Firestorm (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 2)

by Aaron Hodges

That’s if he wakes at all, a cynical voice whispered in her head. She shook herself, forcing her mind to other thoughts. There had to be another way out.

  The banging of the wagon wheels lessoned as their pace slowed. When they drew to a stop she shifted herself to watch the flap at the back. She fixed a scowl on her face, wishing she wasn’t gagged so she could curse whoever entered. Anger boiled up within, surging through her veins. Her heart thudded and pressure built in her chest, a white hot heat begging to be released.

  Enala clenched her fists, fighting the anger. She could not afford to be reckless.

  Stones rattled outside as boots approached the rear of the wagon. A shadow appeared against the canvas, then the flaps were drawn aside and a woman carrying a bucket pulled herself into sight. Her grey eyes surveyed them as she brushed short black hair from her face. She wore the long pants and leather jerkin of a man, both stained a deep black. A scar stretched from her jaw down to the collar of her shirt.

  The woman paid no attention to Enala. Instead she hoisted the bucket with two hands and poured it over Eric, a wicked grin fixed on her freckled face.

  “Arghhh!” Eric screamed and seemed to rise into the air. He gasped as he tripped over his bonds, tumbling face first to the floor. He shrieked again, the whites of his eyes showing as he looked around in panic.

  “Good, you’re awake,” the woman ignored the string of curses which followed, “the chief wants to meet you.”

  She reached back and pulled the cover across. Sunlight streamed in before a large man stepped up to block it out. Enala swallowed as he stepped into the wagon, already reassessing her first impression. The man wasn’t large, he was huge; towering over them in the confined space. He had to bend just to stop his broad shoulders from touching the roof. Thick leather armour covered his barrel-like chest, painted black in a match of the woman’s clothing. His hair had been pulled back in a ponytail, which draped over his shoulder and a matted beard covered his face. He wore a great two-handed sword strapped to his back.

  His black eyes stared down at them. Enala shivered as they lingered on her, seeing the naked greed there, the black soul of a man used to having whatever he wanted.

  “What have we here?” the man boomed. “I expected only the Magicker.”

  “They were together when we found them, Thaster. I thought you might like to talk to both.”

  The man nodded. He waved at Eric. “And he is secure?”

  The woman grinned. “Absolutely. He used too much of his power anyway, he’ll be no problem to control.”

  “Good, I don’t want any trouble from him,” the man turned back to them. “I am Thaster, chief of this Baronian tribe. You are my captives. If you are lucky, we will find some use for you. So long as you cooperate,” his voice turned hard. “Or, if you do not, perhaps we will collect the bounty on your head, boy,” he stared at Eric.

  Groaning, Eric struggled to his feet. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Or perhaps you would like to let us go, before I burn all you own to ash.”

  Hope surged in Enala’s chest. Had Eric recovered enough to save them?

  Thaster only laughed. “Go ahead. Laurel here has taken care of that,” he waved a hand at the woman with the bucket.

  Enala’s hope curdled in her stomach as Eric paled. “What have you done? Why can’t I find my power?”

  “Allow me to explain,” Laurel stepped forward and grabbed Eric by the collar. Next second, her knife was at Eric’s throat. With his arms tied behind his back, Eric could do nothing but stare into her eyes as she pressed the dagger harder. Blood began to trickle down his neck.

  “I am a Magicker too,” she growled. “One of very bad repute, you might say. Even if my powers come from the Light element. I sensed your magic earlier and tracked you down. Something told me it might be worth it. And now my magic will keep yours under check for as long as we care to have you as our guests. Understand?” she threw Eric to the floor.

  Eric stared up, eyes boiling with hate. He gave a curt nod.

  “Good,” the woman shrugged. “Look on the bright side, boy. At least here you won’t be burning any towns to the ground,” she gave a dark cackle. “Or at least not the ones who are good to us.”

  Thaster folded his arms. “Then we have an understanding. The Magicker will be good. If you’re lucky, I might just keep you around. A power like yours could prove very useful. If not, well, then we will enjoy the gold for your head,” he turned to Enala and a dark terror filled her heart. “As for your friend, I’m sure there will be a place for another slave in our camp.”

