The Sword of Light: The Complete Trilogy

by Aaron Hodges

  Together they wrapped their magic about the fire. A muffled roar came from the building as the roof collapsed and the flames rushed outwards, breaking free of their grasp. Enala raced after them, flinging out hooks of energy to pull them back. Slowly the flames began to calm, surrendering to their will.

  As one they pulled the flames skyward and hurled them across the wall. As they disappeared beyond the wall the air grew still. Voices whispered around them as the injured continued to be carried from the building. Then another boom of thunder came and Enala sensed fresh flames take light.

  Sweat beading her forehead, Enala threw her spirit back into the conflict. Beside her she sensed Eric’s own determination, but worried for his soul. Whatever he said, using the Sword clearly cost him. And her own strength was already wavering. They could not keep this up forever.

  Still they kept on, determined to save the injured souls still fleeing the building. Overhead a river of fire streaked the sky, rising from the barracks to fall on the desert beyond the wall. Enala panted for breath, desperate for water in the sweltering heat of the flames. The air was growing thin and her muscles burned as though she had run a hundred miles. Her mind swam, crying out for relief.

  Then with a final boom, the lightning died away to nothing. Silence fell as the last of the flames disappeared and a hush fell across the crowd. As one they turned to the building, waiting to see what would come next.

  Enala sank to her knees, swallowing a mouthful of air, her throat like sandpaper. Eric sat down beside her, his fingers clenched on the dry ground. He gasped, his face pale and his eyes ringed by shadow.

  “What happened?” Inken appeared beside them, sweat running down her forehead.

  “Gabriel,” Enala croaked.

  Before Inken could reply a whisper spread through the crowd. Enala turned, seeking out the source of the disruption. They sat at the front of the gathering, nearest to the barracks, so it only took Gabriel two steps to reach them. His eyes were clear now, empty of the darkness from earlier, though they were ringed by exhaustion. His clothes had all but burned away and his skin had bubbled in places, unprotected against the fire.

  He stumbled as he reached them, almost falling before staggering to a halt. He looked down at them, his eyes filled with fear and wonder.

  “Jurrien,” he murmured. “I saw him.”

  Fifteen

  Inken strode down the empty stone corridors of Fort Fall, shivering as a cool breeze swept through an open window. Three days had passed since Gabriel had picked up the Soul Blade, and the mood of the fortress was now teetering on a fine balance. Hundreds had witnessed the power wielded by Eric and Enala to save the barracks and those inside from the fire, but others whispered about what had happened afterwards, of the man who had been last to stumble from the building.

  Even May had taken some convincing just to keep Gabriel from the hangman’s noose. As it was he had been locked away until the Magickers could confirm the dark magic had truly left him. Eric and Enala had not had the strength for the task. The magic they’d spent saving the infirmary had cost them dearly and the two had spent the last few days confined to their beds.

  For the rest of them though, the last three days had been filled with the ring of blades and screams of combat. Archon’s forces hardly paused for breath now, the enemy coming night and day to climb the walls and die beneath the defenders’ blades. Each attack would continue for long, gruelling hours. And each time the enemy would be fresh, while Inken struggled to find the strength to lift her blade again.

  Exhaustion clung to her very bones now. They fought in shifts, rosters of men and women taking turns to hold the wall, but even so the defenders were lagging. Even with the extra soldiers from Lonia, there were only so many of them, and the long hours of battle sucked the strength from her soul.

  Their only source of hope was the impending arrival of the Trolan army. The ten thousand swords they brought would provide a welcome relief, and the Trolans were renown throughout the Three Nations as fighters. Word from their army said they would arrive tomorrow.

  Until then though, it was up to their weary arms to hold back the black tide outside. Inken clenched her bow tight, drawing comfort from the firm wood. Her sabre slapped at her side as she moved. She had lost count of the number of men that had fallen to her blade. It was all a daze now. All that mattered was staying alive, keeping out of reach of the swords and axes of the enemy, and the arrows flashing up from below.

