Oathbreaker (Legend of the Gods Book 1)

by Aaron Hodges

  “Get some sleep,” she said softly. “You’ll need your strength tomorrow.”

  “You really think we’ll be okay, on the road by ourselves?” Braidon asked.

  Alana shrugged and looked away. Her stomach churned as she recalled her conversation with Devon. The man had hardly bothered to consider her offer. He’d taken one look at Alana and dismissed her as a pauper. She clenched her teeth at the memory and forced her anger aside. It didn’t matter now—the fool had made his decision. Sure, she didn’t actually have the coin to pay him, but she hadn’t been wrong about the royal guards.

  “We’ll be fine,” she said, though even to her the words sounded weak. Squaring her shoulders, she nodded to the pile of rags that served as her brother’s bed. “No more questions, mister. Off to bed with you!”

  Braidon scowled at being treated like a toddler, but he went eventually, muttering under his breath as he pulled the blanket around him. Alana smiled, glad the fading light hid her amusement. Devon might have added muscle to their little party, but the giant hammerman was a fool. No, things were better off with just the two of them. Alana had her sabre, and the scars to prove she knew how to use it.

  Stretching out before the fire, she stared at the white lines marking the backs of her hand. Her mind drifted through the corridors of her past, memories rising and fading, carrying her off to sleep…

  “Again, Alana!” There was anger in her father’s voice as he tossed the practice blade.

  Reaching up, she plucked the sword from the air. Pain from her bruises radiated down her arm, but she took care to keep it from her face. She straightened and lifted the sword, readying herself.

  He attacked without warning, his heavy practice blade flashing for her face. Alana danced back, her own blade leaping to meet the attack. Steel clashed, and she flinched back, the power of the blow almost knocking the sword from her hand. Spinning on her heel, she attempted a riposte, only for a heavy boot to catch her in the chest.

  Her lungs emptied as she staggered backwards, still clutching the sword to her side. The scrape of leather on the stone pavings warned Alana of her father’s approach. Still gasping for breath, she thrust out with her sword, and felt a satisfying crunch as its blunted tip caught him in the stomach. Groaning, he staggered back. She took the opportunity to suck in a fresh lungful of air.

  They circled each other for a moment, wary now. He attacked in a rush, his sword slashing viciously for her head. Alana skipped backwards, her own blade parrying desperately, but now her father seemed to move with superhuman speed. In the dream, she watched in horror as he become a blur.

  She screamed as his blade struck her elbow. Agony tore through her senses. Her vision swam as she glanced down, and saw blood gushing from her arm, staining the cobbles. She swayed on her feet, staring at the bloody stump where her hand had been just moments before. Suddenly, her knees gave way. She tumbled to the cobbles, her head ringing as it struck stone.

  A face appeared over her, but it was no longer her father’s. It was the Stalker from the stepwell, the lieutenant who had captured the boy Magicker. He wore a sad smile on his face, and regret in his almond eyes. His long hair fell around his face as he shook his head.

  “Too slow, Alana.”

  Chapter 4

  The boy stumbled as the guard shoved him from behind. His bare feet slipped on the cold stone steps, and he would have fallen had Quinn not reached out a hand to catch him. He waited until the boy had righted himself, his depleted strength struggling to keep him upright, before shooting the guard a glare. The man quickly looked away, but not before Quinn saw his fear. Nodding, he turned his attention back to the boy.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  Steel manacles encircled the boy’s wrists. Chains hung from his ankles, making it difficult for him to walk. Dirt streaked his hollowed-out cheeks, and there was terror in his hazel eyes as he looked up at the guards.

  Quinn offered a friendly smile. Crouching beside the boy, he offered his hand. “My name is Quinn, lad,” he said softly, “and you don’t have to worry anymore, now I’m here. We’ll have those chains off you shortly. They’re just to keep your magic under control, until we’re someplace safe.”

  When the boy didn’t take the offered hand, Quinn let out a long sigh and stood. Flashing another glare at the guards, he took the boy by the shoulder and led him gently down the corridor. “The gardens are just ahead, lad,” he continued, as though this situation were nothing unusual. “We can take your chains off there.”