  Just then, Enala would have given anything for her sword. The pleasure of driving the sharp blade through the man’s stomach would be worth the beating. She struggled to keep the hate from her face, helpless as she was.

  Thaster waved a hand. “I will leave you to your prisoners, Laurel. You can remove the girl’s gag. Let me know if she has anything interesting to say,” he turned and left the wagon, leaving them alone with the Magicker.

  Laurel moved across and untied the gag from Enala’s head. “There you go, my lady,” she smirked. “How is that?”

  Enala spat at her face, but she ducked out of range and grinned. “Feisty, I see,” she sat on a crate at the rear of the wagon, ignoring Enala’s dark glare. “So, what are your names?”

  Enala clenched her mouth shut. Eric did the same. Laurel only lay back and crossed her legs. After a few minutes she cleared her throat. “I’m afraid we’re going to be spending quite some time together, my friends. I can’t very well go around calling you ‘boy’ and ‘girl’ now, can I?”

  “Do what you like,” Enala growled, her fury spreading. A ringing started in her ears, growing as the pressure built.

  “Why should we make your life easier?” Eric snapped.

  Laurel shrugged, up ending her bucket to use as a foot rest. “My life is easy whether you cooperate or not. But it’s up to me whether I untie you, or let you spend the next three weeks trussed up like pigs,” her knife appeared again. She tossed it casually into the air and caught it by the blade. “Either way, don’t think there’ll be any hope of escape,” the knife flashed across the wagon, burying itself in one of the wooden supports holding up the canvas.

  “My name is Eric,” Enala turned in surprise as Eric grated out the words. “this is Kathryn. We don’t want any trouble.”

  “Okay, Eric and Kathryn, it’s nice to meet you,” Laurel stood and moved across the wagon. Pulling her knife from the wood, she quickly cut their bonds. “Let it not be said I let a good deed go unrewarded. Make yourselves comfortable. We’ll be travelling most of the day,” as she spoke the carriage began to move again.

  Enala rubbed her wrists, pain tingling the tips of her fingers as the blood returned. “Where are we going?”

  “South,” Laurel answered. “That’s all you need to know. Thaster likes to keep his plans quiet, you understand,” she spread her hands. “Where were the two of you going in such a hurry?”

  Outside the rumble of the wheels told Enala they were picking up speed. “South,” she answered. “That’s all we can tell you, you understand.”

  Laurel laughed, a wheezing snort from her skinny nose. “Not like it matters now. Oh well, no doubt you’ll tell us one day,” she turned to Eric. “Now Eric, what about your powers? Where did you learn to use them? From what I hear, you caused quite a bit of carnage in Oaksville. But you seemed in control when I sensed you earlier.”

  “A friend taught me,” Eric smirked. “Release my magic, and I’ll show you just how well.”

  Laurel wagged her finger. “Now, now, we were getting along so well. Besides, you’re in no condition for a fight. I can tell, remember?”

  Eric shrugged and leaned back against a strut, his defiance spent. Enala refused to be deterred so easily. With Eric exhausted, it was up to her to get them out of this mess.

  “So what makes a Magicker want to join a bunch of thugs like the Baronian’s?” she asked.

  Laure
l paused, her grey eyes catching Enala’s gaze, searching for a motive behind the question. “A means to an end,” she said at last. “I was never the priestly kind, but it was the Temple of the Light who found me when I was young and taught me to use my magic. The Baronian’s offered an escape, and a little more adventure.”

  Enala nodded, pleased with the new information. She thought she had recognised a Trolan tang to Laurel’s accent. The Temples of the Light worshipped Darius, the God of Trola. Or former God, since he had vanished over a hundred years ago. “I hardly think murder and theft were your only options for adventure.”

  Laurel’s eyes flashed. “No, but they were the most profitable. Besides, I was bonded to the temple until I turned twenty-five. I would still have a year of service left had I not escaped. Here, I am free to come and go as I please. Here, I am valued.”

