Firestorm (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 2)

by Aaron Hodges

He breathed out a long sigh. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  Eric blinked. “What?”

  “Enala told me everything. About Oaksville, about your magic, about why it was unleased. She told me everything you have done since, everything you and your friends did to help her.”

  “And you believed her?” Eric walked across and slumped onto one of the couches, a look of disbelief in his eyes.

  Gabriel shrugged. “I must. Enala brought me back to the light, freed me from a demon’s spell. I owe her. If she believes your story, so must I.”

  Eric closed his eyes, and then looked up to meet Gabriel’s stare. “I am truly sorry for your family, Gabriel. If I could go back…”

  Gabriel raised his hand to silence him. A tremor ran through him as he fought down his grief, his anger. “I won’t pretend this is easy. I won’t pretend I can forgive you. But I am sorry for attacking you, for hunting you. And I should not have tried to kill you while we sparred,” he took a deep, shuddering breath. “I don’t know if I trust you, but I do know I am tired of hate and anger. So, let there be peace between us,” he offered his hand.

  Eric hesitated, staring at the offered hand. Gabriel could not blame his mistrust; in truth he had spent the last few days debating whether to offer Eric his hand, or a dagger. But he spoke the truth now; the hate must end. He could not live his life beneath the shadow of the past.

  Finally Eric gave a cautious smile and took his hand. “Okay, truce it is.”

  A long silence stretched out. Gabriel coughed, struggling to find the words. Then he shrugged. “Well, shall we go practice with those swords?”

  Eric laughed. “Don’t think it’ll be so easy this time. I’m ready for you now,” he waved towards the door, clearly doing his best to hide his nerves.

  Gabriel smiled as Eric opened the door and let in a fresh blast of icy air. Outside the sky had opened up, and rain now bucketed down, leaving water pooling across the grassy fields. The wind caught the door and threw it back against the wall before Eric could catch it. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

  Inken and Enala had just walked up the steps and quickly ducked inside. Caelin still stood in the rain, arms folded, eyes catching theirs. He beckoned.

  Gabriel’s heart sank as he looked out at the rain. He stepped out the door, allowing the cool water to run down his face. His hair and clothes were instantly drenched.

  Gabriel shivered as he followed Eric to where Caelin waited, already regretting his apology. Or at least the timing of it.

  “Good luck,” he heard Inken call from the doorway.

  “Think I’ll need it?” Eric shouted back over the rain.

  “Most definitely,” she called. Laughing, she and Enala disappeared into the house.

  “That doesn’t bode well,” Eric observed, glancing at Gabriel.

  When they reached Caelin, the sergeant wasted no time tossing them each a practice sword. “If you two are done making up, perhaps today you can learn to work together. It’s time I showed you how a real swordsman fights,” he waved a practice blade of his own. “Touch me if you can.”

  “What?” Gabriel asked.

  In response Caelin leapt forward, sword sweeping out at Gabriel’s weapon. The blow knocked the blade from his loose fingers and sent it tumbling. Gabriel flinched back as Caelin rapped him lightly on the arm.

  “You will both work together to fight me. Let’s see what the two of you can do,” Caelin grinned.

  Gabriel gritted his teeth, glancing at Eric as he retrieved his sword. Eric gave a quick nod and then looked back to Caelin. It seemed the young man was willing to test their fragile new trust.

  Raising his sword, Eric edged sideways away from Gabriel. Realising Eric was trying to divide Caelin’s attention, Gabriel moved in the opposite direction. Together they attempted to encircle their foe.

  Caelin grinned. “Very good. Let’s see just how fast you can move,” he stepped forward, blade slicing towards Eric.

  As Eric jumped back, Gabriel sprang to the attack. Eric’s sword rose to block Caelin’s blow as Gabriel stabbed out with his own weapon, aiming for Caelin’s exposed back. Caelin’s sword slid through Eric’s guard and struck his arm, then the soldier was spinning on his heel, sword already raised to parry Gabriel’s blow.

  Gabriel’s blade rung as their weapons met, then pain shot from his shoulder as Caelin’s sword slid up to sting him.

  Next thing Gabriel knew, he was toppling to the muddy ground, tripped by a blow from Caelin’s foot. He swore as water soaked through his cloak and touched his skin. Shivering, he climbed back to his feet, mud dripping from his clothes. Eric moved to his side and shot him a glance.

  “Together?” he whispered.

  Gabriel nodded and they launched themselves at the sergeant. Eric’s blade found only empty air, but the ring of steel and shock down Gabriel’s arm told him his had at least connected. Reversing his weapon, he stabbed for Caelin’s side, even as Eric struck again.

  Caelin spun in place and Gabriel’s thrust swept past. His fist swung out, connecting with Gabriel’s head to send him reeling backwards. He kept his feet this time, but his vision spun and blurred around the edges. He backed away, shaking his head to clear it.

  Across the muddy grass, Eric fought on, lashing out with wild swings at their wily foe. Caelin slipped past each attack like an eel through water, his sword licking out every so often to parry a blow which came too close. The grin he wore told them both he was enjoying this far too much.

  Gabriel took a tighter grip of his sword and threw himself back into the battle, determined to wipe the smile off Caelin’s face. They attacked together, swords flashing as the rain poured down around them. They swung at Caelin’s face, his legs, his arms, anywhere they could.

  Not once did their blades touch skin.

  To his left Gabriel saw the frustration building on Eric’s face. His own anger bubbled towards the surface. Then Eric lurched forward, blade raised high. Grinning Caelin moved to block, just as Eric dove forward, ducking beneath Caelin’s attack and coming up within the sergeant’s guard. He raised his sword to strike.

  Caelin’s knee rose up to smash Eric in the face. The younger man reared backwards, sword dropping from his limp fingers. He swayed, head lolling to either side, and then toppled to the ground.

  *************

  Eric’s vision spun as Caelin’s blow staggered him. Pain lanced through his head as he dropped to his knees. He swayed, a sudden weakness spreading down his body. He glanced up at Caelin, opened his mouth to speak.

  Then darkness rose to swallow him.

  But he was not alone there.

  Eric shuddered as another presence slithered into his mind. The foreign touch sent a tremor down to the foundations of his consciousness. Shadowy fingers rose around his thoughts, dark claws slicing into him.

  “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 shadows 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 dar
kness. 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 the 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 alluded 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, wielded 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 low, 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 to Kalgan, the capital of Trola. There they would finally 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 supressed, 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. It made him proud, 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.”