by Aaron Hodges
“It’s the safest way,” she replied finally. “Come on, the faster we move, the sooner we’ll put this place behind us.”
Chapter 11
What do you think?” Kellian asked.
Devon glanced at his friend, one eyebrow raised. “I think I’ve passed this way a dozen times without a problem,” he replied with a grin. “Don’t tell me you’re getting superstitious in your old age, Kellian?”
Kellian snorted. “I was more concerned about bandits. In those trees, we’d never see them coming.”
“What would a bunch of bandits want with a couple of paupers like us?”
“Maybe if you hadn’t spent the last of your coin on ale last night, we’d have something for them to steal,” Kellian shot back.
Devon laughed, but shook his head. “Come on, the Sitton road is faster.”
“Yes, and our old friend’s tracks go around. Are you sure you’re not just avoiding another encounter?”
“There is that,” Devon said, grinning. “Are you spoiling for a fight so soon after the last one?”
Kellian rolled his eyes, but he stepped onto the forest path without further argument. Chuckling to himself, Devon strode after his friend. To the west, the sun was just beginning to sink behind the trees on the riverbank, while ahead the forest of Sitton lay in darkness. He shivered as they entered the shadows, the temperature plummeting.
“I hope you’re right about this place,” Kellian muttered as they pressed deeper into the forest.
Darkness clung to the track here. The road was becoming overgrown as the forest reclaimed the hard-packed earth, making the way difficult. Several times Devon cursed as a root tripped him, or he found the soft trunk of a sapling in his path.
“Do me a favour,” Kellian said after an hour, “keep that hammer of yours handy.”
“You worry too much, old friend,” Devon replied in a light-hearted voice, though even as he spoke he reached up and loosened kanker in its sheath. “What ever happened to the wily warrior I fought beside in Trola?”
“He got old,” Kellian snapped. Devon looked round in surprise, but in the gloom it was difficult to make out his friend’s expression. After a moment, Kellian went on in a softer tone. “He grew a brain, stopped taking so many unnecessary risks.”
Devon nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. His friend was right, taking the forest path was an unnecessary danger. It would take at least two days to clear the forest—longer if they lost their way. The road was badly overgrown and it would be easy to wander off the path. That was a long time for any disreputable souls inhabiting the forest to learn of their presence. He and Killian might not have anything of value, but the bandits wouldn’t know that.
Silently he lengthened his stride. “Come on, we can still make good ground before nightfall.”
Kellian muttered something beneath his breath, but he picked up the pace. They staggered on for another hour before the darkness became so thick they could barely make out their hands in front of their faces. Several times Devon was struck in the eye by unseen branches, his height for once a disadvantage.
Cursing, he finally staggered to a stop. “This is far enough, I’ll not be thrashed half to death by a forest. We’ll wait for the light of—”
He broke off as a piercing shriek carried through the trees. A tingle of fear shot down Devon’s spine as he swung towards the sound. Hairs stood up on the back of his neck as the cry came again. He glanced at his friend, but Kellian was staring in the same direction, his hand gripped tight around the hilt of a knife.
Kellian looked around as the scream died away. His face was drained of colour. “Someone’s in trouble,” he said softly.
“How far, do you think?” Devon whispered.
“Close,” Kellian replied, “It’s difficult to tell in the trees.” He looked at Devon, his hazel eyes wrinkled with concern.
Devon’s heart was racing at the thought of danger. He glanced back the way they’d come, but the light had died and there was no sign of the path. The scream came again. The hammer weighed heavily on his back. He could feel the burden of its history calling to him, the legends of his ancestors. He thought again of Trola, of the burning cities and bloody streets, and shuddered.
Was he strong enough to wield it once more, and keep to the path of good?
As the scream slowly died away, Devon made up his mind.
“Let’s go,” he hissed.
He bounded into the trees without waiting for a reply. Leaves and branches crunched beneath his boots as he ran, kanker suddenly in hand. He tightened his grip around its wooden haft, drawing reassurance from its weight. A sense of elation filled him as he fought the trees, picturing the battle to come, the spilling of blood and screams of the dying. His breath came faster, his heart pounding like a wagon racing over a rutted street.