  Silently, Quinn cursed the men he’d left in charge of the boy. Many among the Tsar’s Stalkers had no sympathy for the young Magickers they caught, and were quick to take retribution for the destruction their captives had caused. With the damage he’d caused in the stepwell, this boy had more than earned the men’s wrath.

  Quinn had found him locked deep in the bowels of the dungeons, alone but for the rats. He’d screamed and fled to the corner of his cell at Quinn’s appearance. No one had gotten a word out of him since. Quinn prayed his men’s foolishness hadn’t ruined the boy; the loss of another potential Magicker would not please the Tsar—especially not after the recent disappearances.

  Shaking his head, Quinn sighed as they stepped through a wide marble doorway and out into the gardens. Beneath his hand he could feel the boy trembling, but as they continued across the manicured grass, the shaking began to slow. The boy blinked, his freckled cheeks wrinkling with confusion.

  Quinn allowed himself a smile at the boy’s wonder. Here the air was unnaturally warm, heated by the Tsar’s magic to protect its inhabitants from the icy winter beyond the citadel’s walls. The emerald green lawn spread out around them, dotted with stone courtyards and marble arches, rose bushes and towering oak trees.

  Laughter carried through the gardens. Quinn turned and watched as a group of children came running across the grass. Beside him, the boy shrank at the sound, his wonder turning to fear. Quinn cursed again his own men’s stupidity. The boy would never learn if he was too terrified to look beyond the edge of his nose. Moving across to him, Quinn placed a hand beneath his chin and forced the tiny face to look at him.

  “What do you think, lad?” he asked with a smile. “This will be your home now. Shall we remove those chains?”

  The boy nodded and quickly looked away, as though afraid the offer would be rescinded. Taking a key from his pocket, Quinn unlocked the cuffs on the boy’s wrists, then moved to his ankles. Metal clattered as the chains tumbled to the ground. Where the chains had been fastened, the boy’s skin had been rubbed raw, and Quinn made a silent note to send a healer to check on the boy’s health. It wouldn’t do for him to collapse in the middle of his lessons.

  “Well, would you like to meet your new teacher, lad?” Quinn asked as he stood.

  “Teacher?” The boy’s head jerked up at the word, the hazel eyes wide. “Wh—what?”

  Quinn flashed him a grin. “Of course. A fellow Magicker. How else would you learn to control your magic?”

  “Control it?” the boy said, swallowing visibly. “I thought…I thought that wasn’t allowed.”

  “Only without permission from the Tsar,” Quinn said, gesturing at the citadel. It stretched up behind them, all glistening marble and towering domes of silver and gold. “Why do you think I brought you here? The Tsar only wants his people to be safe. Wild magic is a deadly thing, but if you are good, and train hard, you can master your power. Then you can use your magic to serve the Tsar.”

  “Like you?” The boy whispered.

  “Like me,” Quinn agreed, “and many, many others.”

  Biting his lip, the boy looked away. For the first time his eyes swept out over the gardens, taking in the vivid green of the grass, the scarlet hue of the roses. Quinn’s heart twisted as he saw tears appear in the child’s eyes. Following his gaze, he saw the children playing nearby.

  “Are they learning, too?” the boy asked, his voice barely more than a murmur.

  “Yes,
they’re Magickers, too. Everyone in this place has been brought here to learn, just like you. We all serve the Tsar.”

  “And what about my teacher?”

  “I’m right here.” They looked around as a woman’s voice came from across the courtyard.

  Quinn forced a smile to his lips as he watched the woman emerge from a nearby archway. Long legs carried her quickly across the grass, her bare feet silent on the soft ground. Scarlet hair tumbled around her shoulders. A plain dress of cream wrapped around her tiny figure, and her green eyes shimmered as she watched them, a teasing smile on her lips.

  Wandering across to where they stood, she crouched beside the boy. “My name is Krista. And who might you be, young man?”

  “Li…Liam,” the boy stammered.

  Krista offered her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Liam.”

