Oathbreaker (Legend of the Gods Book 1)

by Aaron Hodges

  Braidon’s eyes flashed as he shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere, sis,” he growled. Before she could argue, he slid past her and started after Kellian.

  Alana opened her mouth and closed it again, her throat suddenly dry. For a moment, she wanted to scream and rage, but the words died on her lips as she watched Braidon walk away into the darkness. Tears welled in her eyes, her heart swelling with pride. Wordlessly, she followed the bobbing light of her brother’s torch.

  Quinn grinned as the giant warrior closed his eyes. Hamstrung and on his knees, there was nowhere the man could go, and he knew it. Heart hammering in his chest, Quinn lifted his sabre, preparing to deliver the final blow, and put an end to the man’s legend.

  Before the blow could fall, he glimpsed a flicker of light from the corner of his eye. Something flashed from the shadows, catching the hilt of his sabre and tearing it from his grasp. The clang of steel on rock echoed around him as he gasped, staring dumbly at his fallen blade.

  At his feet, Devon’s amber eyes snapped open, alighting on Quinn’s fallen weapon. A throwing knife lay alongside it. With a roar, the giant warrior threw himself at the blade. But Quinn was on his feet and he dove for the weapon, reaching it mere moments before his foe. Sweeping it up, he spun, and caught the glint of another blade as it sped from the shadows. The sabre swept up, and the knife clattered harmlessly to the ground.

  Kellian came racing from the darkness, a knife in each hand, and hurled himself at Quinn. Still reeling from the sudden attack, Quinn was forced back, his sabre flashing out to deflect the two shorter blades. Gritting his teeth, he absorbed the fury of the man’s attack, and gathered himself to strike back.

  Then Alana was there, her blade flashing out, and cursing, Quinn was forced back another step. Blood pounded in his ears as he retreated, the sudden rush of fear taking hold of his heart.

  “What are you waiting for?” he screamed to his men. “Help me!”

  The cries of his Stalkers as they charged gave him strength, and he straightened, fending off a blow from Alana and replying with a riposte that almost speared the old innkeeper through the chest. A second later, his men were alongside him. The weight of their numbers forced the two backwards to where the tunnel narrowed and Devon still sat crouched on one knee.

  “Stop!” Quinn shouted, waving his men to stand back. In front of him, Alana and Kellian paused, their eyes hesitant, weapons still raised. Lowering his sabre, Quinn took a step forward. “There’s no need for this, Alana. Come with me, and I will let your friends live.”

  She was tempted, he saw it in her grey eyes, but beside her Kellian only sneered. “Don’t listen to him, Alana, the man’s a snake if ever I saw one.”

  Behind them, Devon groaned, and drew slowly to his feet. With kanker clutched in one hand, he staggered forward to join them. “He’s right, Alana. Don’t give up your life for us.”

  Alana swallowed, looking from the men to Quinn. Sensing she was wavering, he spread his arms, sabre held flat. “There are no other options, Alana,” he said. Movement came from the tunnel behind them. Looking up, Quinn saw Braidon approaching. “Ah, your brother survived as well.” He turned back to Alana. “I give you my word, he will not be harmed, but you must give yourselves up.”

  For a moment, it seemed she would agree. Her eyes flickered back to her brother, and her head bowed. The blade quivered in her hand. He licked his lips and remained silent, allowing the weight of doubt to work its way into her mind.

  “No.” Quinn’s head whipped up as Braidon spoke from behind the others. He walked slowly forward, blue eyes hard, fists clenched, teeth bared. “Why don’t you give up, Quinn, and I’ll promise not to kill you,” he growled.

  Quinn allowed himself a smile. “Young Braidon, your power may be great, but do not think an untrained Magicker can match me!” He pointed at the boy to emphasis his words.

  Delving down into his consciousness, he sought out his magic, determined to smash aside the boy’s resistance. He fell away into the darkness, his mind probing out, searching for the flicker of blue. It appeared as a flash of light, brilliant and shining, but as he approached, his spirit sank. His stomach clenched as he looked on the tiny pool of magic, all that remained of his power now. The long chase and the brief fight with Devon had used up what little he had left.

