The Sword of Light: The Complete Trilogy Read online

  The dragon shifted on the beach, its claws digging great grooves into the sand. Its tail flicked out, shattering a spire of rock that stood amidst the dunes. It growled again. Enough blood has been spilt on our land. We will not be responsible for any more. We will give you the day to leave our lands. Come nightfall, we will put our sister to rest. Her body, and all who remain on this beach, will be cleansed by dragon fire.

  Eric swallowed. “But we will not survive Dragon Country alone. We have no horses, no supplies. We are trapped on this beach.”

  Flames licked from between the dragon’s lips. Eric shrank backwards, holding his breath.

  There is a Lonian fishing vessel nearby. I shall tell the sailors of your presence. It is up to them whether they wish to rescue you. Either way, we will not wait, the wings began to beat again, sending sand flying across the beach.

  Eric raised his arm again and squinted through the sandstorm, watching Enduran rise into the sky. As he drew above the height of the cliffs the other dragons joined him, their wings carrying them out across the ocean.

  Eric watched them go and then turned to his companions. “What now?”

  Caelin smiled. “We wait. And pray the dragons don’t send the Lonians fleeing halfway across the ocean.”

  “They’re not exactly known as a timid bunch,” Inken countered. “I’d say our chances are good,” she moved up the beach to where their scant possessions lay scattered.

  Eric followed her, his boots sinking into the coarse sand. “Fishermen, or Lonians?” he asked.

  “Both,” Inken laughed. “Although I was referring to the Lonians. Gods’ know, they held the Trolans to a standstill during the Great Wars.”

  “Although unlike the Trolans, they’ve settled down a little since those days,” Caelin replied as they sat in a circle.

  Eric spared a look at the bundle of rags lying nearby, where Enala still lay inert. She had not moved or said a word since the night before, when Balistor had killed the dragon she rode. Whatever bond had been shared by the dragon and the girl, its loss had tipped Enala over the edge.

  A muffled sob came from the pile of cloth. Michael moved across and sat beside her. He began to speak to her, but Eric could not make out the words.

  He shook his head. Enala was a problem for another day, when they had escaped this deadly land. He glanced out at the ocean, straining to make out the tell-tale sails of a ship, but the horizon remained empty.

  “They’re likely to be some distance away,” Inken noticed the direction of his gaze. “The Lonians fish right down the east coast, but they stay well clear of these waters. The reefs are treacherous for the deeper hulls of their fishing vessels.”

  Eric nodded, but a rumble from his stomach gave away his impatience.

  Caelin laughed. “I know, we’re all hungry. But there’s not much we can do about that for now,” he eyed Inken. “Unless a certain bounty hunter thinks there could be game nearby?”

  Inken gave a short smile. “Believe me, if there was, I wouldn’t be lazing around here,” she glanced at Eric, “even if I’m hesitant to leave. No, I haven’t seen a single bird or rabbit in the trees since we arrived. For whatever reason, dragons or demon or curse, the forest around this cove is empty.”

  Caelin sighed. “That is a shame,” then he smiled. “Still, I’m sure we can survive a few more hours. A fishing ship is bound to have plenty of food on board.”

  “If they come,” Eric interjected, doubt still plaguing him.

  “They’ll come,” Caelin grinned. “I have every faith in our Lonian neighbours.”

  One

  The captain glared down at the company, lips twisted in a frown. A thick black beard matted his face, giving him a fierceness that would send lesser men scurrying. He folded his arms, the short sleeves revealing bulging muscles criss-crossed by old red scars. Even standing below them on the beach, he still towered over the four of them.

  Behind him, the dingy crunched on the sand as a wave rocked it. His crew milled around the vessel, eying their captain nervously.

  Caelin had taken the initiative, offering the sailors a lie about their being Plorsean ambassadors who had come to treat with the Gold Dragons. Eric could not help but think the story was a hard sell, given the dead dragon lying on the sand behind them. Not to mention Balistor’s body, which everyone seemed intent to ignore.