  “You’re…you’re going to teach me magic?” the boy asked as he took her hand.

  “I’m going to show you the way.” Krista grinned. “The rest will be up to you, Liam. You’ll need to be brave. Do you think you can do that?”

  With his hand in Krista’s grip, basking in her warmth, the boy nodded. “I’d…I’d like to try.”

  Behind them, Quinn smiled despite himself. Krista had only just started teaching the children a couple of weeks ago, but he had to admit, she showed promise. Her warmth had won the boy over, where all his shows of kindness had brought only suspicion. She hadn’t even needed to use her power. With luck, she would have the boy ready to consciously reach for his magic within a few weeks.

  Now, though, it was time for Quinn to take his leave.

  Nodding to Krista, he took his leave and turned away. He was just starting towards the doorway when a sharp tingling sensation shot down his spine. Gasping, he stood fixed in place, his fists clenched tight. Beside the boy, Krista rose, suddenly rigid as steel. Her eyes turned towards the north, in the same direction Quinn found his gaze drawn. They stood together in silence, staring at the distant wall, waiting for the last trembles of magic to die away.

  “It was close, inside the city,” Krista said finally, turning to look at Quinn.

  Quinn nodded. “Somewhere north of us. I had best investigate.” He glanced across at the teacher, his eyes hard. “Good luck with the boy, Krista. I trust you will prove your worth in this appointment. You know the legacy that came before you.”

  Krista stared back at him. Her eyes glinted, but Quinn turned away before she could respond. His mind was already elsewhere, feeling out the power he had sensed, seeking its source. Somewhere in the city, another Magicker was at large.

  It was his job to bring them to justice.

  Chapter 5

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Devon groaned as the sound of knocking pulled him from his sleep. Rolling over, he lifted his head and swore loudly at the intruder, and then buried his head in his pillow once more.

  “Devon, open up!” Kellian’s voice carried through the thick wooden door. “We need to talk!”

  Devon winced as the banging resumed. He held his hands to his ears, but it did little to stop the drums pounding in his head. He swore again and finally relented. Pulling himself out from beneath the thick blankets, he crossed the room and yanked open the door.

  Kellian stood outside, his hand still raised mid-knock. He blinked, then after glancing quickly down the street, stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Still muttering to himself, Devon moved across to the fireplace. The coals from last night were cold, but it only took a few strikes of the flint to get a fresh fire burning in the kindling.

  His stomach swirled as he stood and looked at his friend. “There, we have heat. Now, what did you want?”

  His friend only shook his head, his eyes venturing around the room. “Anything here you’d like to keep?”

  Devon frowned. “Keep?”

  He glanced quickly around the room, but there was little to see. Other than the single cot he slept in, there was a small dresser that was half-full of clothes and a plain table with just one chair. The tiny brazier had one dented pot and a pan. His sole possession of value was the chest at the foot of his bed. Made of solid oak, it was held together by steel bolts engraved with his family’s insignia—a pair of warhammers crossed at the hafts. Inside were his armour and weaponry from the war. It hadn’t been opened for almost five years.

  “What are you talking about, Kellian?” he asked, turning back to his friend.

  Kellian was busy peering out the tiny window beside the door, but he glanced back at Devon’s words.

  “The man you fought last night came back this morning. With friends,” Kellian said, voice hard. “They were looking for you.”

  Devon snorted. Moving to the table, he lowered himself into the chair with a groan. “Let them come,” he laughed. “Pretty fools, all of them with their golden bonnets. They don’t scare me.”

  “They should!” Kellian snapped.

  Something in his friend’s tone made Devon look up. “What is it?”

  “They’re out for blood, Devon,” his friend replied quietly. “They woke me by kicking in the front door to the Firestone. By the time I made it downstairs, they’d already smashed half the furniture. I sent them in the wrong direction, but it won’t be long before they realise they’ve been tricked.”

  “You shouldn’t have done that for me,” Devon said softly. Standing, he gripped Kellian by the shoulder. “I’m sorry they wrecked the Firestone.”