  “Give up, boy. Don’t make me hurt you,” he bluffed.

  A smile twitched on Braidon’s face. He pointed at Quinn’s chest. “No.”

  With a boom and a flash of blue, lightning appeared in the palm of the boy’s hand. Screaming, he threw out his arm. Blue fire arced towards the Stalkers, and struck their feet with a crash of thunder.

  Chapter 34

  Alana screamed as lightning went crackling over her head and struck the feet of the Stalkers. Light flashed, blinding her, and she staggered back, one hand raised to shield her eyes. Her ears rang with the crash of thunder. Forcing open her eyes, she watched as the Stalkers fell back, panic spreading through their ranks.

  The stench of burning filled the air as blue light drove the shadows from the tunnel. Movement came from alongside her as Braidon strode forward, eyes aglow, hands still outstretched as he hurled his power at their hunters. Beside her, Devon and Kellian stood frozen, locked in the grip of her brother’s power.

  Alana shivered as she watched Braidon advancing on the Stalkers. Lightning flashed from his hands, sizzling through their ranks, sending the men reeling. Several turned and fled, their screams like whispers before the boom of thunder. Others threw themselves to the ground, desperate to avoid the awful power flashing around them.

  As Alana watched, a bolt struck one of the Stalkers in the back, igniting a booming crash. She blinked, staring as the man continued his flight from the tunnel. Another was hit, his clothes turning black, but he did not go down. The roar and smell of burning was all around, but now Alana realised not a single Stalker had fallen.

  Her eyes flickered to her brother as the truth came to her.

  It’s an illusion!

  Beyond her brother, a few of the Stalkers were coming to the same realisation. They hovered near the walls of the tunnel, eyes still wary, but growing in confidence with each crash of thunder. In the centre of the tunnel, Quinn dragged himself to his feet. Knowledge shined in his brown eyes as he looked around. He pointed at Braidon and screamed an order. A man beside him straightened, lifting a crossbow to his shoulder.

  “No!” Alana screamed. She started forward, even as the crossbow twanged.

  Time seemed to slow as she moved towards her brother. She watched as the bolt sliced across the open space, its steel tip flashing with the glow of the illusory lightning. Stretching out a hand, she strained to throw herself between Braidon and the archer. But she was too far away.

  The bolt shrieked home, burying itself in the soft flesh of her brother’s stomach.

  In an instant, the lightning vanished. The light flickered and died, plunging the tunnel back into shadow. Silence fell around them, absolute and terrible. In the gloom, she watched her brother fall, heard his low moan as he collapsed, the thud as his body struck the ground.

  Alana staggered to a stop, a sob tearing up from deep inside her. Grief washed over her, threatening to tear her heart to pieces. But, as her eyes swept up and saw Quinn watching her, rage rose to drown her sorrow and clenching her sabre tightly, she advanced on the Stalker.

  “Alana…” he whispered as she approached.

  The hiss of her blade answered him. Steel clashed as he blocked the blow and retreated. Teeth bared, Alana lashed out with her blade again, rage driving her on. This time Quinn moved too slowly, a gash appearing on his arm as her sabre sliced beneath his guard. He cried out, falling back, but there was no escaping her fury.

  “Alana!” he screamed, fear showing in his eyes.

  “How do you know my name?” Alana shrieked back, the crash of steel ringing in her ears.

  Around them the Stalkers began to regather. They edged closer, coming at h
er from all sides. She paid them no attention; she had eyes only for Quinn now. He had given the order, had seen her brother cut down.

  Quinn did not answer her. He stumbled back, but her sabre caught him again, opening a cut across his chest. Cursing, he swung out with his blade. Alana threw herself back, almost taken by surprise. Space opened between them, and Quinn retreated another step to widen the gap.

  “How do I know your name?” he hissed, wheezing for breath. “I know everything there is to know about you, Alana! Where you come from, who you are. Can you say the same thing about yourself?”

  Alana paused as his words struck home. She frowned, her thoughts drifting backwards in time, through their long flight across the Three Nations, to the day she had woken beside the stepwell. Her frown deepened as she sought the memories beyond that day, but was met by a dense fog, a sudden darkness. Blood pounded in her ears as she shook her head.

