The Sword of Light: The Complete Trilogy

by Aaron Hodges

  The calm in her voice cut through the panic and steadied their courage. Inken stepped up with the other archers, shaking off Caelin’s arm.

  “We have to stop them, Caelin. It will take everything we have to hold them back,” she reached down and swung a fresh quiver of arrows onto her back.

  Drawing an arrow, Inken nocked and sighted at the nearest Raptor. As May’s cry to fire rang out she loosed, watching with satisfaction as her arrow found its mark. But the Raptor did not even stumble as the shaft embedded itself in its shoulder. It came on, black scales shining in the light of the flames behind it.

  Inken nocked again but did not wait for May’s command – volleys would not stop these creatures. Her next two arrows found the creature’s neck and shoulder again, and finally the beast slowed. Its head swung around, the great jaws tearing the shaft from its neck.

  Sighting, Inken put another arrow through its neck. This time as it struck, the Raptor tripped and went tumbling across the rocky ground. It took a long time to get back up and Inken prayed it would no longer have the strength to climb.

  She emptied her quiver into two more Raptors before the first beasts reached the wall, and then tossed her bow aside. Drawing her sabre, she stepped back between Caelin and Alan, and waited.

  “Up for this, missy?” Alan asked softly.

  Inken nodded. “Ask me again after we see the damn things off.”

  “Just stay between us, Inken,” Caelin grunted. “Eric will have our heads if we don’t bring you back safely.”

  “You two concentrate on keeping yourselves alive,” Inken replied, though fear flickered in her chest. “I can take care of myself.”

  She saw her own fear reflected in Caelin’s eyes as he nodded back.

  “Right then,” Alan raised his voice so those around him could hear. “Let’s show these beasts what we’re made of!” Alan raised his war hammer and a ragged cheer went up from around them. Inken could see no fear in the big man’s eyes, only the same steady determination she had seen in the last few days, and drew strength from his courage.

  Silence fell then as they stood together, listening to the scrambling of claws on stone.

  The Raptors appeared in a rush, surging over the crenulations to fall on the ranks of defenders. Along the wall the dragons roared their defiance and the defenders rushed forward to meet the beasts.

  Inken dove backwards as a Raptor’s claws slashed for her throat. She stumbled on the bloody bricks but Caelin hurled himself into the fray, his sword slashing for the beast’s head. It bounded out of reach, then the thick black tail swung round to catch Caelin in the chest. He staggered back, the breath wheezing from his lungs.

  Recovering her balance, Inken lunged in. Her sabre lanced towards the creature’s midriff, point poised to strike, but the Raptor leapt to the side and sparks flew as her blade struck stone. She flinched as the Raptor attacked then, the giant jaws stretched wide to tear off her head.

  A strong hand grasped her by the collar and jerked her backwards, then Alan charged into the fray, his hammer crunching into the Raptor’s jaws. It roared, staggering sideways and then leapt to avoid his next blow. The beaded eyes followed Alan as he turned. Charging in, the creature snapped at Alan’s face, but his fist swung round to catch the creature’s chin. To Inken’s shock, the blow staggered the Raptor and Alan stepped clear.

  Before it could recover, the big man turned back, hammer raised, and charged. The Raptor growled, swinging to meet him, but the slick stone slipped beneath its claws. Alan raised kanker high as the creature struggled for balance, and brought it down on the Raptor’s skull with a crunch.

  Black blood splattered the bricks as the beast collapsed beneath the blow and started to thrash. Alan retreated out of range as the wicked claws tore blindly at empty air.

  Inken sucked in a breath and joined him as another Raptor hauled itself into view. Caelin was back on his feet too, standing on Alan’s other side. Together they attacked, weapons slicing for the creature’s stomach. It scrambled to face them, its claws flicking out to turn aside Inken’s blade. Its other talon swept past Alan’s guard and sliced through his jacket.

  Alan staggered backwards but Caelin leapt in, dancing past its claws to bring his sword down on its neck. The blade cut deep and the Raptor roared, turning to crush the foe that dared to harm it. As it turned, Inken darted in and drove her sword down into the same place Caelin had struck. It roared again and spun, but she was already retreating out of range.

