Dawn of War (Legend of the Gods Book 3)

by Aaron Hodges

  Here Merydith paused to rest her horse, taking the time to look around. For the first time, she saw the damage Enala and Dahniul had wrought when they had come to the rescue of Devon and his friends. A smoky stench still hung around the southern gate tunnel, and a mezzanine had collapsed into the courtyard, as though a giant hand—or a dragon’s wing—had smashed it.

  Shaking her head, Merydith led her companions into the gate tunnel, eager to be rid of the fortress. Together they rode out onto the plains of northern Lonia.

  “Congratulations, Your Majesty,” Murdo declared in a solemn voice. “You just invaded the Three Nations.”

  “Ay,” she replied, her eyes on the horizon.

  There, ten miles beyond the wasteland, a dust cloud rose from the hooves of racing horses. Silence fell across their company as they watched the horsemen approaching. It was a full minute before Merydith recognised the flashing blue colours of Damyn’s scouts. Behind them, the horses of her army slowly formed up beneath the walls of the fortress.

  When the first of scout reached them, Merydith rode forward and dismounted, even as the man leapt to the ground before her. Several more were approaching rapidly. There was no sign of the rest of her vanguard, and she prayed Damyn and his force were already safely concealed within the woods south of the wasteland.

  “Your Majesty!” the scout gasped.

  “Tell me,” Merydith said.

  The man looked at her, his eyes alive, shining with fear and excitement. “It’s the Tsar,” he said in a rush. “He has an advance force, already in the forest. They’re on foot, but less than a day’s march out.”

  “Did they spot you?”

  “No.” The man shook his head. “We pulled back as soon as we sighted them.”

  “Good,” Merydith said. “Then I have orders for your captain.”

  Chapter 13

  Alana woke, as she had every morning for the last week, to a sharp kick in her ribs. Cursing, she rolled on her side and glared up at the old woman standing over her.

  “Enough, I’m awake!” she growled as Enala drew back her foot in preparation for another kick.

  Offering a grim smile, Enala tossed a wooden branch down beside Alana and turned away. Alana muttered something choice beneath her breath as she picked it up and climbed to her feet. Around them the forest was still dark with shadow, the first traces of light only just beginning to filter through the canopy.

  “Ready?” Enala asked, turning back and raising her makeshift practice sword.

  Alana stifled a groan. Wiping the last of the sleep from her eyes, she squared off against the old woman. Over the past few days, the ancient Magicker had shown Alana exactly how little she measured up against a master swordswoman. While the cuts around Alana’s neck were now almost healed, her grandmother had ensured she woke to fresh bruises each morning.

  Even so, Alana wasn’t willing to admit defeat. Spinning her stick in one hand, she nodded. There were no angry words left to offer now, and she approached the old woman with caution, weapon extended, watching for the slightest hint of movement.

  “Show me,” Enala murmured.

  Alana surged forward, her stick lancing for the old woman’s throat. Her grandmother spun away, her own stick leaping up, and Alana was forced to divert her attack to block the would-be deadly thrust. The clack of their weapons meeting echoed through the trees as Alana shifted on her feet, seeking to use her height and power to force the old woman back.

  Despite her age, Enala was no pushover, and before Alana could bring her weapon to bare, the old woman’s shoulder crashed into her chest. The attack sent Alana reeling off-balance. Red flashed across her vision as her grandmother’s branch struck her temple. Cursing, Alana thrust upwards, and to her surprise felt the blow connect.

  Her grandmother gasped, and Alana took advantage to retreat out of range. They stood staring at one another for a moment, before a smile crossed Enala’s face.

  “Better,” she said, “if you hadn’t already been dead.”

  Alana scowled. Baring her teeth, she brought up her makeshift sword and darted forward in a feint. Her grandmother’s branch leapt to meet her, but Alana spun on her heel, aiming low at Enala’s thigh. Showing surprising agility, the old woman jumped and Alana’s attack sliced empty air. Unbalanced, Alana staggered forward and caught a boot to her jaw.

