Stormwielder (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 1) Page 3

  “Gabriel,” she whispered. Blood ran from her mouth.

  “I’m here, it’ll be okay,” as he knelt beside her, he started to sob. So close he could not ignore the horror. The collapsing wall had crushed her chest. It would not be long.

  He stroked her hair, whispering soft comforts. He didn’t know whether they were for her sake or his own. He had cherished this girl, and to watch helpless as her life faded away… Her breath came in rugged gasps, until slowly her eyes closed and with a long sigh, she was gone.

  Gabriel stood, fists clenched. He looked around the room one final time, gathering himself. Scrunching his eyes closed, he left the ruin. His mind was in shock. It begged him to run, to escape, to hide where the pain could not find him.

  He walked out into the pouring rain, searching for some sense or reason for this nightmare. He cursed his luck, cursed the Goddess for sparing him.

  Then he heard the whispers of the other survivors. He listened as they told of the boy who danced with lightning, of the demon who had wrought this madness. So he had joined the mob in their hunt, driven by hate, by the need to escape his pain. He no longer feared the powers such a demon might unleash. His own life meant little to him now.

  The gates were sealed, but their prey had vanished. Exhaustion soon quenched his anger and, without it, grief returned to overwhelm him. Soon the day was coming to an end and Gabriel felt the last of his energy slipping away. Despair took hold of his heart and with the last of his strength he dragged himself into an alley. Cracks riddled its walls. It would not be long before they crumbled.

  Gabriel stumbled through the growing darkness, moving deeper into the alleyway. In the dark he sank to his knees, closed his eyes, and waited for death.

  Yet death did not come. Hours passed and at some stage he had fallen asleep. Still the alley stood strong. Every so often the bricks would groan and Gabriel would brace himself for the end. It never came.

  Others had come instead. It began with the scrape of boots in the distance. He lifted his head, eyes struggling to pierce the darkness. He stilled his breath and listened. Someone was in the alley, coming closer.

  Two figures shifted in the shadows and then stepped into a patch of moonlight. Gabriel glimpsed a tall man with greying hair before the boy beside him drew his eyes. A mop of dark brown hair hung across his face, but beneath he could see the bright blue of the demon’s eyes. Thick eyebrows and a small nose appeared when the boy looked around. His gaze passed over where Gabriel sat hidden in the shadows.

  The boy held a short sword gripped tightly in one hand. Mud and ash covered his clothes and his tunic was dotted with holes that revealed the pale flesh beneath. Cuts and grazes marked his arms and blood ran from a gash on his cheek. Yet there were no burn marks.

  Gabriel stepped into the light. “You!”

  Four

  Eric froze as the voice hissed from the shadows. A young man stepped into a shaft of moonlight sparing from the fractured roof. He towered over Alastair, shoulders heaving, eyes ablaze with rage. Soot covered his clean-shaven cheeks, and tears and burns marked his cloak. Deep lines of exhaustion crisscrossed his face. “You!” he repeated.

  Alastair stepped towards him. “Step aside, boy.”

  “They’re all dead!” the stranger sobbed. “My parents, my fiancé. Gone!” He screamed the last word. Eric could hear the accusation in his voice. “Why?”

  The old man did not reply. Silence fell. Eric found his eyes locked with those of his accuser. His chest grew tight with guilt. He licked his cracked lips, his mouth dry as sand, and felt the terror inside him grow.

  The man snarled and took a step forward.

  Alastair threw out his arm, blocking his path. Eric shrank from the man’s rage, his feet betraying him to take an involuntary step backwards.

  “Stop,” Alastair ordered, his voice laced with authority.

  “You protect him?” the villager challenged. “He is a murderer, a demon. You must know this!”

  Alastair ignored the question. “What is your name?”

  “Gabriel,” he swallowed. “I will not let him escape. Now out of my way, old man. He must die!” he made to push Alastair from his path.

  “No,” Alastair’s voice rang with command.

  Gabriel clenched his fists, for a second frozen with indecision, and then with a snarl launched himself at Alastair.

