The Sword of Light: The Complete Trilogy

by Aaron Hodges

  “Hello, Eric,” the voice sounded triumphant, ecstatic.

  Eric shivered. It knew his name. He could feel the dark tendrils digging deeper, searching out his secrets, seeking to claim them.

  Eric shrank back, reaching out for… what? Memory escaped him, slipping through his fingers like water. How could he fight such a force?

  The image of Enala mounted atop her dragon drifted through his thoughts.

  “Ahhh, so that is her, the hunted one,” dread sank deep into Eric’s soul. It knew!

  “Where are you taking her?”

  Eric fought against the shadow’s grip. Pain twisted its way through his being as the claws dug deeper. Slowly, visions of the coming journey slid from his conscious, and the outline of a ship began to take form.

  Still he struggled, clinging to the slightest distraction, to a mystery within his conversation with Jurrien. Why had he spoken to the God? What had happened that night? Jurrien had come, stopped him, hated him.

  For what?

  Magic!

  Lightning crackled as the spell broke, memory of his magic bubbling up within. Blue fire raced through his thoughts, lightning in the darkness. Gritting his teeth, he turned it on the intruder.

  A blast of white light lit the confines of his mind. He heard a dark, angry cackle, and then silence resumed.

  “Eric, are you okay? Caelin asked.

  Eric cracked open his eyes, groaning as the light set his skull afire. Like a dream, memory of his internal battle quickly faded away, vanishing from his thoughts.

  “What happened?”

  Caelin offered a hand. “You pulled a bold move, but made the mistake of placing your head in range of my knee.”

  The contents of Eric’s stomach threatened to come up as he took Caelin’s hand. “What?” he mumbled.

  Caelin placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “While in a fight, it’s almost always a terrible idea to lower your head. It makes a very tempting target.”

  Eric nodded, holding back another groan. His stomach swirled again but he fought it down. Mud soaked his clothes, and he wanted nothing more than to be dry again. Swallowing the nausea, he looked around for this sword. His legs shook when he tried to take a step.

  Caelin laughed. “I think that’s enough for today, you’ve both taken quite the beating. Anymore and Inken might just kill me. Come on, let’s get out of this rain.”

  They made their way to the dormitory and pushed open the wooden doors. As they crossed the threshold a wave of warm air swept over them. Eric closed his eyes in relief, already feeling halfway better. Looking inside he spotted Inken and Enala sitting on the couches in quiet conversation, each holding a steaming mug. A fire blazed in the hearth, casting a warm red glow across the lounge. The scent of roasting meat wafted over from somewhere deeper in the building.

  Inken frowned when she saw Eric. She rose and made her way over. “That looks like a nasty bump.”

  Eric raised a hand to his forehead, wincing as his fingers brushed across the bruise. “Blame Caelin.”

  He grinned as Caelin shot him a glare.

  The look Inken shot back was far worse. “Oh I will,” she growled, taking Eric’s shoulder. “For now though, let’s find you some clean clothes.”

  “I can look after myself you know,” Eric attempted to take his own weight and stumbled sideways into the wall. The room began to spin.

  “Oh really?” Inken raised her eyebrow.

  Eric fought back a laugh. “I guess you could help, just this once.”

  Inken smiled and took his arm again. Together they made it up the hall and into their bedroom, where he struggled into a clean set of clothes. When they returned to the living room they found everyone already seated and dry, each with a glass of the steaming red liquid.

  “What are you drinking?” Eric asked.

  “It’s mulled wine,” Enala answered. “Apparently somewhat of a Lonian specialty. Warms the stomach on cold winter days like this,” she picked up an empty mug from the coffee table and poured more wine. “Here, try it.”

  Eric took the offered glass and sank onto the spare couch. As Inken joined him he took a sip of the wine. The rich red was coupled with the spice of cloves and cinnamon, and when he swallowed warmth flowed down his chest. He took another sip.

  “I have some herbs that could help with the pain, Eric,” Michael offered. “Or some ice might help,” he tossed a bag across the room.