  “What have you done to me?” she gasped.

  “What have you done to yourself?” Quinn shot back.

  Alana’s rage came rushing back as she looked at him. “Give me back my memories!” she screamed, hurling herself forward.

  This time Quinn met her blade to blade, blow for blow. The words died away as they attacked one another, swords flashing. Death circled them like a vulture overhead; one slip, one mistake, and it would find them with the icy tip of a sword. Alana gasped as Quinn’s blade sliced her forehead, but she countered with a riposte that came within a feather’s breadth of his throat.

  “Stop this, Alana!” Quinn attacked again, forcing her to retreat. “I only want to help you!”

  “I don’t know you!” Alana fought back, stabbing out for his groin.

  But Alana’s strength was fading now, her movements slowing, and Quinn dodged her attack easily. She still had not recovered from the long swim from the burning ship, or the flight across the wasteland. Sabre flashing, Quinn pressed the advantage.

  Behind her, Alana heard the ring of steel as the other Stalkers engaged with Devon and Kellian, but, at a wave from Quinn, none came near her.

  “She’s mine,” he said, his voice low.

  Alana’s eyes narrowed as rage fed strength to her tiring limbs. Gripping her sabre in two hands, she attacked with renewed fury. But he blocked each blow easily now, retreating slowly down the tunnel, a sad smile on his face. Screaming, Alana hurled herself at him.

  “Fight back!”

  Her arms aching from the shock of connecting blades, Alana leapt sideways, seeking to take him by surprise. Her blade licked out, lancing for his ribs, but he twisted at the last moment and she cut only empty air. His sabre slashed down with sudden violence, connecting with hers near the hilt. The shock of its impact drove the weapon from her hands.

  Alana gasped, but recovering quickly, she kicked out. The blow caught Quinn in the chest and sent him wheeling backwards. Diving for her sabre, Alana swept it up and spun in time to deflect a blow from Quinn. Sparks leapt as their blades met.

  Behind her, she glimpsed Devon and Kellian staggering back. Her eyes widened as she saw Devon had her brother slung over one shoulder. A sudden hope surged in her chest. Did her brother live? But a dozen Stalkers still stood, and, alone, Kellian could not hold them off. The weight of their numbers was forcing him back to where the tunnel opened out.

  Quinn’s gasped as she swung on him and renewed her assault. Filled with righteous fury, her sabre became a blur, drawing closer and closer to his flesh. A dagger appeared in his other hand as he fought desperately to defend himself.

  But her strength did not last, her legs beginning to shake, and she sensed the end was growing close. Pain flared in her arm as his blade caught her, opening a shallow cut. Hope fading, she staggered back a step.

  “Give up, Alana,” Quinn murmured. “You’re better than this.”

  “Never,” she grated.

  She renewed her attack, but he parried her easily and riposted, forcing her back. Panting, she dropped her sabre arm to her side, the last of her hope fading away. “Just kill me!” she spat, holding back tears. “I won’t let you take me back!” The words bubbled up from her chest.

  Quinn watched her, his eyes sad. “You know I must.”

  Alana shook her head, though somehow, she knew he spoke the truth. Lifting her blade, she launched a last, desperate attack. His sabre flashed out, quick as a viper, and smashed the blade from her hands. It struck the stones with a crash of steel. A shiver ran through Alana as she looked up and found him standing over her.

  “Kill me,” she repeated, begging now.

  Quinn shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

  Before Alana could move, his arm flashed out, the hilt of his sword descending on her head. A sharp crack echoed in her ears, followed by a flash of red.

  Then everything went black.

  Chapter 35

  Alana!” Devon screamed as she collapsed at Quinn’s feet.

  He staggered forward, but pain shot up his leg and a wall of men moved to bar his path. Gritting his teeth, he hefted kanker and made to lower Braidon to the ground.

  “No.” Kellian’s hand grasped Devon firmly by the arm and pulled him back.

  In front of them, the Stalkers edged forward, swords held at the ready, their eyes filled with loathing. Despite his injuries, Devon had downed several with his hammer, Kellian two more. But now they’d been forced back to where the tunnel widened, the Stalkers threatened to encircle and overwhelm them. Their only chance was to keep retreating.