  In truth, even with her skill she would have fallen long ago without Caelin and Alan. They fought together as a unit, smashing through any resistance the enemy could mount, the big man’s strength providing them an anchor in the chaos.

  She saw him now, a wide grin spreading above his greying beard. Caelin stood beside him in the gates from the citadel, waiting for her arrival. It was their shift again, their turn to hold the fortress against the evil of the north. Feeling the weight of her bow in her hand, Inken hoped she had enough strength left to survive the day.

  “You okay, missy?” concern edged Alan’s voice as his soft eyes inspected her.

  Inken shook her head and straightened. “Only tired. I hope the Trolans arrive early; it’s about time they had a turn against the buggers.”

  She felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up, expecting Alan to dismiss her back to the citadel. But the big man only smiled. “Just remember, stay close, missy.”

  Inken opened her mouth and then closed it, fighting back tears. There was such a kindness in Alan’s eyes she found herself lost for words, unable to respond to the compassion there. Choking out an unintelligible response, she pushed past them, wiping tears from her eyes when she thought they would not see.

  Where did that come from? She cursed her weakness and swallowed the emotion. Turning, she called back to them. “Well, what are you waiting for, boys? Don’t tell me the years are catching up to you?”

  Alan’s booming laugh chased after her, bringing a smile to her face. Together they marched through the gates of the first two walls, glancing up at the men stationed on each. All three were manned now, ensuring if one fell there would be enough to hold the others from a sudden rush by the enemy.

  At last the outer wall loomed ahead. Inken’s eyes lingered on the ruined barracks as they moved past, remembering the stream of flames that had leapt from the building into the sky. Not even Enala and Eric’s best efforts had been able to save the barracks, but hundreds had been able to escape in the time they’d bought with their magic.

  When the building had finally collapsed, the company had made their way into the ruin. The stench had been overwhelming, sending rescuers staggering back into the open air. But there was something they needed to retrieve, though Inken would rather have left the cursed things where they lay.

  The Soul Blades.

  She shuddered as she remembered uncovering them, finding them untouched amongst the wreckage. The blades still glowed with the eerie colours of the magic trapped inside, bathing her with their power. But she felt no desire to wield that power. It was a curse she was glad to avoid.

  Gabriel had passed on Jurrien’s words, that the Gods could not be returned to this world. Enala had paled then, stumbling away, open terror on her face. The rest of them stood in silence, unable to find an answer to the news. From this point on, the Three Nations stood alone against the might of Archon.

  Shaking her head, Inken turned her thoughts back to the task at hand. There was no point stewing over matters beyond her control. She did not have the power to face the dark magic wielded by Archon, but she had her bow and her sword. War at least she excelled at, and she did not intend to lose that battle.

  Silence carried down from overhead as they began their ascent to the ramparts. Inken breathed a sigh of relief, glad at least that the fighting had not yet started. Determined as she was, a few extra moments of rest would be welcome.

  As they reached the top they moved quickly to their station and sank as one to the cold ground. Inken l
eaned back against the crenulations and looked up. The sky was an endless blue and the air was crisp and dry. A cool winter breeze blew across the wall, but in the shelter of the battlements they remained warm. Any other day and she would have called it beautiful. Today though she could think of little else but death. Blood stained the stones around them, reminding her all too vividly of the violence to come.

  “Another lovely day at Fort Fall,” she commented wryly.

  Caelin laughed, stretching in the sun. “Almost makes me wish for a swim,” he said, nodding towards the distant surf. “Although it looks a little rough.”

  “Little man,” Alan chuckled. “You don’t have the stones for that water.”

  Caelin grinned back. “That sounds like a challenge, big man.”

  “Oh the arrogance of youth,” Alan shot Inken a wink and she smiled back. “You think the wolf worries when the puppy barks?”

  “A challenge it is then,” Caelin slapped his hand on his knee and pointed to the far off water. “When this business is done, we’ll see who lasts the longest.”