  “Free?” Enala raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying Thaster would just let you leave tomorrow if you wished? You think he would let a power like yours walk out the door?” she laughed, her voice taking on a mocking tone. “Not that you exactly have a door. Is this what you call ‘home’?”

  Laurel’s face darkened and her eyes took on a dangerous glint. She rose, towering over Enala, dagger still in hand. Enala made no effort to move. She met Laurel’s glare with a smirk of her own.

  “You should watch what you say around me,” Laurel growled.

  “Oh should I now? And what would Thaster say if you were to damage his new prizes?” she laughed. “You don’t fool me, Laurel. You’re no more free than either of us. Thaster is in charge here, and whatever Thaster wants, Thaster gets,” she eyed Laurel. “You all bow to his will.”

  Laurel lurched forward, hands reaching out to jerk Enala to her feet. She pulled Enala close, face to face, the breath hissing between her teeth. Enala forced herself to remain still, even as the stench of Laurel’s breath caught in her nose. She struggled to stop herself from gagging.

  Finally, Laurel growled and grabbed Enala’s wrists in hands of steel. She picked up the rope and bound her wrists even tighter than before. Then she stalked to the flap at the rear.

  “Tell Thaster I would like to speak with him,” Enala shouted as Laurel swung out of the moving wagon. She glimpsed the rutted trail through the gap as Laurel clambered around the side and made her way to the front of the wagon. Enala watched Laurel’s silhouette through the canvas as she took a seat beside the driver.

  She glanced at Eric. He raised an eyebrow. “Now what?” he asked.

  Enala had no idea.

  *************

  Caelin stood at the bow of the ship, watching as they passed beyond the last bend in the river. Ahead, the great expanse of lake Ardath lay revealed. The vast body of water stretched out before them, rolling green hills rising up on all sides. The noon day sun shone high above, vanishing occasionally behind the white clouds racing across the sky. The wind howled, rolling in off the surrounding hills. In the distance, white cliffs rose from the blue waters of the lake. At the top towered the spires of Ardath, beckoning them closer.

  The rigging creaked as the wind took hold in the sails, propelling them out onto the lake. A collective sigh of relief rose from the marines below as they shipped oars. Caelin closed his eyes, a lump catching in his throat. The same scene ran through his mind, again and again. Two days had passed and still Michael’s face haunted him, staring up from the pool of blood, dead eyes accusing.

  A groan rattled from Caelin’s throat. “Why?” he whispered to the wind. “Why did you do it?”

  The wind offered no answer, and the thoughts continued to chase him. Why had he been so selfish? Why had he convinced the doctor to come? His foolish desire for Michael’s company in this insane quest had led his friend to his death. Guilt weighed on Caelin’s soul. Tears filled his eyes, not for the first time since they had escaped Chole.

  The refugees of Sitton packed the deck, staring out with expressions of awe and apprehension. The ship sped through the water, rocking gently as small waves lapped at the sides. Caelin shivered as a finger of cool air reached down his neck, raising goose bumps on his skin.

  He looked up as Inken joined him at the railing. “We’re almost there,” she looked at him, her hazel eyes showing strength. “They’ll be there, waiting for us.”

  Caelin stared into her eyes, and nodded. “I hope so.”

  He tried to keep the sorrow from his voice, but Inken was not easily fooled. “No one could have stopped it, Caelin,” she closed her eyes. “But I will never forget him, could never thank him enough for saving Eric.”

  Caelin barely heard her words. “It is my fault,” he croaked. “I convinced him to come, told him we needed him.”

  Inken fell silent, looking out across the choppy waters. “It was his choice,” she said at last. “And no one else’s. You may have given him a purpose, but it was Michael who decided to come,” she closed her eyes. “It was Michael who decided to give his life for Eric’s.”

  “I don’t know,” Inken’s words rung within, trickling against the flow of self-destructive thoughts. He took a deep breath, his frustration coming to the fore. “I just don’t know anymore. What is the point of any of this now? The Sword of Light will not be enough without Jurrien and Antonia. We cannot even hope to stop the demon without them, let alone Archon himself.”

