Shield of Winter Page 24

  The Tsar lifted a hand. Light, brilliant and blinding, shone through his clenched fingers. Eric could feel the power building, the sheer scale of his power, collected from hundreds of Magickers around the building. It would burn him to ashes.

  Eric summoned his own power in response. Its blue light reared to life within him, the familiar wolf towering over his mind’s eye. Eric stared up at it, recalling the terror he’d felt when it had first appeared. It seemed a thousand years ago now. These days the magic was almost like an old friend, the conflict between wolf and man a long played out game, more ritual than actual battle.

  Until today.

  As the wolf reared above him, Eric opened his arms, and offered his soul up to the beast.

  And cried out as razor-sharp fangs tore into him, sinking deep into the dying light of his soul. In the darkness, Eric cried out as the magic encircled him, wrapping his soul in chains of fire. His terror swelled, granting new strength to the beast. Triumphant, it hurled him screaming into the depths of his consciousness.

  Back in the throne room, Eric’s eyes slid open. Only it was no longer Eric who looked out, but the magic.

  “Freedom,” the demon whispered, its voice distorted, metallic.

  A dark smile twisted its lips as black eyes swept the room, settling on the man standing across from it. Sensing the unbridled power radiating the clenched fist, the demon hesitated.

  “You fool,” the man whispered.

  Energy crackled in the demon’s fists as it faced the man. The magic within it was weak, exhausted by the foolish human. Yet there were other energies to draw on, it knew. The human’s lifeforce was still a burning beacon within, a brilliant white against the void. And its former master no longer had any use for such a power.

  Cackling, it drew the blue flames of its magic around the white. An awful scream sounded from somewhere deep inside its mind. The blue flames swelled, then roared back to life, the white igniting like wood on a bonfire.

  In the throne room, lightning boomed. Gathering in the demon’s hands, it doubled, then redoubled in size, the heat of its power washing across the marble surroundings. Bolts shot off around the room, wind swirling inwards to join it, converging on the demon.

  Across the room, the man who stood against it cursed and threw out his hand. The power in his fist responded, forming a glowing beam of white. But as the white energies lanced towards it, the demon leapt into the air, and the power slashed harmlessly past. Lightning, more powerful than any its human master could summon, rippled out to hammer into its foe.

  The demon grinned as the man staggered back, but to its surprise, he did not go down. Light swirled again in his hands, and the demon hissed as another flash of power slashed at it. Too slow this time, it cried out as the gathered energies of the Light struck its human body, hurling it through the air.

  Hissing, the demon recovered. Around it, a maelstrom of wind and rain and lightning gathered as it swung around, searching for its foe. But the man had vanished.

  The very air bursting with the gathered energies of the Sky, the demon scanned its surroundings, cursing the Light Magicker for concealing himself from sight. But it would avail the man little. Standing still, the demon threw out its arms, sending a blast of air rushing outward. Stones and tiles and bodies were lifted from the ground, filling the air with a million projectiles.

  A cry came from its left, and spinning, the demon sent a flash of lightning at the man who had just appeared behind it. The bolt lanced towards him, but, impossibly, the earth shifted suddenly, a patch of marble rushing up to deflect the blow.

  A rumbling began beneath the demon’s feet, seconds before the marble stone split open, tearing the floor asunder. The demon leapt into the air, summoning the wind to carry it clear, but before it could escape, another force struck it like an invisible hammer from above. It dropped back towards the gaping fissure.

  Rage surged in the demon’s chest as it fought against the inexorable force. The human’s power was awesome, but unbridled by human fears and limits, the demon would not be defied. Throwing out its arms, the demon sent lightning rushing outwards, filling the room with crackling blue fire.

  This time the demon’s attack found its mark. Crying out, the human staggered away, and the ground snapped closed once more. The invisible force surrounding the demon dissipated. Floating free, it drifted towards where the man had fallen. He had vanished again now, but the human could not have gone far.