  Alan raised an eyebrow. “Five silvers say you don’t last five minutes.”

  “Deal!” Caelin held out his hand and they shook.

  Inken grinned at them. They had spent most of their spare time over the last two days in similar debates and she had already lost count of their wagers. The contests between them would be something to look forward to after all this; if any of them survived. She had joined in more than a few bets herself, but today she could not find the energy. Weariness gripped her soul, and she yearned to return to the citadel and Eric.

  She still hadn’t told him; told anyone but the king for that matter. She was not sure why she hesitated, but the knowledge felt personal, a secret she was not yet ready to share. Perhaps because when the truth came out, it would become all too real.

  And despite her trust in Eric and Enala, she struggled to find hope for their future. Even without his army, Archon was just too powerful. Antonia and Jurrien, with all their knowledge and power, had not been able to stop him last time. Archon had crushed them like insects beneath his boots.

  Even with the Sword of Light, the Gods had only had the strength to banish him.

  Horns sounded along the wall and with a long sigh Inken forced aside her doubt. There would be time for that later. For now, she had another battle to survive. Putting her hands beneath her, she pushed herself to her feet and hefted her bow.

  From below came the familiar screams of the horde as they rushed forward to meet their deaths. Closing her eyes, Inken let the sound wash over her, trying to calm her racing thoughts. How she longed for the peace and quiet of the forest, to return to the glade in Dragon Country where she and Eric had first made love. If only they could leave all this behind.

  But it was not to be. Biting her lip, Inken reached down and strung her bow. The familiar call went out along the line, ordering the archers to the fore. Below, the enemy dead covered the ground, marking the range of the defenders’ arrows. Then the order to fire came and the first wave of arrows rose into the sky.

  Inken could not have said how long the assault continued, only that her arms and legs were aching and that a dozen men or more had fallen to her sword by the time the enemy horns sounded their retreat. The whole time Alan and Caelin had stood strong beside her, their contrasting styles of brute force and subtle skill unstoppable. Together they held the centre of the line, their courage providing the backbone of the defenders.

  As the last of the enemy fell Inken stepped back from the edge, her breath coming in heavy gasps. The blade was heavy in her hand and she knew she was close to the end of her strength. Turning away, her stomach lurched. Unable to hold the nausea down, she stumbled to the backside of the wall and hurled her breakfast over the edge. An acrid sting burned in her throat as another convulsion shook her. The strength fled her legs and she slid to the ground, gasping as she leaned against the cold stone.

  “Inken!” Caelin was at her side in an instant. Alan was not far behind.

  She waved a hand to show she was okay, but another wave of sickness swept through her and she found herself too preoccupied to reply. Tears stung her eyes as she struggled to breath between heaves.

  “I’m okay,” she croaked at last.

  “What’s wrong?” Caelin gripped her by the shoulder and forced her to look at him.

  She saw the concern in his eyes and tried not to look away. “Not now,” she whispered. Taking a hand from Alan, she struggled back to her feet. “Are they done?”

  Caelin nodded. “For now,” but even as he spoke, the horns began to sound again.

  Around them, murmurs of fear came from the defenders.

  “They’re attacking again, already?” Inken groaned. She searched deep inside for some forgotten store of strength, but she had little left to give. Her energy was spent, stripped away by the endless days of combat.

  “Ay,” Alan stood at the edge of the ramparts, staring out at the enemy. “They’re coming. But not men. Beasts.”

  Pain twisted in Inken’s chest as her heart fell to the pit of her stomach. “The beasts?” she breathed.

  She moved with Caelin to stand beside Alan, her eyes sweeping out to search the plains below. Far in the distance, but closing at a frightening speed, came a host of creatures born from the pits of their worst nightmares.

  The Raptors led the charge, their razor sharp teeth glinting in jaws wide enough to swallow a man’s head whole. Thick black tails stretched out behind them as their massive feet carried them across the open ground. Behind them Inken glimpsed flashes of fur and scale, teeth and claw, but a cloud of dust obscured the details of the other creatures.