  “Enough!” the captain finally cut across Caelin. “I’ve heard enough. Never in my life have I heard such a ridiculous tale.”

  Caelin’s face turned scarlet. Eric guessed the sergeant did not have a great amount of experience lying, and getting caught in one clearly left him uncomfortable.

  He opened his mouth to reply, but the captain spoke again. “I don’t know what the five of you are really doing here, but I don’t really care,” he waved a hand. “From what I can see, I can guess we want no part of it. I don’t need this kind of trouble on my ship,” he turned to leave.

  “Wait!” Eric shouted.

  He stepped after the sailors, reaching out to halt the captain’s departure. The crew drew their swords and advanced on him, faces dark with anger.

  Eric raised his empty hands in surrender. “Wait, wait! You’re right, Caelin was lying,” he paused as the captain turned. He shot Eric an impatient scowl and raised an eyebrow.

  “Thank you. Like I said, Caelin lied, but I swear there is a reason. We are emissaries for the Goddess Antonia, it is for her that we are here.”

  The black eyes of the captain locked on Eric’s. “Oh? And what did the Goddess want with a rugged bunch of no goods such as yourselves?”

  Eric glanced at his companions, seeing them as the sailors must. Antonia had healed their injuries, but their clothes had still been reduced to an assortment of burnt and bloodied rags. He swallowed. Only the truth would convince here – no other tale could explain their presence.

  He looked at the big man, studying him closely. “You seem like a trustworthy man, but our purpose is a great secret. We cannot risk word spreading. I will tell you, and you alone, if you swear to secrecy.”

  The captain laughed. “Bold, aren’t you? Why should I swear to anything? I could leave you here for dead, for all I care.”

  “Here me out. You will understand the need when I have finished,” Eric met his gaze, and held it.

  The captain’s face darkened. He gave a sharp nod. “You have five minutes to convince me. You alone. Come,” he waved at the twisted trees. Eric nodded and followed the captain up the beach. His men made to protest, but their voices fell on deaf ears. The captain obviously felt Eric was small enough not to warrant caution.

  Eric couldn’t help but smile at the captain’s error.

  Even so, his heart quickened as they entered the trees. Silently he debated how much he would need to tell. This man would accept nothing but the truth, but too much truth could also prove dangerous here. Anyone who helped them on their quest risked the wrath of Archon; he could not risk alienating the man through fear.

  The darkness beneath the trees drew them deeper into the forest, until finally the captain turned and glared down at him. “Your time starts now.”

  Eric ran a hand through his hair, trying to decide where to start. “How much do you know of the Sword of Light?”

  The captain blinked. “The Sword? How does this have anything to do with that Trolan trinket?”

  “Everything. That trinket and the power of the Gods are the only things keeping Archon banished in the Wasteland.”

  A shiver ran through the captain. “So the legends say. Though others say Archon is long dead.”

  “He isn’t. His influence is everywhere now. He has been waiting – waiting for a seed he planted decades ago to take root,” Eric took a breath to calm himself. “When the Gods and King Thomas unleashed the spell to banish Archon from our lands, Archon cast a curse of his own. He bound the spell to Thomas and his bloodline, and over the generations it has slowly stripped the magic from the Trolan royalty. The same magic they n
eed to wield the Sword of Light.”

  The captain’s hand drifted unconsciously towards his sword hilt. There was fear in his eyes. “What are you saying?”

  Eric stared back. “That the magic of the Sword no longer protects the Three Nations. Archon is already preparing to invade. Yesterday, we were attacked by one of his demons; his first probe of our defences.”

  “You killed it?”

  “No, the dragon drove it off. That was before we were betrayed by our companion Balistor, another of Archon’s servants, who slew the dragon and my mentor, Alastair. Antonia is hunting the demon now – it won’t survive her wrath.”

  The captain shook his head. “This can’t be true. What you’re saying… What you’re saying means the end of everything…”

  “I am telling the truth,” Eric paused to let his words sink in, “but there is still hope. King Thomas had a sister, one who was never affected by the curse. Alastair tracked down her ancestors, but Archon’s minions got to them first. Only one of them survived – Enala. Yesterday, we finally found her.”