  A final blow from Caelin finished the creature.

  As it collapsed, Alan stepped up and crushed its skull with his hammer. Looking around, he swore softly under his breath.

  Inken followed his gaze and swallowed hard. The beasts swarmed across the wall, leaping from the crenulations to swamp the defenders. The climb did nothing to slow them, and only the pockets of men around the dragons were holding their own. But one of the golden creatures had already fallen, brought down by a mass of black-clawed beasts. The others fought on, their massive claws and teeth smashing the creatures from the wall.

  Even so, the odds were quickly turning against the defenders as the flood of dark beasts continued unabated. In places their people were in open retreat. They fled down the staircases, their exposed backs easy pickings for the beasts above.

  “The wall is lost,” Caelin roared. “We have to retreat,” a trumpet sounded with his words, the long, drawn out note of defeat. It was the first time Inken had heard the call, but she knew its meaning well enough. May had echoed Caelin’s thoughts and sounded the retreat.

  Inken looked at the wide open space between them and the next wall. It was a long way. How long would the gates stay open for them? Could they make it?

  A growl came from behind her and she swung around. New creatures were pulling themselves onto the battlements, catching up with the vanguard of Raptors that had led the charge. Two crept towards them now. The first wore the black fur coat of a feline, its bright yellow eyes staring at them with hunger. The other was a lizard, its grey scales gleaming in the sun. It scrambled on all fours towards them, razor sharp rows of spines rippling along its back. The beasts growled, jaws opening to show rows of dagger-like teeth.

  Inken raised her sabre, prepared to throw herself at the creatures, but Alan stepped between them.

  “Go,” he said calmly as he faced the beasts.

  “What?” Inken yelled over the screams of the dying.

  “Go, both of you,” Alan spoke without turning, his eyes locked on the dark creatures. “I won’t make the gates, but you two can,” he risked a glance back. “Go, live! I never intended to leave this wall. I will not show these creatures my back. We part ways here, my friends.”

  Inken opened her mouth but could not find the words. Tears burned in her eyes as the weight of his decision fell on her shoulders. She could not let him do this, could not let him sacrifice himself for them.

  “You don’t have to do this!” a vice had closed around her chest but she managed to choke out the words.

  Alan only smiled and turned away. “Go now, missy. Kanker and I have one last battle to fight, but you must live. I don’t want to see you on the other side, not for a long time. So go!” he roared the last words as he charged, hammer raised high as the beasts leapt to meet him.

  “Farewell, my friend,” Caelin murmured.

  “Farewell,” tears streamed down Inken’s face as Caelin grabbed her by the arm.

  Together they turned and ran for the stairs.

  Sixteen

  Caelin sat at the table, staring at his hands, his thoughts adrift on an ocean of sorrow. Another friend lost, another soul sacrificed so the rest of them might live. He could not stop the images from sweeping through his mind: Alastair lying on the beach, helpless beneath the sword of Balistor, Michael in Sitton, his eyes wide as the demon’s Soul Blade took him in the chest. And now Alan, his life given to hold back the tide of Archon’s creatures.

  They had barely made it behind the secon
d wall before the gates had swung closed. Inken and himself had been among the last of the defenders to reach safety, fending off a handful of creatures that had chased them across the killing field. The beasts had only turned back when they’d come within range of the defenders’ arrows, allowing Inken and Caelin to turn and sprint the last fifty yards to safety.

  There the men and women of Fort Fall had waited, breath held, and watched as the last pockets of defenders on the outer wall fell one by one. His heart twisted as he watched again the big man fighting alongside those others who had refused to retreat. Alan had mustered the last of the defenders around him, and together they had formed an island amidst the ocean of darkness.

  They had fought longer than anyone could have imagined, dozens of the creatures falling beneath their blades. But there was no resisting the savagery of the beasts, and one by one the defenders had fallen. Alan had been the last, his hammer still raised in defiance as he was finally overwhelmed.