  The blow spun her on her feet, and she had to thrust out a hand at nearby tree to keep from falling. Gasping, she righted herself. The crunch of dry leaves warned her of Enala’s approach, and she dived to the side. The old woman’s branch careened from the tree trunk with a thud.

  Recovering finally, Alana surged forward. Trapped by the tree, Enala spun, her branch coming up to meet Alana’s attack. The clack-clacking of their makeshift swords sounded sharply in her ears. Fighting desperately, Alana pressed her advantage, trying to force the old woman back against the tree. When her grandmother had nowhere left to retreat, Alana thrust out with her makeshift sword, seeking what would be a killing blow.

  Enala’s cloak swept up as she sidestepped, entangling Alana’s stick in the heavy fabric. Before she could dislodge it, Enala’s weapon slammed down on the branch close to where she held it. The force of the strike tore the stick from Alana’s fingers, and she cursed as Enala’s branch rose to rest gently on her throat.

  “Impatience will be your downfall, girl,” Enala said, offering Alana her weapon back.

  Alana gave a quick nod and snatched the branch from her grandmother’s hands. Another thirty minutes of humiliation and defeat followed. Enala was never cruel, nor savage as her father had been, but for Alana, her softly spoken reprimands were almost as bad. All her life, Alana had been taught to conquer, to beat down her enemies with sheer force and unyielding determination, to never give an inch. After all she had suffered at her father’s hands, Alana had believed herself skilled with a blade.

  Enala had disavowed her of that illusion over the past week. It was galling to find herself squarely outmatched by the old woman, though Alana had to admit she was improving, as her usual battle rage was honed by freshly-taught intuition.

  When they finally finished, Alana slumped down beside the dead fire, a fresh set of bruises now covering her arms, torso and fingers. The soft scuffling of boots on broken leaves followed as Enala sat beside her, a weary smile on her lips.

  “You were better today,” she said. “We may make a swordswoman of you yet.”

  Alana snorted. “I doubt we have the time,” she murmured.

  Over the last week, Alana’s fear of her father had grown daily, until now it was all she could do to close her eyes at night. She could almost feel him at the periphery of her vision, watching from afar, amused by her feeble attempts to foil him. At least Enala’s training proved a distraction, though each day the burnt-out villages they passed through reminded them of his hunters’ presence.

  So far they had managed to evade the black-clad Stalkers. Signs of them were everywhere in the forest though, and Alana could almost feel the noose closing around her throat. She wasn’t sure why they hadn’t already found them; the Tsar could have led his Stalkers directly to their campsite with his magic.

  Meanwhile, their hunt for her brother had continued through the endless days and nights. At first Alana had despaired at her grandmother’s belief that Braidon was dead; now though, Alana found herself clinging to the hope the old woman was wrong. How else could he have just vanished, if he had not survived the fall? The thought of her brother alone out in this forest, defenceless against monsters and Baronian thugs like Joseph, terrified Alana, but it was still better than the alternative.

  Alana knew her grandmother still could not bring herself to believe it. Looking at her now, Alana couldn’t help but wonder how much life the old woman had left in her. The week in the forest had drained her grandmother of colour, and while she still moved with shocking speed during combat, there was no forgetting the woman was over a century old. During the days, Alana had begun to notice he
r grandmother struggling to keep up, and their progress had slowed as the week endured.

  Sudden warmth bathed Alana’s face, and glancing up, she gaped at the gently crackling fire. The surge of magic was already dying away, but Alana looked at her grandmother in horror.

  “You used your magic!” she gasped. “My father, he’ll—”

  “He already knows where we are, child,” Enala replied. “If our magic has returned, so has the Tsar’s.”

  “Obviously,” Alana snapped. “But…” She trailed off, and her grandmother nodded sadly.