  “Thanks, Michael,” Eric placed the icy bag against his forehead. “The wine and ice will do for now.”

  He looked around the room at his friends. Michael and Caelin sat opposite him, while Gabriel had taken the seat beside Enala. Inken leaned into him and sipped from her own mug. They all looked worn out from the day’s exertions. Through the clouded glass window behind Enala, he saw darkness had fallen outside. They would need to light the lamps soon.

  “You must be the only one who won’t be hurting tonight, Michael,” Eric offered.

  “Agreed,” Enala groaned. “I’ll be staying on Inken’s good side from now on.”

  Inken laughed. “You did pretty well yourself. You almost had me a few times. Whoever trained you was very good.”

  “I don’t know, I could have used a few more rounds myself,” Caelin teased.

  Gabriel scowled and muttered under his breath. Eric could only agree – they hadn’t even come close to touching the sergeant.

  “Don’t worry, Caelin,” there was ice in Inken’s voice. “I wouldn’t mind switching sparring partner’s tomorrow.”

  Caelin didn’t even have the good grace to look abashed. He shot Inken a grin, but Eric guessed it wouldn’t last long tomorrow. If anyone could beat the wily soldier, it was Inken. If not in a fair fight, certainly in an unfair one.

  “Do we know when the ship leaves yet?” Michael asked. “Has anyone heard from Jurrien or the priests? It’s been a few days.”

  Caelin shook his head. “Silence. All they’ve said is to stay on the temple grounds. They don’t want anyone to know we’re here, in case Archon’s servants get wind of us. The fewer who know about Enala, the better.”

  Eric looked around the room, a thought dancing just out of reach. The others turned to him, waiting for him to speak, but the memory eluded him. He shook his head, and immediately regretted the action as the pain returned.

  “Makes sense,” Gabriel continued Caelin’s train of thought, then. “So, does anyone know what there is for dinner?”

  Michael grinned. “Well, as luck would have it I used my time somewhat productively today. I rummaged around the priest’s storage shed, and actually managed to find the ingredients to put together a decent meat pie. It should be ready right about now,” he rose and made his way into the adjoining kitchen.

  As he opened the copper stove door, steam billowed out and the aroma of roasting meat became overwhelming. The steam rolled into the lounge, rising to the ceiling where it began to dissipate. Caelin followed him into the kitchen and took out plates and cutlery. Before long they were each presented with large slices of meat pie. Thick gravy and chunks of mushrooms overflowed from the pastry onto the porcelain plates, mixing with the steamed vegetables.

  “Another Lonian delicacy. Once upon a time the shepherds here began making use of their tougher leftover meats by baking it inside the pastry of a pie, along with various spices. Today they’ve become a staple here, and most just use regular meat. I learnt the recipe during my apprenticeship,” Michael offered.

  Eric’s stomach growled. He couldn’t even remember what he’d had for lunch, but it was well past time for a hot meal. He grabbed his knife and fork, glancing around to ensure everyone had a plate of their own.

  As he raised the first chunk of meat and pastry to his mouth the front door burst open and crashed into the wall. Eric leapt from his seat, his food tumbling to the ground. Outside lightning flashed, casting strange shadows across the lounge. He saw Caelin fumbling for his sword, felt Inken rising beside him. He was reaching for
his magic when he realised who had invaded the quiet of their gathering.

  Jurrien strode into the room, his footsteps slow and measured, but his face alive with power. The door slammed shut behind him.

  “The ship is ready,” he announced. “You leave at dawn.”

  Seven

  Eric sat on the deck of the ship and watched the trees on the river bank slide past. Branches stretched out towards them, long limbs mirrored in the water beneath. But here the Hall river was wide and its current slow, leaving long yards between themselves and the banks. Below the oars rose and fell in quick succession, crewed by the mariners Jurrien had sent. With each heave the ship surged forward, carrying them up the river towards the distant lake city of Ardath.

  Birds swooped past, chasing the insects which swarmed about the ship, biting wherever they found flesh. Eric slapped another and felt a satisfying squelch as the mosquito died. Flicking it over the side, he wished the birds well on their hunt.