  The council room was silent, empty but for May and the rest of their company. Their losses on the outer wall had been horrific and May’s surviving officers were needed to command the defences in her absence. Their only relief had been the arrival of the Trolan forces yesterday evening. Their fresh soldiers had taken over the frontline defences, allowing the defenders a welcome respite.

  Even so, morale was low. Yesterday Archon had shown them just how weak they truly were. In a single attack his beasts had swept them from the outer wall, and not dragon or sword or arrow had been able to halt their advance.

  The silence stretched out, each of them sitting with heads bowed in respect for the ancient warrior and those others who had fallen. But Caelin knew they could not afford to brood long. The hopes of the living still rested on their shoulders. He did not intend to let them down.

  “We need the Soul Blades,” his voice cut through the silence, firm, desperate.

  May nodded from beside him, lifting her chin from her hands. She had been unusually despondent, her sorrow clear for the men she had been forced to sacrifice, but she stood now and walked around the table.

  “After Gabriel’s discovery, I had the Magickers choose amongst themselves who would be best to wield Jurrien’s blade,” her eyes lingered on Gabriel, who had finally been freed after the battle. May had still argued against it, but there was no denying they needed every fighter they could get now.

  “Have they chosen?” Eric spoke up.

  “It seems so,” May moved across to the door and leaned out.

  A moment later a man appeared. He nodded as he entered, moving around the table to take an empty seat. He wore the blue robes of a Sky priest and his black hair was cropped short in the style of the army. Together they marked him as a battle Magicker, and the scars on his face suggested he was one of some experience.

  His green eyes surveyed the table, lingering on each of them. “My name is Sylvander,” he spoke in a soft, slippery voice. “I am a Sky Magicker, similar to yourself, Eric, but with only the power to control lightning. I hope I prove worthy of the challenge posed by the Storm God’s magic.”

  Caelin’s eyes slid to where the Soul Blade rested in the centre of the table. He had been trying to ignore its dark presence, but now the time had come to test its power. The dark blue glow shone across their faces, flickering in the eyes of his friends. Their fear hovered in the air, seeming to have a presence all of its own. The danger they faced was undeniable, but so was the fact they needed the power in that blade.

  “Are you sure?” Enala asked. “You saw what happened to Gabriel. You know what happened to me. Are you sure you will be able to control it?”

  A smile played across the man’s face. “Reasonably confident. I grew up with this power. The Sky is a part of me, a part of my blood. It is as familiar to me as the back of my hand. The risk is low, for myself at least.”

  Caelin glanced at his hands and raised an eyebrow. “I hope you spend as much time practicing at magic as you apparently do studying your hands.”

  Sylvander chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. “A figure of speech, sergeant. Believe me when I say it was a unanimous decision amongst the Magickers to choose me.”

  “Very well then,” May spoke with quiet authority, cutting through their hesitation. “Do it.”

  Sylvander nodded and reached across the table. His hand wrapped around the hilt of the Soul Blade and lifted it from the table. Light flashed from the black steel, glinting from the man’s emerald eyes. Tension spread through the room. Caelin could almost taste the throb of power on the air.

  The Magicker’s eyes widened and his forehead wrinkled with concentration. Caelin gritted his teeth, holding his breath as he watched the battle playing out within the man. They needed this, needed all three God powers if they were to have a hope of victory.

  Long minutes stretched out, the tension building within the council room as the lines on Sylvander’s face deepened. He stood taut as wire, jaw clenched, veins bulging on his arm as the glow of the Soul Blade shone in his eyes.

  Caelin jumped as the Magicker released his breath. Grinning, Sylvander looked around the room, and opened his mouth to speak.

  But whatever he had been about to say never made it out of his mouth. A sudden crash shook the room and lightning exploded from the Magicker’s chest. Blue light lit the room, blinding them all. The stench of smoke and burning flesh quickly followed, catching in Caelin’s throat as he breathed.