Another shriek carried through the trees, loud and piercing, calling him on. The darkness pressed in around them, but Devon no longer struggled with the roots and branches. His feet found their way with sudden accuracy, dancing through the unseen obstacles. He ran on through a tunnel of darkness. He was aware of Kellian’s presence beside him, but in that moment, he felt alone with the shadows, at one with the power thumping through his body, the beast writhing within him.
Ahead, the trees opened up, giving way suddenly to a clearing. Movement came from its centre. Lifting his hammer, Devon leapt towards it, mouth open to scream a battle cry…only to stagger to a stop as shapes took form from the darkness.
Alana stood alone in the clearing, grey eyes wild, blond hair a tangled mess. She held her sabre in one hand, the silver blade a blur, darting in and out, striking at the green things that reached for her. For a second, Devon thought they were snakes, only they had no heads, no mouths, no scales. As he watched, one shot out and wrapped a slender tendril around her ankle. The scream came again, one of pure, unbridled rage. Twisting, Alana’s sabre flashed down, severing the living vine, allowing her to dance clear.
But already more vines were closing in. Her sabre flashed again as one wrapped around her wrist, but it was clear she was fighting a losing battle. At her feet, her brother lay motionless, wrapped in a seething mass of green. Even as Devon watched, his body jerked, and started to slide away from Alana.
Shouting, Alana leapt after him, her sabre slashing wildly at the vines encasing her brother. Then she staggered, her feet coming up short as several tendrils trapped her legs. Before she could lift her sabre to cut herself free, they jerked violently, sending her crashing to the ground.
“What are you waiting for?” Kellian screamed as he shot past. “Help her!”
Devon shook off his shock and staggered after his friend. Kellian held a dagger in each hand now, their steel blades shimmering as they slashed at the vines around Alana. Beyond, Braidon’s body gave another jerk, the tangled vines dragging him across the clearing. Grasping his hammer, Devon charged after the boy.
The thrill of battle boiled in Devon’s veins as the weight of the weapon settled into his hands. Roaring, he bounded towards the nearest vines, the ancient hammer sweeping down to crush them. The vines fell back at kanker’s touch, and he charged on, a war cry on his lips.
Nearby, Alana was back on her feet. She stood back to back with Kellian, her sabre sweeping out to fend off another attack. But the vines had separated them from Braidon. Gritting his teeth, Devon fought his way after the boy.
The blood froze in Devon’s chest as his eyes followed the vines to the trees, and he saw what waited there. In the darkness, red eyes glowed from the trunks of the trees. Beneath the eyes, great fissures split the trunks, forming gaping jaws of hardened bark. Alana’s cry came from across the clearing as her brother slid inexorably closer to the awful mouths.
Devon flinched as a tendril wrapped around his bicep and he felt the bite of thorns piercing his flesh. Kanker swept down, its hardened head catching the vines mid-swing. At its touch, they fell back, their colour fading to black as
they dropped to the forest floor. Teeth gritted in rage, Devon forced his way through towards Braidon, fighting to place himself between the boy and the demonic trees.
Behind him he could hear the cries and grunts of Alana and Kellian as they fought for their freedom. Flashing them a glance, his heart lurched in his chest as he saw his friend go down, his feet whipped out from beneath him by writhing vegetation. Alana leapt to defend him, but another vine trapped her sword arm. Cursing, she drew her dagger and sliced at her supernatural assailants, but the steel blades no longer seemed effective.
Torn between his friend and the helpless boy, Devon hesitated. Panic rose in his chest. Around him the vines closed in, forming a writhing wall of green. Tightening his grip on the hammer, he made up his mind. Smashing a path through the vines, he started towards the dark glow of the nearest tree. The red eyes seemed to be watching him, an ancient hatred in their bloody depths. His breath coming in raged gasps, Devon fought his way towards them, driven by instinct now. The vines grew thicker around him, but just a touch from his warhammer was all it took for them to fall back.