  “He’s watching us, toying with us. He knows we can’t escape him, not with his Stalkers so close. We should have fled long ago. I fear it is too late now. The only way to escape his gaze…”

  “No,” Alana hissed, shaking her head.

  She knew what her grandmother was suggesting, but she couldn’t bear the thought of turning her magic on herself again and wiping her memories. The last time had almost destroyed her. She couldn’t risk adding a third personality to the two already crowding her mind. It would drive her insane; she was close enough to it already.

  Enala nodded. “I thought as much,” she sighed. “Then…it’s time we left this forest. I’m sorry for what happened to your brother, but we’ve run out of time.”

  A lump lodged in Alana’s throat. She quickly looked away, struggling to keep the tears from her eyes. Whether Braidon lived or not, there was wisdom in the old woman’s words. Braidon could hide himself from their father’s magic; Alana and her grandmother could not.

  “I…” Thorns of iron wrapped their way around Alana’s heart at the thought of abandoning her brother. “No, not yet.” She stood suddenly, eyes flashing. “One more day.”

  Enala looked back at her, a sad twist on her lips, sapphire eyes shining. They were so like her father’s, her brother’s, that Alana had to look away. Her own granite-grey eyes she’d gotten from her mother—something she had always been glad of. She hated looking into her father’s icy eyes, and though she saw only kindness when she looked at her brother, she couldn’t help but doubt at times, couldn’t help but wonder what else of their father Braidon had inherited.

  Alana had done all she could to protect him, to keep him from the Tsar’s darkness, but she still feared the monster her father wanted him to become.

  Looking into Enala’s eyes now, Alana recognised the same hard glint as her father, the unyielding strength that would break before it bent. Enala’s son took after her more than the woman cared to admit. Alana dug in, preparing herself to argue, but her grandmother only nodded.

  Drawing herself to her feet, the old woman gathered her cloak and gestured to the woods. “Lead the way, granddaughter,” she said, not unkindly.

  A tingling sensation slid down Alana’s spine. It was the first time Enala had called her “granddaughter,” and she did not deny the title. Swallowing, she looked at the trees, and picking a direction, set off through the growing light.

  They walked for the first hour in silence, as the sun slowly crept higher into the sky. Its heat rarely reached the shadows beneath the canopy, but the light still improved Alana’s mood. At least during the day, she could see her father’s Stalkers coming. At night, they were forced to take shifts, to sit staring out into the icy dark and pray nothing came near.

  As they entered the second hour of their trek, Alana decided to break the silence. Over the last week, she and Enala had settled into a truce, forming a routine between them. Her grandmother would wake Alana each morning to receive her daily bruising, before they broke their fast and set off for the day’s search. If they were lucky, one of them would catch a trout or hare for food, but for the most part they walked in silence. Now though, Alana had seen a touch of her grandmother’s gentler side, and she found herself wondering at the old woman.

  “Did you know?” she asked abruptly as they stopped beside a creek for water. Enala looked perplexed, and Alana elaborated. “Did you know who we were, when you first found us?”

  When Alana and her brother had first met the old woman, she’d called herself Tillie. It seemed beyond the realms of coincidence that she should turn out to actually be their grandmother…and yet, no one else had known Alana and Braidon would be in that forest.

  Enala straightened beside the creek. “No,” she said, “I was only following orders. It seems Antonia still has a sense of humour, even after all these decades.”

  “Antonia sent you?” Alana asked. Her heart quickened as she remembered the Goddess from her dream, the small girl’s awesome rage. She swallowed. “You’re…on speaking terms with her?”

  Her grandmother smiled. “In a sense,” she replied. “She was a part of me once. It is a curse of our bloodline, it seems, that we alone can be hosts for the Gods. Antonia returned my body, but she still drops by from time to time with messages for me.”

  Alana shuddered. “I see.”

  So, Antonia had been meddling in her life since long before Alana’s dream back in the citadel. A part of her was horrified: their father had raised her to mistrust the Gods. But the other, gentler side of her warmed, reassured at the thought there was something out there, keeping an eye out for her.