  They carried no ropes or ladders – they did not need them. Tales from Archon’s war told of how they’d scaled these walls, how their claws had dug deep into the mortar between the stones and carried them up to the defenders above.

  “Where are the dragons?” Inken whispered.

  Before the others could reply the horns sounded again, three long blasts echoing back to the citadel. Beyond the dragons had nested these last three days, lying in wait for when they were needed most.

  Inken’s heart soared as the first roar carried to her ears and the golden beasts rose into view, wings beating hard in the frigid air. She grinned, turning back to the oncoming horde. Let the beasts come; the dragons would burn them where they stood.

  The crack of wings came from overhead and a shadow fell across the wall. Inken looked up in time to see the golden body of Enduran swoop past, the rest of his tribe following close behind.

  Rest easy, little one. We will take care of these creatures. The great globe of the dragon’s eye found her as he spoke in her mind. Then the dragons rose higher into the sky, sweeping out towards the oncoming beasts.

  Inken grinned and a desperate longing rose in her chest. She wanted to be with them, soaring into the sky on the back of a dragon, ready to rain death down on those below.

  The dragons soared past the first ranks of black creatures, then spun in the air, their wings folding as they dived towards the beasts below. They fell like darts, flames billowing out ahead of them as they unleashed death on Archon’s creatures. An inferno ignited below them, roaring through the horde, consuming all in its path.

  A cheer rose up from the defenders as Archon’s beasts disappeared into the firestorm. Along the wall, men and women embraced and raised their swords in salute. Inken watched with quiet joy as the dragons rose back into the sky and wheeled about, preparing for another attack.

  Then she frowned as beasts started to leap from the inferno. From the distance she could not see what had happened, but it appeared as though the following ranks of creatures had already overtaken their fallen leaders.

  The dragons dived again, catching the next wave in the white hot heat of their fire, and again the defenders cheered. But Inken watched closely now, a tingle of alarm racing down her spine. The beasts were closer now, and her stomach twisted as
Raptors exploded from the columns of fire. Flames licked at their scales but they appeared unmarked.

  Inken clenched her bow tight as the rest of the creatures followed, leaping through the inferno in an endless flood. Smoke clung to the plain below, obscuring the horde beyond. But the vanguard was in full view now, the Raptors leaping across the bodies of the enemy, their eyes locked on the defenders above.

  The dragons’ fire had done nothing. Somehow Archon had outmanoeuvred them, casting his dark magic over his creatures to protect them from the flames. And now they were closing on the wall, already within bowshot, and still the defenders stood frozen.

  Inken looked up as the dragons roared and came again. But a flash from the enemy camp drew Inken’s eyes. Beyond the columns of smoke, a ball of power gathered in the air. She opened her mouth to scream a warning, but it was already too late. The ball raced upwards, accelerating as the dragons whirled to avoid it. One lagged a second slower than the rest and the ball of energy caught it in the chest.

  Darkness exploded outwards, enveloping the dragon in a shroud of black. Within the cloud the dragon stiffened, its wings locked in place, and without so much as a sound, it plummeted to the earth.

  Along the wall, the defenders heard the sickening crunch as it struck the ground.

  Howls of sorrow came from the sky and as one the dragons turned and retreated beyond the walls of the fortress.

  I’m sorry, little one, Enduran’s voice was heavy with despair. His power is too great; we cannot stop them.

  Thank you for trying, Enduran, Inken thought back. Join us on the wall. We will fight them together.

  A roar of agreement carried down and then the defenders were crowding backwards to make room for their allies to land. Only ten could fit atop the outer wall; the rest took up stations on the other battlements or the citadel itself.

  Even with their support, Inken could sense the fear of the defenders, spreading like a sickness through their ranks.

  Then May’s voice carried over the whispers. “Archers, to the fore. Nock arrows!”