  The forest on either side of the river appeared dense, but he knew from their maps that the farmlands of Lonia lay just beyond the treeline. The farmers here cultivated the forest along the riverbanks to keep their cattle from the swift currents. The trees also served to keep the waters clean of the runoff from their livestock. They had travelled well into the Lonian floodplains now, where pasture flourished and cows ran in great herds, but the river remained a deep, clear blue.

  They had left Lon three days ago. On the first day the ship made its way across Jurrien’s Inlet, and the following morning had started up the Hall river. Now they were drawing close to Sitton – the port city marking the halfway point along the river.

  So far, their progress had felt unbearably slow, the minutes whittling away like hours. Restless nerves plagued Eric, and he knew the others were just as eager to reach the end of their quest. But Kalgan remained a distant prospect – first they must reach Sitton, then Ardath, before making their way on foot through the mountains into the nation of Trola. There, if all went to plan, they would find the Sword of Light.

  The weak winds didn’t help, but Jurrien had warned not to use magic to speed along their journey. Fellow Magickers could sense when someone released powerful magic, and they did not want to broadcast their passage to Archon’s minions.

  The boredom made matters worse. Other than some limited training with Caelin, they had little to do but sit and stew over the struggles to come. Eric rubbed a bruise on his leg, another of Caelin’s lessons – to never stop moving in a fight. His whole body ached as though it had been put through a meat grinder, but at least his skills were finally improving. Caelin praised his speed and reflexes, but Eric had yet to develop the intuition needed for an actual sword fight.

  Eric used the quiet to meditate, practicing his control and ability to draw on his power. He kept his magic suppressed, but he hoped the practice would still prove valuable.

  He ran his fingers over the hilt of his sword. Its weight felt awkward on his belt, but he now wore it at all times. He felt a sense of pride, that he might be worthy of carrying Alastair’s blade, the same weapon his mentor had wielded in the war against Archon. He hoped he might one day live up to that legacy.

  “Still nursing your bruises?” Caelin joined Eric at the rails.

  “Just a few,” Eric gave a sour reply. “Actually, I was thinking how much more enjoyable sailing on a river is. No seasickness, no raging Gods, no vengeful castaways to collect.”

  Caelin laughed. “We’re not there yet, although we’ll sleep in Sitton tonight. We’ll collect some supplies and enjoy some solid ground beneath our feet, then press on first thing in the morning.”

  “Thank the Gods, I’m going crazy on this ship,” he glanced at the sun. Noon had long since passed and the days were steadily growing shorter with winter’s approach. “Will we arrive before dark?”

  “If all goes well.”

  Eric laughed. “And when does that ever happen?”

  Nevertheless, a few hours later the evening sun found them pulling into the sleepy port of Sitton. Wooden docks stretched out into the river to greet them, empty but for a few barges and the odd fishing rig. The city spread out from the docks and up into the foothills of the river. The nearest buildings looked old and showed signs of wear, while the white roof tiles of those behind gleamed red in the dying sun.

  Eric stretched his neck, taking in the city. It appeared to rise from the river itself, old stone walls hedging the waterfront revealing the settlement’s violent past. Sitton had not been spared the wars which had once torn the land apart. But new buildings now rose above the old, spreading up the hill above the city. Great spires of marble and domes of shimmering metal stood amidst the stone houses, revealing the wealth of trade passing daily through Sitton.

  Their ship drifted up to the docks where men waited with ropes to pull them closer. As they drew alongside their own sailors leapt across the gap and began helping those ashore. They tossed ropes to those remaining on the ship and pulled the vessel tight against the wharf. Eric could not help but be impressed by the speed with which they accomplished the task.

  Inken joined him as he moved to where the sailors were lowering a plank down to the docks, allowing the less nimble passengers to disembark. She swung up onto the railings beside him. “Not going to jump?” she asked as she leapt to the wharf.

  Eric raised an eyebrow, feeling no desire to take a spill into the river. Turning he strode along the deck and wandered across the plank, much to Inken’s amusement.