  The conversation petered out, and leaving the stream, they continued on their way. Feeling more confident now, Alana walked alongside the old woman, asking questions occasionally about her past, of the lands to the north of the Three Nations and the Queen that ruled them. Alana found herself wondering what her life might have been like had Enala been there during her childhood, if she had taken them before their father’s cruelty could touch them…

  Alana tore her mind from the thoughts of ‘what if’. She pursed her lips. The past was set, and her grandmother had made her choice. It was a long time now since the glory days of the old woman’s youth. Once, she might have protected Alana and Braidon from her son’s wrath; now though, Enala was a woman out of time, the sole survivor of a generation long since gone.

  A lump formed in Alana’s throat as she finally realised how lonely it must have been, to watch everyone and everything she’d ever loved wither and die, to see her only child turn from her into darkness, for her grandchildren to grow up without her and suffer because of it.

  Swallowing the lump, Alana followed after her grandmother, all questions gone from her mind. The day grew older, as they wandered down goat track after game trail, always searching for sign of the boy who had fallen from the dragon. In the dense forest, they’d encountered no one but the self-proclaimed Baronian over the last week. They had avoided settlements for the most part, except where the buildings had obviously been abandoned or burnt-out.

  The last of the light was just beginning to fade when Alana sensed the magic come rushing through the trees towards them. She swung towards the presence, expecting an attack, only realising it was not directed at them when she found empty forest before her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as the metallic taste of magic filled her mouth.

  Ahead, Enala had frozen in her tracks and was staring in the same direction as Alana. They shared a glance, though neither could quite put into words the sudden hope that sprang between them.

  The magic in the woods was far off, but unmistakable.

  It tasted of the Light.

  Alana was running through the trees before her mouth could form her brother’s name.

  “Braidon!”

  Chapter 14

  It was nearing nightfall by the time Devon, Braidon and the couple reached a settlement. As the flickering lights of torches came into view between the trees, Devon couldn’t help but let out a groan. Their newfound travel companions had been convinced there was a village ahead, but they hadn’t known whether it was close enough to reach before dark. Having already fended off one group of bandits that day, Devon hadn’t been looking forward to the prospect of spending another night exposed to any would-be thieves.

  Thankfully the approaching lights promised a soft bed and hot meal, and he couldn’t help but gr
in. Reaching into the back of the wagon, he gripped Braidon by the shoulder and shook him awake. The boy snorted and looked at him through sleepy eyes.

  “What is it?” he asked, fumbling for his sword.

  “Easy sonny,” Devon said. “We’re here. Time for a hot meal and a bath, I think.”

  Nodding, Braidon climbed from the wagon as Elynor directed the horse into the small square around which the settlement was built around. Taking care not to trip over the short sword strapped to his belt, he frowned at Devon.

  “Do we have any money?” he asked.

  Devon shook his head and turned towards the couple, but Elynor and Carcia were practically fleeing towards the inn in their haste to avoid them. Devon looked back at Braidon.

  “Guess we’re on our own on that one,” he chuckled. “I’m sure we can manage a bit of work for a bed and meal for the night.”

  Braidon’s eyebrows lifted into his mop of curly black hair, and still laughing, Devon moved off. The settlement they’d found themselves in only consisted of a few dozen wooden buildings laid out in a circular pattern around the square of hard-packed earth in which they stood. The inn stood out as the only building with a sign, though the faded red paint spelling its name could not be read. With Braidon in tow, Devon headed for the wooden steps leading up to the front door through which their former companions had already disappeared.

  As they approached, the door swung open and a woman with auburn hair and russet-brown eyes stepped out onto the inn’s porch. Her gaze swept the square, settling on Devon and Braidon.

  “Suppose you’re looking for a room?” she asked, raising her slender eyebrows.

  Devon scratched his wiry beard and offered a sheepish grin. “Ay, we are. Got any space?”

  “Got any money?” she countered.