corridor. The movement came again, a sudden glow lighting the shadows, coming closer.

  As quietly as she could, Alana drew her sabre and started towards the light. If the Stalkers were ahead of her, there would be no escaping them now, but at least she could take a few with her. Creeping forward, she held her blade low, ready to slam it into the chest of the first man she saw.

  The light at the end of the corrid
or grew brighter as she approached the corner. She could hear the soft padding of footsteps, the crackling of the torch, the whisper of voices, and knew her hunters were just out of sight. Taking a breath, she gathered herself, and sprang…

  “Alana!”

  Alana froze, sabre poised to strike, as her brother’s voice echoed through the corridors. He stood standing in the middle of the hallway, torch in one hand, knife in the other. Eyes wide, he stared back at her, his mouth agape.

  With a half-choked cry, Alana dropped her blade and threw herself at Braidon. He yelped as she swept him off his feet, and then he was hugging her back, his thin arms tight around her waist, his head buried in her shoulder.

  “I thought I’d lost you!” she managed at last, placing him back down. Holding him at arm’s length, she looked down at him, checking him for injuries. “Are you okay?”

  He nodded, though by the light of the torch she could see he was pale, his eyes ringed by shadows. “We’re okay.”

  For the first time, Alana noticed Kellian standing a few steps further along the corridor. He looked as worn out as she felt, his clothes torn, his face streaked with dirt. He held a hunting knife in one hand, a dagger in the other.

  “Devon?” Kellian asked as he moved forward.

  Alana swallowed. “At the gates,” she whispered. “Holding off the Stalkers. Where’s Tillie?”

  “Disappeared when we got here. Don’t know where she went. How many does Devon face?” Kellian asked.

  “Sixteen, including Quinn.”

  Kellian nodded. “Take your brother.”

  “What about you?”

  A smile spread across the innkeeper’s face as he drew a second dagger from his shirt. “I never did like Quinn.” At that, he stepped past Alana, heading in the direction from which she’d come.

  Alana stared after him for a moment, and then dropped to her knees beside Braidon. “Go find Tillie,” she whispered, squeezing his shoulder. “I’ll see you soon.”