  The alleyway echoed with the thump of fists on flesh. Alastair moved with shocking speed, spinning on his heel to sidestep Gabriel’s charge. Then as his heavily built attacker stumbled past, Alastair struck. Reaching out he grasped the young man by his coat and with casual ease threw Gabriel headlong into the brick wall.

  There was a harsh crunch and a second later Gabriel lay slumped on the ground, unconscious.

  “Come, Eric, we are running out of time,” Alastair said over his shoulder.

  Eric nodded, struggling to peel his eyes from Gabriel. How had the old man moved so quickly?

  “He’ll be fine. Come!” he moved off. Eric followed, his not-so-silent shadow.

  They emerged into an empty street. Above them towered the bulk of the city’s outer walls, the brick and stone forming a silent shadow on the night sky. Beyond, the stars glittered and the cold moon had taken its place above.

  Alastair took the lead again, crossing the road and picking his way through the rubble of an old building until they reached the foot of the city walls. Eric stared at the giant blocks of stone that made up the thirty-foot wall. Each rock had been worn smooth by the passage of time, their surface slick with rain. He placed a hand to the cold stone. The ramparts of this wall had overlooked Oaksville for centuries. In all that time they had stood as protection against the dangers without. Today they had witnessed the fall of Oaksville.

  A knotted rope trailed down from high above, flapping in the night’s breeze. Alastair took the rope in one hand. Eric’s legs trembled and fear rose in his chest. His heart began to race. He was terrified of heights; the thought of clambering up that rope was horrifying.

  Alastair held out the rope. “They had already barred the gates when I reached the city, so I had to make my own way in. I left this here in case I needed to leave the same way. You’ll need to climb first and wait at the top for me. There is another rope on the other side, but I’ve hidden it well. If you hear a guard while you’re up there, whistle. But I imagine most are busy elsewhere.”

  Eric struggled to keep his fear to himself. His breath came in quick, short gasps and a cold sweat trickled down his brow. Hands shaking, he slipped Alastair’s short sword into his belt, walked forward and took the rope.

  You can do this, he repeated the mantra to himself.

  He looked up. The wall towered thirty feet above his head. Gritting his teeth, he began to pull himself up hand over hand. With each lunge he planted the tips of his feet firmly in the shallow cracks of the wall before moving on.

  At first the going was relatively easy; the knots gave him something to grip so he rarely slipped. Yet as he moved upwards the stones became more worn, the cracks between them finer. His old boots struggled to find grip.

  Twenty feet above the town his feet slipped on the slick surface. He grasped desperately at the rope and slammed into the cold wall. His muscles ached from the strain and his hands burned where the coarse rope had slipped between his fingers. He scrambled to find purchase with his feet, the desperate seconds seemingly like hours. Finally the tips of his boots found a crack and he was able to relieve his arms of some weight.

  Eric took a deep breath, struggling to regain his composure, acutely aware of the open air beneath him. His arms shook with the effort.

  It took another five minutes to reach the top. With the last of his strength he threw himself over the battlements. In that moment he did not care whether a guard waited for him or not. All that mattered was escaping the yawning chasm beneath him.

  Head spinning, chest heaving, Eric peered over the side. He could hardly believe he had made it. After a few seconds he drew back again. He shook his head, trying to free himself of the fear lodged there. He finally thought to look for guards. The bright moonlight illuminated the empty ramparts.

  Eric managed a grim smile. Boot scuffled on stone and then Alastair was settling himself beside him. A hint of sweat shone on his forehead but otherwise he showed no sign of exertion.

  He nodded to Eric. “I’ll go down first, you look exhausted.” He crossed to the other side, reached between two crenulations and pulled up a rope. He vanished over the edge.

  Eric gazed back at the town. He had dreaded this moment, knew he shouldn’t look, but the pull of his conscience overwhelmed him. He needed to know, had to see what he had wrought.

  Oaksville stretched out beneath him, the dim remnants cast in grey by the light of the moon. In places the flames still burned but the rain had tamed the worst. From the wreckage rose the distant cries of the desperate and dying. A cloud of smoke hung low over the town, an embodiment of the evil that had cursed the place.