  The big man blinked. “You mean the girl on the beach? The blond that’s gone mad?”

  Eric bowed his head and sighed. They would have to deal with Enala’s state of mind eventually, but right now they had more pressing concerns. “Yes, that is Enala. And believe it or not, she is our last hope. Archon has hunted her across Plorsea, and it has almost driven her insane. But Antonia believes she will recover. It is our job to make sure she has the chance to do so.”

  Silence fell as the captain weighed up his words. This time Eric did not back down. He only had one chance to convince this man to help them. He would not fail.

  Finally the captain gave a sharp nod. “Okay, Eric. I’m not sure I believe you, but I will give you the benefit of the doubt. It would be a bold lie indeed to tell such a story. We are heading for the Lonian capital. I will take you that far. After that, you’re on your own,” he held out his hand. “The name’s Loris.”

  Eric gave a grim smile. “Thank you, Loris. You won’t regret this.”

  Loris shook his head. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

  *************

  The bow of the ship rose sharply into the swell and then crashed back down the other side. Wooden boards creaked as water rushed over the side to swamp the deck. Sailors walked through the water, shouting at men who dangled overhead. Wind cracked in the sails, driving them through the unbroken waters. The sun shone high above, its heat beating down on the exposed deck. The stench of fish seeped up from the cargo hold below.

  Eric’s stomach lurched with each rise and fall of the ship. He had never been at sea before, but he had heard of seasickness. He stumbled across the deck, grabbing for the railing, and lost the battle to keep the meagre contents of his stomach down.

  Laughter came from above. He looked up in time to see a sailor dropping from the rigging. A grin split his bearded face as he joined Eric at the railings.

  “It helps if you don’t look at the ship,” he pointed to the distant coastline. “Keep your eyes on the horizon. That way when the ship moves, the eyes and body both tell your mind the same story. If you look at the deck, it tricks your eyes into thinking you’re stationary, even though your body can feel the ship lurching about.”

  Eric’s head spun and he could hardly make sense of the sailor’s words, but he managed to look out at the rocky coastline. Even from a distance the jagged cliffs towered over their little vessel. Scraggly trees grew from the rock faces, their crooked branches reaching out for them like fingers. Behind them, the ocean stretched out to the horizon. He was glad they would not be venturing that way; the great expanse of water filled him with a dread he could not shake.

  A white bird with grey wings cawed from the sky, landing in the ship’s rigging. He tried to ignore it. Following the sailor’s advice, his stomach had already begun to settle, so he risked a glance at the sailor. He realised they must be almost the same age – around eighteen. “How long have you worked at sea?”

  The man leaned back against the railings, arms outstretched as he stared up at the sails. “Most of my life, but I only joined the captain a year ago. Before that I worked as a dingy rower in Lon. Where are your friends, our other unexpected cargo?”

  “Sleeping,” the others were making the most of the opportunity, but Eric’s sickness had been much worse inside the tiny cabin. “What happens with the sickness when you close your eyes?”

  “That works too sometimes, but makes it difficult to get any work done,” he glanced around. “Speaking of which, I’d better get back to my post before the captain sees me slacking. Nice to meet you,” he moved across to the mast and climbed back into the rigging.

  Shaking his head, Eric moved away from the railing and looked around for a good place to sit. It was time to test his magic. He had not reached for it since he’d been stabbed. Shuddering, he remembered the pain of the Soul Blade piercing his stomach, the demon’s cackle in his ear. If not for Antonia’s magic, he would be dead.

  He spotted a pile of crates stacked against the cabin and moved towards them, stumbling as the vessel shifted beneath him. Righting himself against the mast, he moved more cautiously across the deck and climbed atop the nearest create. Eric crossed his legs, leaned against the crate behind him, and closed his eyes.

  He drew a deep breath in preparation. Sadness clenched his heart as he remembered the last time he had meditated. The company had been whole then, Alastair still alive to guide him. Now he was alone. The thought terrified him.