With a roar, he reached the demonic tree and raised kanker above his head. A high-pitched shriek tore through the clearing, driving shards of pain deep into Devon’s skull. The noise seemed to come from all around, but he recognised it for what it was—a last, desperate attempt to halt his attack. Clenching his jaw, he gripped the hammer in both hands and swung.
Vines flashed for his face, wrapping about his neck and torso, but not even the thrashing tendrils could halt his attack now. The great tree seemed to shrink an instant before kanker struck, the vile glow dying in the red slits of its eyes. The mouth snapped closed.
A sharp crack echoed through the clearing as kanker plunged home. The vibration of the blow shook Devon to his core, almost making him drop the hammer. Clenching his teeth, he held on, and lifted the ancient weapon for another swing.
An awful groan came from the tree, but the vines continued to thrash, the terrible tendrils all around him now. Razor-sharp thorns tore at his thighs and he could feel blood dripping down his back, but still he raised the hammer high.
“Die, bastard,” Devon growled.
Red light flashed across the clearing as he drove the ancient weapon down into the blazing eyes. The wooden mouth groaned open, and it seemed a pure darkness came rushing out, a cloud of evil that fled away into the forest.
Devon staggered back as a sudden stillness came over the clearing. A wave of exhaustion swept through him, but summoning the last of his strength, he forced himself to look around at the surrounding trees. The other eyes had vanished, plunging the clearing into darkness. His gaze continued around to find Alana and Kellian standing nearby. The boy, Braidon, lay not far from where he stood.
Suddenly kanker felt unbearably heavy in his hands. Devon let the hammer fall. The thud as it struck the ground seemed unnaturally loud in the silence. He swayed on his feet, and Kellian quickly stepped forward and offered his shoulder. Cuts marked his friend’s arms and face, but he seemed to have fended off the worst of the attack.
Alana gave a strangled cry and ran to her brother. Devon watched as she dropped to her knees beside the boy. He heard a voice sound from far away. Turning, he tried to focus on the face of his friend, but the world was fading now, darkness swirling at the edges of his vision. Relieved, he opened his arms and embraced it like an old friend.
Chapter 12
What the hell is that?” Quinn pulled hard on the reins of his horse, bringing the beast to a halt mid-trot.
His men did the same, milling about him as they turned to stare in the direction their lieutenant was looking. Only a few had magic to sense the disturbance radiating from the forest to the west, but they were experienced enough to recognise the look on their lieutenant’s face.
Closing his eyes, Quinn allowed the waves of magic to slide through him. They pulsed on the air, dark and unnatural, a power from another time. This was no rogue Magicker, no wild magic. It was something else—dark magic, primal and raw, powerful.
He looked around at his men, sharing glances with the few gifted with magic. He could see the question in their eyes. Something was happening in the forest of Sitton, something against not just the laws of the Tsar, but those of the earth itself. Dark magic was a perversion of the natural world; it was their duty to investigate its sudden appearance.
Yet the detour would mean abandoning their hunt for the rogue Magicker, wherever the renegade had vanished. Quinn still wasn’t sure whether they were on the right path. The confrontation with Devon had left him angry and humiliated, and still no closer to finding their quarry. He wished he’d pressed the man more. If he’d managed to goad Devon into drawing his hammer, Quinn would have slain him where he stood. He could have killed him regardless, of course, but it would have shamed Quinn to kill an unarmed man—even one so cowardly as Devon.
Still, with their only lead a dead-end, Quinn had pushed his men onwards in the hope they would stumble upon the rogue Magicker. He had sensed nothing of their prey since leaving the capital, but Quinn’s instincts told him they were close to something.
Now, though, dark magic was radiating from the forest. Was this something to do with the Magicker, or something else entirely? He had sensed no Earth magic amongst the dark, as he had back in Ardath, but that did not mean their quarry was not involved. He had heard rumours of the forest before; perhaps the Magicker had awoken something in the old ruins.
Quinn shook his head. His gut told him two outpourings of magic in two days could not be coincidence. Swearing under his breath, he turned to his men.