  With misty eyes he turned away. This was far worse than he could ever have imagined. Oaksville would never recover. He had been its doom; if evil had come to this place it was Eric who had brought it. He thought of the thousands of lives that had been shattered and swore he would somehow make things right.

  The rope went slack beside him. It was time.

  Eric grasped the rope tight in both hands and leaned back over the side. He closed his eyes, the fear rising up inside him and threatening to overwhelm him. His head throbbed. A dull wind brushed against him.

  He began to make his slow way down. His hands clung to the rope while his feet sought tiny cracks to support his weight. His arms burned already, not used to the strain and still exhausted from the climb up. Every movement seemed to knock another bruise or scrape. Inch by inch, he descended towards the ground.

  A sudden gust of wind knocked his feet from beneath him. He slammed face first into the hard stone, arms struggling to hold him. The metallic taste of blood ran across his tongue. He spat it out and looked down.

  The rope trailed away beneath him, curling towards the ground far, far below. His vision swam, blurring and fading until it seemed his head must explode. The fear froze in his chest. He could not draw a single breath. The ice in his chest slowly spread to his arms and legs, freezing his entire body with fear.

  The wind came from nowhere, a sudden gale kissed with the deathly chill of the far north. It ripped at his wet clothing, sucking the little warmth remaining from his body. The temperature plummeted. Eric shivered and clung desperately to the rope. His teeth began to chatter.

  He sucked in a breath, using a hand to wipe the cold sweat from his forehead. Ice cracked and fell away into the darkness below. Eric stared at the bare stone of the wall, struggling to control himself. As he watched, the rain-soaked surface began to glisten, the freezing wind turning the water to ice.

  “No,” Eric whispered, fighting to control his terror.

  He closed his eyes and struggled to slow his panicked breath, to calm his rampant fear. It was no use. He watched, helpless, as the creeping ice reached his feet first, then the rope. His boots slipped from the wall, leaving only his tenuous hold to keep him aloft.

  The rope grew colder in his hands. He clung tighter, gritting his teeth as the cold burned his skin. His eyes watered, tears freezing on his cheeks. Eric choked on the frozen air and pulled himself closer to the rope, bracing himself on the icy threads. He fought to hold on. He could not give up now, not when he was so close.

  It was impossible. Bit by bit the feeling in his fingers faded away, until, as if by a will of their own, they released his last hold on life. He fell away into the darkness.

  ******************

  Gabriel hauled himself to his feet. His sight blurred and began to spin. He placed a hand against a wall to hold himself steady. The stone groaned, the sound an agony to his aching head. At least it would be over soon.

  He stood motionless, eyes closed, ready to embrace his death. His heart called for his family, for the comfort of their loving embrace. The makeshift roof gave another groan. Dust filled the air. A crash came from nearby as the first piece of wall gave way.

  Soon.

  His thoughts returned to the boy and the old man. Damn them! If only he could have reached the boy, he would have been able to rest in peace. But the demon had escaped.

  Gabriel reached up and touched the gash on his forehead. He felt the sticky moisture of his own blood. He grimaced. Soon the pain would be gone.

  But was he ready to die? Did he not have something more to do now, something more important than this lonely death?

  Revenge.

  A twisted smile crossed his face. He walked slowly towards the street. As he emerged from the alleyway there came the strangely muted crunch of falling rock, followed by a whoosh of air.

  Gabriel did not care. There was only one single, tangible thought left in his mind. The demon would die. He would die for Oaksville. He would die for his fiancé and his parents. And most of all, he would die so Gabriel could watch the horror in his eyes as life fled from his broken body.

  Five

  “Come closer, let me see your face,” the voice whispered, snaking its way deep into the cracks of his shattered conscious.

  Something deep within him shrank from the voice, fought against the darkness creeping through his mind.

  “Do not be afraid. You have a gift, one that could offer you the world.”

  He could feel the defences of his mind beginning to crumble. The dark silhouette of a face began to take shape.

  “Ahhhh,” the voice let out a long sigh. “I can almost see you now. Almost....” the voice was eager now, filled with hunger and greed.