  With a roar, the man reappeared to the demon’s left. Face mottled red, blue eyes defiant, he threw his arms together. Around the room, the swirling debris halted mid-air as a new force took possession of it. With a hiss, it reversed its track, and rushed inwards at the demon.

  Moving with impossible speed, the demon ducked and twisted between the projectiles, but it could not avoid them all. A chunk of marble struck it in the face, shattering bone and splitting flesh, but there was no pain. The magic ruled now—the body was nothing but armour to host its spirit.

  The demon regathered its spent lightning, forming a flaming wall of blue around itself to consume any projectile that came near. Then its consciousness soared skywards, seeking out the frozen air currents far above and drawing them down. The temperature plummeted as the icy winds filled the throne room. It might be immune to mortal frailties, but its foe was not.

  But in the centre of the room, the man seemed to have given up all interest in fleeing. Flames lit his hands, sweeping outwards to cast aside the cold. Then, to the demon’s shock, the wind was torn from its control. Raising his hands, the man sent the winds rushing through the flames, drawing them high to the ceiling before sending them swirling at the demon.

  The demon fell back before the flaming vortex. The flames roared and gave chase, even the marble weeping before their heat. Fear touched the demon then, as it sought to understand the man’s mastery of all Three Elements. Such a feat was not possible, not even for the Gods. What manner of man was this?

  And while mere injuries did not concern it, if the flames consumed its mortal body, the demon too would perish.

  Crying out in frustration, the demon sought to reassert its power over the winds, but its energies were burning low now, the last of its host’s lifeforce flickering out. All these years the demon had waited for its chance, seeking the moment when it could seize control, to cast aside its master. So many years imprisoned, its power wasted by the cruel human who ruled it, unable to fly free.

  Now, in its moment of triumph, it was about to be destroyed.

  Rage flickered in the demon’s chest as it drew on the last reserves of its strength. A single ball of lightning coalesced before it. Power crackled as the firestorm approached, its heat washing over the demon. Still, it stood its ground. Screaming, it pointed a finger at its foe. The burning ball of lightning rushed forward, tearing through the flames.

  Across the room, a voice cried out, and with a sudden whoosh, the flames died, the winds dissipating instantly. The demon stared in shock as the smoke cleared, revealing its foe down on one knee, gasping for breath. A black scorch marked his tunic, and his face had paled, but it was clear the man still lived.

  Without any magic left to spend, the demon started towards the human. Its eyes caught the glint of a sword lying nearby, and it quickly diverted towards it. Unlike the other weapons in the room, the sword remained intact, its blade somehow untouched by the energies that had melted marble and warped lesser metals. The demon collected the blade and approached the kneeling man.

  The man looked up as the demon approached, his mouth wide. “Foul creature,” he gasped. “That Eric would stoop to this.” He shook his head and stumbled to his feet. “Well, you won’t defeat me.”

  The demon laughed. “You have nothing left to give, mortal,” it whispered. Closing on the man, it raised the sword.

  A smile twitched on the man’s lips. “Ay, but you picked the wrong sword, demon.”

  Before the demon could strike, the man flicked his fingers. A sudden
light burst from the blade in the demon’s hand, more brilliant than any it had seen before. The energies burned at it, scorching its already beaten body, lashing out at the spirit within. Hissing, it tossed the weapon aside.

  Quick as lightning, the man darted forward and snatched the weapon from the air. Energy crackled as the man grinned, his eyes ablaze with renewed power.

  The demon stood in shock, staring at the terrible blade in the man’s hand. With his touch, the sword had swelled with light, filling the room, so that it seemed the very air itself were aflame. Sensing the power radiating from it, an awful fear lit in the demon’s chest, as somewhere deep within a voice cried out, a memory of its past rising to the surface.

  The Sword of Light.

  As the realisation came to it, the man pointed the sword. And with a flash of light, the demon died.

  Chapter 41

  “No!”

  Enala’s screams echoed down the corridor as she threw herself at the door, pounding her fists against the polished wood. But the wind still howled on the other side, barring their passage back, sealing Eric within.

  “Enala,” Braidon said gently.