“Vim, take three men,” he said, pointing at his deputy. “Continue north along the Gods Road until the roads merge again, then follow the forest road back towards Ardath.”
“What about you, sir?” his deputy asked.
“The rest of us will retrace our steps and take the other road. With luck we’ll meet tomorrow near the ruins of Sitton.”
His deputy nodded and saluted quickly. “Good luck, sir.”
Quinn tightened his grip on the reins. A breath of wind stirred around him, picking up dust and lifting it into the air. He smiled as the magic swelled in his chest, feeding strength back to his weary muscles.
“And to you, deputy.”
With that, Quinn turned his horse and kicked the tiring beast into a gallop. The roar of hooves chased after him as his eight remaining men followed suit.
Chapter 13
How goes your brother’s teaching, Alana?” Her father’s voice was cold, echoing from the stone walls.
Alana shivered, looking up into his weathered face. “He’s…progressing, father.”
“Progressing? His birthday is in two months. Will he be ready, or not?” He spoke the final words in a hard, grating tone that left no doubt such an outcome was not an option.
She nodded quickly, raising her hands in deference. “He will be ready, I swear it, Father.”
“Good.” As quickly as it had come, her father’s anger vanished. “He will achieve great things, one day. As will you, Alana. When the two of you are ready.”
Rising from his chair, he wandered around the dining table and gestured for her to stand. “Come, walk with me, my daughter.”
Alana smiled, the weight lifting from her chest as she accepted her father’s hand. Together they wandered out into the courtyard. Snow was falling over the roses, but her father led her around the covered walkway, her hand still in his.
“What are your dreams, Alana?” he asked quietly, his eyes on the white frosting covering the garden.
Glancing up at him, Alana frowned. “To make you proud, Father,” she replied quickly.
A smile appeared on his bearded face. “Ever the dutiful daughter,” he murmured. A light appeared in his blue eyes as he spoke again. “Now, the truth.”
Unbidden, the words bubbled up from the depths of Alana’s soul. “To be free.”
Laughter whispered through the courtyard as
her father led her towards the exit. Between the great columns holding up the roof, she glimpsed a shadow approaching. Something inside her screamed a warning, but in the dream, Alana walked on, oblivious. A cold crept through the scene, blurring its edges, as the couple stepped into the doorway leading outside.
Alana staggered to a stop as she found herself staring into Quinn’s hard brown eyes.
“Are you ready, Alana?”
“No!” Alana screamed, sitting bolt upright on the forest floor.
Gasping, she stumbled to her feet, hands scrambling in the darkness for her blade.
“Alana, stop, what’s wrong?” A voice came from nearby, familiar yet strange.
Steel rasped on leather as she found her sabre and drew it. “Stay back!” she warned, spinning in the voice’s direction.
“Alana, stop, it’s Kellian!”
Light blazed suddenly in the darkness as someone tossed fuel on the dwindling fire. Flames danced, casting their glow on the man’s face. She let out a long sigh as she recognised Devon’s friend. Lowering her sabre, she slumped back to the ground, her breath still coming in ragged gasps.
“Are you okay?” Kellian whispered, moving closer.
She shook her head and lifted a palm towards him. “Just give me a second,” she panted.
He nodded. Turning away, he crouched beside the fire and stocked it. After a moment, Alana moved across the clearing to sit beside him. She let out a sigh as she felt the fire’s heat on her cheeks. Her brother lay nearby, and she reached across to tuck the blanket firmly around him. Brushing a curly lock of black hair from his face, she watched him sleep. His eyes flickered at her touch but did not open. A moan built in her throat, but she pushed it down, willing herself to be strong.
Silently, she cursed her decision to venture off the Gods Road. She had been so confident they could keep in touch with the path, but within half an hour they’d become horribly lost. With the path nowhere in sight, they had stumbled on through the growing darkness. For a moment, Alana had thought them saved when they’d found the clearing. Then the red eyes had appeared in the shadows of the trees, and the vines had come for them, knocking Braidon unconscious before either of them had a chance to fight back. Only pure instinct had saved Alana, her sabre sliding into her hand before she even understood the danger threatening them.