  A strong hand grasped his shoulder and shook him. “Get a hold of yourself, Caelin,” Inken snapped. He flinched back at the fire in her eyes. “No matter what, it is up to us to go on now. Michael gave his life for this fight. Jurrien’s last act in this world was to save us. So we must take strength from their faith in us, in their belief that we could win this fight.”

  The courage in Inken’s voice bolstered Caelin. He straightened and gave her a nod, pushing his self-pity down to the depths of his mind. Inken was right; they had to continue, had to find a way to win this battle.

  He looked around and saw they were almost upon the city. Onlookers packed the docks at the bottom of the cliffs, staring out at the strange ship approaching the city. Their war galley had outpaced the other refugee ships from Sitton; they would be the first survivors to reach the capital.

  The crowd on the docks clambered for a view as the ship pulled up to its mooring. The marines were the first ashore, bellowing orders for people to make room for the passengers to disembark while others secured the ship. They waited patiently on-board as the refugees unloaded first, happy for them to distract the crowd.

  At last they walked down the plank to the wharf. They allowed the marines to guide them through the milling crowds, and then Caelin took the lead as they reached the marble staircase leading up to the city. Gabriel and Inken stayed close as he waved to their escort, telling them to return to the ship. He knew the way from here. The men looked relieved to see the back of them. Caelin could not blame them after all they had witnessed in Sitton.

  Together the three of them began the long climb to the top. Caelin knew from experience there were over five hundred steps to the stairwell. It was an impressive feat of engineering; some of the steps had been cut from the cliffs themselves, while other parts led them through caves deep in the stone. It was a long climb, but the view from the top would reveal the wide expanse of water stretching out all around them.

  The refugees of Sitton had left some time ahead of them, but they still found themselves caught behind some of the slower climbers. Caelin did not mind the delay; when they reached the citadel it would be his duty to inform the king of the current state of affairs. He struggled to put the story together in his mind, but could not even begin to explain the deaths of Alastair and Balistor, never mind the murder of both Antonia and Jurrien. He had even lost Enala, whom King Fraser had tasked him to find and protect with his life.

  They stopped to rest halfway up in a viewpoint carved from the cliff. Looking back towards the Hall river, Caelin saw that a host of smaller vessels now spotted the lake, making their way for Ardath. More citizens of Sitton come to seek refuge. He
prayed the capital had the resources to cope with the sudden influx of people. Ardath was rich, but the island was small and could not support a large population.

  When they finally reached the top they found the outer gates standing open, beckoning the last stragglers of their ship into the city. Caelin wiped sweat from his brow and made for the cool shade of the wall. Despite the winter winds, the midday sun still provided ample heat.

  They walked beneath the granite walls which ringed the clifftops and entered the city. As they entered the welcome square, Caelin looked around for a welcoming party. If Eric and Enala had made it this far, the king would surely know who the ship carried. His heart sank when he saw only city guards herding refugees down a side street. He saw no sign of the scarlet embroidered jackets of the councillors or their bodyguards, nor the blue tunics of the royal family.

  He caught Inken’s eye and saw she shared his concern. Shrugging, he took point again, brushing off the city guards and heading up the road he knew led to the citadel.

  As they made their way deeper into the city, Caelin felt his heart lighten. This had been his home since birth; he knew these streets, knew every marble mansion, every carefully crafted fountain. He knew the stories depicted in the murals decorating the walls, the tales they told of the creation of Ardath. This was the first of the cities Antonia had founded with her followers; to be a buffer between the bitter rivalry of Trola and Lonia. She had led her people into the wasteland that had been this no-man’s land, destroyed by decades of war. Here they had watched the land flourish at her magic’s touch.

  Now Ardath sat on the crossroads of the main trading routes between the Three Nations, providing protection to travellers and collecting tax from the passing merchants. The city had grown rich off trade, and flourished.

  Ahead the citadel loomed, the smooth marble walls glittering in the afternoon sunlight. Soldiers manned the battlements. They stared out over the lake, alert for the first sign of trouble. The Baronian raiders continued to grow bolder, especially since the fall of Oaksville. The king would suffer no interference to the trading routes between Lonia and Trola.