  “Sorry,” she offered. “I just couldn’t wait to be ashore. I’ve never spent so much time on the water. It almost makes me miss that damn white horse I bought back in Chole,” Inken whispered in a conspirational tone.

  Eric smiled. Earlier he’d had the same thought about his horse, Briar. It’d taken him a week to get used to riding, but he had almost enjoyed it after that. The ship might move faster, but it was boring, offering little to do but sleep and watch the riverbanks.

  They followed Caelin down the dock. They knew which inn the crew would be staying in, but they had no desire to wait for the mariners to gather their gear. Fresh beds and dry land beckoned.

  As they wound their way through the thin crowd of people around the docks, Inken tucked her arm under his. “It feels good to have solid ground beneath my feet again,” she whispered in his ear. “I was going crazy, cramped up on that ship.”

  Eric waved away a fly and smiled. “Me too. I didn’t realise Jurrien would be sending quite so many marines – I felt like a sardine packed in a barrel.”

  Inken squeezed his arm. “I miss you,” she looked around. “I think they will be okay without us for an hour. The marines are right behind us. How about we go explore a little. It would be nice to have some time to ourselves while we’re ashore.”

  Eric’s hand drifted to the pommel of Alastair’s blade as his eyes scanned the crowd. There was a calm air to the way people moved here, a peace missing from other towns and cities he’d visited. He nodded to Inken. “You know the way to the inn?”

  “I heard the captain giving Caelin the directions. Now come on!” she tugged at his arm. Smiling, Eric allowed her to pull him into the crowd and into one of the side streets leading farther up the hill.

  “Have you been here before?” Eric asked.

  “No, but I’ve heard about the place. The temple here is said to be quite unique. Since the river marks the border between Lonia and Plorsea, the temple is dedicated to both Antonia and Jurrien.”

  Two storied buildings lined the street, but through the gaps overhead they made out the spire of a temple. Inken took his hand and they made their way towards it. The buildings closed in around them, growing larger as they climbed the hill. The dirt roads close to the port soon gave way to bricked streets, worn smooth by the passage of wagon wheels.

  Eventually the afternoon crowds heading to and from the markets gave way as they entered into quieter streets. Eric wrapped his arm around Inken’s waist and exhaled with relie
f. After spending two years in the wilderness, crowds still unnerved him. Even without the usual bustling rush of larger cities.

  The temple surprised them when they finally stumbled across it. The overlapping walls of the surrounding buildings hid the towering spire as they drew near, forcing them to circle the spot where they guessed it must be. Knowing its general direction, they persisted until they reached the tiny street in which it hid.

  The temple’s sheer marble walls stretched across one side of the street, the rich stone streaked by faults of blue and green. Where the architects had found such a variety of marble, Eric could only guess. The spire stretched high into the sky, vines of ivy clinging from the enamels. As they approached a bell high in the tower started to ring. Its shrill clang echoed loudly in the street.

  They made their way to the entrance, where the oaken gates stood open.

  Inken glanced at Eric. “Do you think they know about Antonia? That she’s gone?”

  “I don’t know. But either way, we better not say anything. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.”

  Inken smiled, nodding to their swords and her bow. “We might be a little too well-armed for that. I’m not sure many citizens take a casual stroll to a temple with this sort of weaponry.”

  Eric glanced down at his own blade. “Would be nice if we didn’t need them.”

  He felt Inken’s hand on his head and looked up. “One day, Eric. Remember what we said, we will get through this. Don’t lose sight of what we’re fighting for, don’t lose hope. We will finish this quest of Alastair’s and find peace again. Then you can put up that sword, and live your own life.”

  Eric leaned across and kissed her. As their tongues met a shiver ran across his skin. His heart beat faster as he pulled her hard against him. Her fingers curled in his hair and he felt a pinch as she bit his lip. When they separated the taste of cinnamon lingered on his tongue.

  “Are the two of you in the right place?” a man in sky blue robes asked, emerging from a doorway.