  Kellian shook his head. “I don’t care about the pub, Devon. But those men, they’re not going to stop; at least not while you’re close. You need to leave the city.”

  “A woman told me the same thing last night.”

  “An intelligent one, by the sounds of it,” Kellian muttered. He gestured around the room. “Now, as I said, is there anything in here you’re fond of?”

  Devon took another moment to look around, but, in the end, he shook his head. His controversial retirement hadn’t left him with many commendations, and in the five years since, he had struggled to find work as a sellsword. His refusal to use weapons tended to put off potential employers.

  “What about the hammer?” Kellian asked quietly.

  A shiver ran through Devon as his eyes were drawn back to the oaken chest. Inside lay not only his chainmail armour and iron half-helm, but the ancient warhammer, kanker. He had not touched it since that final day on the fields above Straken. But the weapon had been passed down through his family for generations. Kellian was right, he could not leave it for Anthony and his men to find.

  Even so, he hesitated. The thought of lifting the weapon again filled him with trepidation. He recalled the thrill of power he had felt carrying it into battle, the terror in the eyes of his enemies as he scythed through their ranks. And he saw again the pain of the survivors, the agony of men and women as they found the bodies of their loved ones.

  An ache began in Devon’s chest as the old guilt returned, but forcing it to the side, he strode across to the chest and flicked it open. Reaching inside, he pulled out the chainmail vest. Its steel links rattled softly as he pulled it over his head and settled it in place. The greaves followed, their iron panels engraved with the same insignia as the chest. The small pouch of silver shillings, all that remained of his wealth, he tied to his belt. Finally, he reached down and lifted the hammer.

  “Ready then?” Kellian asked impatiently.

  Devon nodded. Looping the warhammer’s sheath over his shoulders, he kicked open the door and stepped out into the street. A cold wind swirled across the cobbles as Kellian followed him outside. The boom of the door closing echoed off the narrow walls of the neighbouring buildings.

  “What will you do?” Devon asked, turning to face his friend.

  “I’ll be fine, Devon,” Kellian replied. “Just get yourself someplace safe and wait out the winter.”

  “I’ll head for Lon.” His various dealings had drawn him to the Lonian capital on more than one occasion. It was a rough, dangerous p
lace, its sprawling streets hosting almost twice the population of Ardath. He had contacts there though, former soldiers he’d fought alongside during the war. His retirement may have made him enemies among the officers, but his heroics on the battlefield had earned him the respect of the common soldiers. With luck, someone would have need of him.

  Still he hesitated, looking sidelong at his friend. “Maybe you should join me, Kellian. That guard and his friends won’t take too kindly if they discover you misled them.”

  Kellian grinned at that. “My clientele don’t take kindly to those who threaten their local watering hole. It’ll take more than a golden helmet to protect them if they venture into the Firestone again.”

  “Be sure to give them my regards if they do.”

  Laughing, Kellian extended his hand. “Take care, old friend. I’ll see you in the summer.”

  Devon took Kellian’s hand and pulled him into an embrace. “In the summer,” he agreed.

  Without another word, they separated. Turning, Devon headed off down the street without a backwards glance. His mind was already planning his route through the city. He would head for the northern gates and down to the quays. With only a few silvers to his name, he couldn’t afford to book passage down the river to Lon, but it was common for ships departing Ardath to carry passengers across the lake. From there he could walk the Gods Road to Lon.

  He had just reached the end of the street when a shout came from behind him. He recoiled as Kellian came racing past him. Devon had time to glimpse a dozen men racing down the street behind his friend before Kellian grabbed him by the arm and dragged him around the corner. The sharp crack of arrows striking stone came from the wall beside them.

  “Missed me already?” Devon asked as they started to run.

  Kellian answered with a string of curses. Ahead, the shadow of an alleyway beckoned and the two of them raced inside. Shouts chased after them. A crash warned Devon they’d entered the alleyway. He leapt a fallen pillar and ducked low. Arrows hissed and sparks flew as they struck the brick walls, but in the darkness Devon and Kellian were little more than shadows. Together they sprinted down a side passage.