  Devon’s anger flared as his eyes swept across to where Quinn stood. He watched with teeth clenched as the man crouched down and lifted Alana into his arms. Turning, he walked away down the tunnel. For a moment, Devon thought he was sparing them; then his words carried back to the Stalkers facing them.

  “Kill Devon and Kellian. Bring me the boy, if he lives.”

  “Come and get him!” Devon bellowed, but he knew the threat was an empty one. He could barely stand with the boy’s weight on his shoulder.

  One of the Stalkers leapt towards them, sword extended. Kellian parried with a flick of his dagger, then buried his second blade in the man’s eye. Screaming, the man reared back, tearing the weapon from Kellian’s grip. His comrades charged forwards, but the man staggered blindly to the side and sent two more crashing to the ground with him.

  “That’s far enough!” rang out a voice from the tunnel.

  Devon froze where he stood and cast a glance over his shoulder. The voice had been softly spoken, barely audible above the pounding of his own heart, yet it carried with it a ring of power. At the other end of the tunnel, Quinn stopped and swung back towards them. The other Stalkers exchanged looks.

  Turning, he stared as the demure figure of Tillie walked from the shadows, stepping past Devon and Kellian and advancing on the men. She held the familiar short sword in her right hand—and fire in her left.

  “Who are you, woman?” Quinn’s voice came from the end of the tunnel. “How dare you use magic in the Tsar’s lands?”

  “How dare I?” Tillie laughed. “By the power of Antonia, I defy your false god!”

  The colour drained from Quinn’s face. Even from a distance, Devon could see the man’s fear as he looked at the flames crackling in the priest’s hand. As the Stalkers hesitated, the old woman flashed a glance over her shoulder, a smile on her lips.

  “Sorry I’m late, boys,” she said in response to their stares. “I was finding us a ride.”

  With that, she turned back to the Stalkers. The fire in her hand roared, doubling in size, and the men stumbled back. Beyond them, the last of the colour fled from Quinn’s face.

  “Stop her!” he yelled, then turned and fled, Alana still draped over one shoulder.

  The remaining Stalkers hesitated, looking from one another back to the old Magicker. But they were soldiers still, well trained and professional. For the past five years they had spent their days hunting down rogue Magickers, trapping them and dragging them back to the Tsar’s dungeons. O
vercoming his fear, one unleashed a battle cry, and the spell broke. Together, the men charged.

  And died.

  Devon stared as Tillie carved through the warriors, her sword little more than a blur, flames dancing out to engulf men in its blazing light. A man ran at her screaming, and staggered back, choking on his own blood. Two tried to encircle her, but the old woman only spun on her heel and sent flames rushing out to swallow them. Acrid smoke stung Devon’s eyes as he retreated from the battle. One by one, the priest cut the Stalkers down, until none remained to face her.

  Gaping, Devon watched as the old priest came to a stop, her shoulders heaving, a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead. Glancing back at them, she waved her sword towards the citadel.

  “Get back to the courtyard beyond the gate,” she ordered. “Dahniul is waiting for you.”

  Before Devon could ask who or what Dahniul was, the woman turned and started down the tunnel after Quinn and Alana.

  Quinn’s heart pounded hard in his chest as he raced out onto the open plains before the gates of Fort Fall. Alana weighed heavily on his back, but he did not set her down. If he lost her too, there would be no more chances for redemption. The Tsar would see him locked away, his soul torn from his body, his mind destroyed. No, better he face death than succumb to that fate.

  Sprinting across the barren land, he scanned the skies, searching for the dragons he knew were lurking nearby. An explosion echoed from the tunnel behind him. He watched the light flickering within the darkness. His men didn’t stand a chance against the woman, but if they could hold her long enough, he at least might escape.

  He turned away from the fortress and continued his flight. Silently, Quinn cursed his recklessness, using up so much of his magic filling the ship’s sails. He’d barely recovered enough power to strike at Devon, but the man’s cursed hammer had turned away the attack as easily as it had the demon’s dark magic. Now a powerful Magicker had shown herself, and he had nothing left with which to fight her.