  Stepping forward, he caught the old woman by the hand. She froze at his touch, but he could still feel the tension in her wiry limb, her desperation to save her brother. “Enala, you have to let him go. It’s what he wants.”

  Trembling, Enala turned to look at him. He flinched from the despair in her eyes, the terrible grief. Tears streamed down her withered cheeks. “I only just got him back,” she whispered.

  He gave her shoulder a squeeze and pulled her into a hug. “He knows what he’s doing,” he said. “Let’s not make his sacrifice in vain. Come on, Dahniul is this way.”

  She stared at him a moment longer, then sighed. “You heard what was said in there, about the Tsar?”

  Braidon hesitated, then nodded. Enala smiled, pulling him into a hug of her own. “Whatever happens with your father and sister, I am proud of you, Braidon. I know Gabriel, your grandfather, would be as well. You have his spirit, his courage.”

  Braidon’s eyes stung at her words and he blinked back tears. “We don’t have much time,” he said quickly, starting away so she wouldn’t see the tears on his cheeks. “I can feel my power fading. Dahniul won’t stay hidden forever.”

  Enala said nothing, but after a moment he heard her footsteps following. Taking the lead, he led them through the winding corridors, taking each turn by instinct, drawing on memories that still lingered just beyond reach.

  He shivered as he realised he was leaving Alana behind again. He had glimpsed her only briefly in the throne room. Amidst the chaos, he hadn’t noticed her lying in the corner, not until she had staggered to her feet, blood streaming down her neck. He had wanted to go to her, but the swirling vortex of magic had cut them off. She had fled through a set of double doors on the other side of the room without ever knowing he was there.

  Silently, he prayed she had escaped. In the brief moments he’d seen her, it had been impossible to tell whether she was still the sister he remembered, or…someone else. Yet something in his soul told Braidon his sibling still lived. He couldn’t for a moment believe that woman had been sponged, lost to him forever.

  Shivering, Braidon forced his thoughts back to the present. Somewhere in the citadel, Devon and Alana were both at large, but it would be him the Tsar came for first. And Eric’s interference had left them only one path to take—up.

  In his mind, he called out to Dahniul, hoping the giant dragon would hear him, that his magic was still casting a protective net over the beast, concealing it from the eyes of the soldiers. It would only take a single flaw in his spell, one glimpse from the guards to send Magickers and Red Dragons after their only ally left standing. And powerful as Dahniul was, even she could not survive against such odds.

  Hurry, Braidon!

  The dragon’s voice was barely audible in his mind, but he felt a thrill of triumph. He glanced at Enala, but her eyes were distant, her movements automatic as she followed Braidon. She wore her grief like a lead blanket, but there was no more time left to comfort her. Within, the last trickles of his magic were fading. They only had minutes before the dragon was discovered.

  Footsteps pounded ahead of them. Grabbing Enala, Braidon pressed them up against the wall of the corridor. He held his breath as a troop of guards rushed past, their weapons drawn, eyes fixed straight ahead. Thankfully, not a single one noticed the blurring of air beside them, the slight flicker of movement.

  When the men had passed, Braidon led Enala around the next corner and up a twisting stone staircase. Enala was struggling now, her face ashen, her hair hanging in scorched clumps across her face. The battle with the Tsar had cost her dearly, and Braidon wished there was something he could do for her. She had given some of her energy to Eric before the battle…but Braidon didn’t even know where he would begin with such a feat. And besides, he had little left to give as it was.

  Braidon slowed as they approached the top of the stairwell. Ahead, daylight beckoned, but as Braidon listened he heard the soft whisper of voices from above. It only took one look at Enala’s face to know she wasn’t up for a fight. He considered taking the sword from her and tackling whoever it was, but he would be no match for even one trained soldier.

  There was no choice for it. They would have to risk his weakening magic in the daylight atop the walls. Silently, Braidon checked the concealment with his mind, sensing the holes appearing but knowing he no longer had the power to fill them. Then he took Enala by the hand, and led her up the last of the stairs.