  Drawing another breath, he allowed his thoughts to drift on the gentle ebb of his conscious. He focused on each inhale and exhale, allowing all other sensation to drift away. In out, in out. The air hissed from his mouth as he blew out, his chest swelling with each inhalation.

  Sound began to fade away. The lapping of water against wood, the flapping of the sails, even the shouts of the sailors drifted from his consciousness, leaving him alone in the silence of his mind.

  His thoughts proved harder to tame. The last few days had been hell. The night before last was a blur, a convoluted mosaic of flames and darkness and flashing red scales as the dragon chased them through the forest. If not for Inken, he would have perished.

  The thought of her set his heart racing in his chest. Images of their time spent in the glow of the clearing flashed by: the hot steam, the luminescent ferns, the splashing of water as they tumbled in the stream. Shaking his head with a smile, he let those images fade too.

  Memories of Alastair he could not so easily let go. Even now he could see the old man’s emerald eyes, the edges crinkled in amusement. He had been Eric’s mentor, his saviour and friend. His death remained crystal clear in his mind: Balistor, poised over Alastair’s unconscious body, the sword flashing in the sunlight, plunging down, down, down.

  Tears ran down Eric’s face, but he fought to let the image go, if only for a moment.

  In out, in out.

  Then only memory of Enala remained; of the brave girl sitting atop the gold dragon, their last hope. Then Enala mad, rocking in the sand, catatonic. She still had not eaten, would barely drink. If it kept up, their last hope would perish without any assistance from Archon and his minions.

  Finally, the last of his thoughts drifted away and Eric found himself falling into the familiar calm of his inner mind. A blue light flickered in the distance. The glow seemed cool and calming, but he knew from experience it had a darker edge. Magic had a mind of its own, a will to be free. But he was strong now, strong enough to control it.

  Moving towards the distant spark, he watched it grow until a great lake of magic stretched out beneath him. Lightning flashed across its surface, rising from the depths like a serpent. The blue glow warmed his soul.

  He stretched out a phantom hand and watched a thread of light rise up in response. It drifted towards him, wrapping gently around his wrist. His mind tingled as the power filtered through him, but he did not release it. He would need every drop in the co
ming weeks, if they were to see Enala safely to the Sword of Light. The enemy facing them was legion, and without Alastair and Balistor he was now the last Magicker in their small fellowship. The power radiating from his magic gave him reassurance though, where for so long it had been a source of fear.

  Beside him a door slammed and he felt a hand back on the ship grab him. Eric’s concentration snapped as someone shook him.

  “Eric, stop! What are you doing?” he heard Inken yell.

  Eric’s eyes snapped open. He looked around in shock, finding Inken standing over him. Her face was twisted in panic, her eyes wide with fear. Rain soaked her scarlet hair and poured down around them. It streamed down his face and with a start Eric realised he was soaked to the skin.

  The ship pitched violently, almost toppling Eric from the crate. Inken stumbled forward and fell against him. He caught her before the rolling of the ship sent her tumbling. The wind howled through the rigging above, tearing at the sail. The sailors shouted over the gale, terror in their voices as they struggled with the sails. Storm clouds blackened the sky, while sheets of rain and hail lashed the deck.

  They toppled from the crate as the ship lurched again. Eric struggled to stand, reaching for his power. His mind reeled with shock – he hadn’t released his magic, had he?

  “I don’t think this is me!” he shouted, grasping for Inken’s hand.

  “What? How is that possible?”

  Lightning crashed. Eric winced, instinct driving him down into his magic. Power flooded his mind. He opened his eyes and saw a bolt flashing towards the mast. He raised a hand and gripped it with his magic, hurling it into the raging sea. Thunder clapped and the air shook as it struck. Boiling water geysered into the air and crashed over the railings. It swept towards them.

  Inken tackled him backwards into the cabin. Breath exploded from his chest as they tumbled from the water’s path. Eric gasped, struggling to sit up, already searching out the next flash of lightning. Panic rose within him, swamping his concentration. His magic began to slip from his grasp. They could not afford that.