  His instincts screamed danger. With a wrench of effort he tore himself free.

  An ungodly wail echoed through the confines of his mind. There came a flash of light, and the dream ended.

  “Wake, Eric! We have to move. They have found us,” a rough hand clasped his shoulder and shook him. Pain jolted down Eric’s back.

  He jerked awake, instinctively reaching for his knife. For a moment the world was cast in red and he saw only a tall figure towering over him. He lashed out with a fist, his other hand drawing the dagger from his belt.

  Calloused hands caught his wrists. “Stop. Remember where you are, Eric. I have carried you as far as I can, but my strength is running out.”

  The red faded from Eric’s vision and he began to remember the night. The storm, the destruction, the climb, the fall! He ceased to struggle, searching his memory for the man’s name. “Alastair,” the old man nodded. “Who are you?”

  Alastair shook his head. “There’s no time. We must move, now!”

  Eric could hear the urgency in his voice but was not eager to leap at a strangers command. He glanced around, noticing now the dense wall of trees surrounding them. He lay in a small clearing, the ground all churned mud and scattered leaves. Above the light of the morning sun shone through the branches. He heard the first calls of the dawn chorus over the dripping of water on fallen leaves. Eric sat on the cold earth, the damp seeping through his thin clothes. The scent of fresh rain toyed with his nostrils.

  Alastair stared at the trees on the far side of the clearing. He glanced back at Eric. “We need to move, they can’t be far behind by now. Can you walk?”

  Seeing the panic in the old man’s eyes Eric gave in and nodded. He took Alastair’s hand and the old man pulled him to his feet.

  A crash came from the forest behind them. A streak of emerald flashed past Eric’s head; a Parakeet fleeing the coming danger. Others followed and the clearing filled with the thumping of wings and the screech of panicked birds. A breath of wind touched his cheek, carrying with it the stench of smoke.

  “Run!” Alastair hissed, making for the trees.

  Eric sucked in a breath and followed. A whirlwind of questions raced through his mind. Where were they? How had the hunters found them? What had happened after the fall?

  He chose one and shouted it at Alastair’s back. “How did they find us?”

  He thought the question had been lost in the wind. Another crash came from behind, closer this time.

  Then Alastair answered. “They’ve been on our trail since the wall. A couple of guards heard your scream as you fell. At first I managed to outpace them, but there was no time to disguise my trail.”

  They were moving downhill now and Eric struggled to keep his feet on the muddy ground. He grasped at seedlings and low hanging branches as he ran, struggling to control his descent on the slippery slope. Ahead Alastair slid between the trees with ease.

  Suddenly the old man slammed to a halt and shouted a warning. He spun, cloak whirling around him. His arm slammed into Eric's chest and knocked him flat on his back. Air exploded from his mouth at the impact. Eric fought for air, unable to draw breath. But his keen eyes did not miss the black shaft that flashed through the space he had just occupied. A sharp cracked followed as the bolt smashed into a nearby tree.

  Now the forest filled with the shouts of men. Still gasping in pain, Eric watched from the ground as three armoured guards appeared between the trees. Twigs and stones littered the ground beneath him. They stabbed through his clothing and scratched at his skin. Two inches to his left lay a fallen branch. Wincing, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around it. The rough bark stung the cuts on his palm but its weight felt reassuring in his hands.

  Alastair stepped across him. Reaching down he drew his sword. Its cold metal shone in the streaks of sun which speared through the canopy above. Silver streaks of hair hung across his face, masking his expression. Eric could sense his anger; he saw it in the hunch of the old man’s shoulders as he marched towards the guards.

  Pulling himself to his feet, Eric took stock of the men who faced them. The foremost was a small man, clean-shaven with short black hair. He was edging backwards with one eye on Alastair as he frantically wound his crossbow. The other two stepped past him, their eyes locked on Alastair. Both were larger than the first with bulging arms and necks as thick as tree trunks. One held a long sword in an easy grip. The other raised his own crossbow and took aim. Each wore the blackened burns of the storm.