  Emerging into the sunlight, Braidon swallowed when he saw a troop of soldiers lurking nearby, their eyes watchful, hands clenched around their weapons. They stood atop the stairwell, scanning the ramparts and skies around them. Clearly, the explosions from the citadel had them on high alert.

  Braidon shivered as Dahniul reared up behind the guards, giant jaws spread wide. The spell still clung to the creature, but like their own it was fading, causing the air to shimmer where the dragon sat crouched atop the walls.

  Shall I kill them? Dahniul’s voice echoed in their minds.

  Braidon looked at the gathered men, remembering the horror that had unfolded in the throne room below, and quickly shook his head. These men were only serving their country, doing their duty. It was not their fault the Tsar had become a monster. He would not kill them if he could help it.

  Moving quickly across the ramparts, Braidon breathed a sigh of relief as the men’s eyes slid over them, unseeing. Reaching Dahniul’s side, Braidon started to climb on to her back. A low rumble came from her chest as he settled into place, and the head of one of the men jerked up.

  Braidon shivered as the man looked directly at them. A frown creased the man’s forehead as he took a hesitant step towards the hidden dragon.

  Dahniul shifted beneath him, manoeuvring herself to strike the man.

  Not yet!

  Braidon sent out a desperate plea, and she stilled. Perching himself on her back, Braidon reached down, offering Enala a hand. Silently she sat behind him, too tired to even take her usual position as rider. Braidon’s spirits fell as he sensed her despair.

  He glanced back at the guard. His stomach clenched as he saw that the man was still approaching. It was obvious he had noticed something, but with the magic still clinging to Dahniul, he still couldn’t figure out what it was. They had to be out of range of bow or magic before that realisation came.

  Go! Braidon screamed in his mind.

  Dahniul shifted towards the edge, her claws scraping loudly against the stone blocks. The hackles on Braidon’s neck rose as someone shouted behind them. He risked a look back, and saw the man drawing his sword, the other guards rushing to join him. Crossbows bristled, pointing in their general direction. Then, Braidon’s stomach lifted into his chest as Dahniul dove from the edge of the wall.

  Letting out a wild scream, he watched the ground rush towards them, the three-pronged spire
of a nearby temple seeming to point directly for his heart. Then with a great flap of Dahniul’s wings, their descent halted. Another thump, and they went rushing upwards.

  Crossbows twanged behind them as they rose above the ramparts, and Braidon turned in time to see steel arrows slash the sky. Roaring, Dahniul twisted, almost dislodging Braidon from his seat, but the bolts hissed harmlessly past. Below the men were already reloading, and Braidon realised his magic had abandoned him.

  Rising higher, Dahniul swung towards the lake surrounding the island. The men of the citadel were behind them now, but ahead, the outer walls of the city were approaching rapidly. Maybe they could make it after all…

  Then Braidon cursed as he realised they weren’t yet high enough to avoid the great longbows being hefted by the guards. As he watched, one drew back his string and sent an arrow arcing towards them.

  Dahniul turned again, and it flew harmlessly past, but already others were taking aim. Soon, the air would be thick with arrows. Dahniul couldn’t avoid them all, and while she was protected by thick scales, her riders were not.

  Braidon glanced back, and was shocked to see Enala slumped against the dragon’s back. Her skin was so pale he could see the thin blue lines of her veins on her hands, and she was barely holding on. He swallowed and turned his attention back towards their escape.

  Turn back, he said silently to the dragon. They needed to gain more height before passing the outer walls. It would bring them over the citadel again, but with the guards there armed with only crossbows, Braidon prayed the dragon would be beyond their range. So long as there were no Magickers waiting now…

  Dahniul’s wings swept down as she circled back, each wingbeat carrying them ever higher. He could see men gathering on the walls below, pointing in silent frustration, like ants below them. Braidon smiled; then felt the air shifting around them, heard the dragon’s wings creak as a blast of wind struck them. Sensing the magic in the wind, Braidon clung to the dragon’s scales as the gale tried to tear them from the dragon’s back. Fear for Enala filled him, but in that moment there was nothing he could do for her.