  Lightning danced around the room, narrowly missing them before dying to nothing, and Caelin silently gave thanks to Eric’s magic, guessing the boy had protected them. Another boom shook the air, and then silence fell.

  Ears ringing and half-blind, Caelin stumbled to his feet. He staggered across, desperate to see what had become of Sylvander.

  He choked as he reached the spot where he’d last seen the Magicker. Acrid smoke clung to his nostrils and his stomach lurched. Where Sylvander had stood seconds before, only a pile of ash remained. The Soul Blade lay amidst the remains, its light dimmed back to a faint blue glow.

  Gasping for breath, he turned away.

  “What happened?” he croaked.

  And then everything went black.

  *************

  “What happened?” Eric heard Caelin speak over the ringing in his ears.

  He blinked, trying to find Caelin through the stars dancing in his eyes. The room slowly came into focus, but something about it did not make sense. Eric closed his eyes again, willing his vision to clear, then looked around the table at his comrades.

  Fear touched him as he realised why they had not replied. Caelin stood where Sylvander had disappeared, staring across the table, his mouth open as though to speak. But he did not move, did not so much as twitch.

  Eric glanced across at Inken and May and found them still sitting in place, their faces twisted in fear, frozen in place by some dark spell.

  Then Enala moved, turning to stare at Eric. Her face was pale and her hands clutched the oilskin wrapped around her own Soul Blade in a vice-like grip.

  “What’s happening?” she whispered.

  Gabriel reached out and grasped her shoulder, shaking his head, his mouth wide with stark terror.

  “I thought we should finally speak. In person,” a voice spoke from behind them.

  Eric spun, staring as a man stepped through the doorway. He moved without sound, his black boots touching down without so much as a thud on the stone floor. A cloak of grey and orange feathers hung about his shoulders, the orange shimmering in the smoky air, so that it almost seemed the man were aflame. He wore a white doublet beneath the feathers, the pale skin of his hands appearing almost to fuse with the cloth.

  His face was absent of any discernible wrinkle or imperfection, and there was an ageless way in which his eyes looked on them, as though he had lived a thousand years and more. He carried no weapon, but Eric could feel the power radiating through the room and knew this was no mortal man.

  The man’s dark blue eyes su
rveyed them each in turn, ignoring their frozen comrades. A warning screamed in Eric’s head as the man’s eyes reached him and he leapt to his feet, reaching for the Sword of Light. The man only waved, and Eric found his hand frozen, his fingers still an inch from the Sword’s pommel. No matter how he strained, he could not reach the weapon.

  “Come, come. Sit, let us talk!” he waved again and an invisible force pushed Eric back into his chair.

  Looking around he saw the fear on Enala and Gabriel’s faces as they strained against the same force. They looked up at the man, the devil that had strode unopposed into the depths of their fortress. Fear swamped Eric’s every thought as he reached for his power and found nothing but a wall of darkness. With horror he realised they were helpless before this man’s might, and knew beyond doubt who stood before them.

  Archon had come.

  The man laughed. “Such a quick mind, Eric,” Archon’s voice was soft but clear, without hint of emotion.

  Eric opened his mouth, but only a low whine came out. Fear had frozen his tongue, his wit, his magic. He could not find the courage to think.

  “You!” Gabriel gave a strangled cry.

  “Hello again, Gabriel,” the man smiled. “I am pleased to see you here. You have done well, my son. Exceeded all my expectations.”

  “You are Archon,” Enala interrupted and Eric felt a surge of pride for his sister. “You murdered my parents,” hate twisted Enala’s face and he could see her straining against whatever force constrained them.

  Swallowing, Eric searched for his own courage, trying to reason away his fear. Surely Archon had not come to kill them – else they would already be dead. He shuddered at the man’s power, to have walked alone through all their forces to come so casually to this room.

  Archon moved to stand over Enala. He reached down and brushed the strand of copper hair from her face, a faint smile on his lips.

  “Oh my dear, Enala, how the world has hurt you.”

  Enala flinched back from his touch, a shiver running through her. “No!” her shriek was pure desperation, a helpless cry against the dark creature standing in their midst.