Alastair sheathed his sword and walked past Eric. He knelt beside the woman. “The blood is theirs. I had to check... to check to see if they were still alive,” his voice was cracking.
“Who were they? Who did this to them?” Eric could not breathe. He had seen death before, but never like this.
“They were the family I was looking for. How did they find them? How?” his fists clawed at the rug.
“Who?”
“Archon’s minions. Vile, scheming men willing to sell their souls for a little reward,” Alastair’s voice was acid.
The blood in Eric’s veins froze at Alastair’s words. He blinked, opened his mouth, but no sound came out. A shadow fell across the room, one no flame could cast off. What do you mean? Eric screamed in his head.
A crash came from the back of the house. Eric gaped, feet frozen in place. Alastair’s sword whispered from its scabbard. The hairs on Eric’s neck stood up.
Voices echoed through the house. “Spread out. We had better find the little one, or there’ll be hell to pay. Who knows where she’s hiding.”
Alastair raised a finger to his lips. His sword hand ceased to shake. He gestured Eric to stay and moved for the doorway. The grief had vanished, replaced by a burning rage, tightly controlled.
Eric felt his own anger stir. Who were these people, who could commit such terrors on an innocent family? He glanced at the fallen couple and felt a red-hot rage twist in his chest. Turning he moved to follow Alastair.
Just as Alastair reached the open door, a man appeared in front of him. The man’s eyes widened in shock at the sight of the two strangers. He held a crossbow in his hand and a sword at his waist, but in his confusion did not raise either. Blood covered his pants and tunic.
He opened his mouth to yell. Alastair’s sword crunched into his face and he fell without a word. Blood sprayed the air. He crumpled backwards into the corridor with a thump. The voices from deeper in the house fell silent.
Alastair strode across to the man and yanked the sword free from where his magic had buried it. He walked over the corpse and disappeared through the door.
Eric followed, orders forgotten. He stared at the fallen killer as he passed, anger mounting. He felt his magic stirring within, but it felt weak and drained. He prayed Alastair knew what he was doing. They raced down the corridor, bursting through into the next room.
Crossbows bristled and pointed in their direction. A dozen men stood in the tiny space, each armed with the deadly bows. They wore the blue uniform of the city guard, though the clothing was old and tattered. The reek of their unwashed bodies was overpowering. Eric wondered how Chole’s city guard had fallen so low.
He swallowed hard, glancing at Alastair. The old man dropped his sword and raised his hands. Eric raised his own, his rage evaporating before his fear.
A bulky, black bearded man stepped forward. His uniform was newer than those around him, although it sported a hole in one shoulder. A scar ran from his right eye to chin, turning the iris blood red.
“Where’s the girl?” he asked in a cold voice.
“Which girl?” Alastair replied smoothly.
“Enala, the daughter of the two in there,” the man growled, face to face with Alastair. Spittle land on the old man’s cheek.
“Yeah! Where is she!” another of the man shouted, brandishing his weapon.
Eric’s heart stopped in terror. The man held his bow in trembling fingers, tight around the trigger. He could not tear his eyes away.
“Where is she?” the first speaker repeated.
Eric took a shaky step backwards and tripped over an unseen stool. The chair toppled to the ground and crashed on the wooden floor.
Every bow in the room turned on Eric. He dived to the floor, instinct guiding him. Air exploded from his lungs, as crossbow bolts shrieked over his head. They smashed into the wall behind him, slashing it to pieces.
Above them, the roof groaned. Eric looked up in time to see Alastair’s arms come sweeping down. The room exploded. Wood and bricks flew from the ceiling, dusting filling the air. The men crumbled beneath the falling timbre, disappearing beneath the rubble.
Coughing dirt from his lungs, Eric sat up and began patting himself down. Somehow he had come out unharmed, and through the dust he saw Alastair still stood. No one else remained. No movement came from the pile of debris that lay where the men had been. Rain began to fall through the hole in the ceiling.
“What the hell is going on?” Eric shrieked.
Alastair bent and picked up his sword. He turned to look at Eric, his face grim. “Those were the men who murdered that couple. There is someone in this city working against me, someone who wants to ruin everything and usher in a new age for Archon. The girl they talked about, Enala; she is our last hope now,” he turned to leave.
“Who’s last hope?”
Alastair glanced back. “Everyone’s.”
******************
Gabriel stood in the middle of the road and watched the house. People walked past, giving him a wide berth when they saw the beast at his side. He ignored them. Let them stare. He no longer cared. Not about the rain, or the mud, or the cold wind.
“They went in there?” he asked.
Yes, its voice was inseparable from his own thoughts now.
“Are they still there?”
The wolf lifted its rain soaked muzzle. No, but they have not been gone long. You must see inside.
Gabriel nodded and crossed the street. Approaching the house, he could see something had gone wrong inside. The door was in ruins. Rain swept through the jagged hole where it had stood, pooling on the floor inside. He walked over the splintered remains and moved into the house.
It did not take long to find what he needed to see. They lay in a pool of their own blood, faces to the ground. He felt a pang of grief. A picture flashed through his mind – a house in ruins and three familiar faces lying dead amidst the rubble.
They did this, he realised.
There is something else, the wolf raced around the room, nose to the ground. Someone else.
The beast bared its teeth, sniffing at the edges of the rug. It sank its great fangs into the fabric and dragged it sideways. The bodies came with it, leaving a smear of blood on the wooden floorboards. He walked over as the floor beneath appeared. The blood had soaked through the rug and congealed in the gaps between the wooden boards.
Gabriel crouched down and inspected the floor. The blood made it difficult to make out the trapdoor the rug had hidden. It was well fitted and tightly shut, but his fingers quickly found the groove with which to prise it loose. The hinges groaned as it opened, revealing a ladder leading into the darkness.
“Stay here,” he told the wolf.
He levered himself over the hole and began his descent. The ladder went down less than ten feet before he reached solid ground. The only light came from the hatch above and the cracks between the floorboards.
Something shrieked from the dark. Gabriel hardly had time to look around before a body hurtled from the shadows. A fist struck him across the face, knocking him backwards. He scrambled for purchase, but unseen objects littered the ground. His feet slipped from under him and he fell.
The creature landed on top of him, crying like a banshee. Tiny fists pummelled his chest and face. Nails scratched at his skin, aiming for his eyes. Gabriel lifted his hands in time to stop them being clawed from his face. He rolled, sending his assailant toppling.
“Die!” the girl screamed. The sound echoed in the tiny space, so loud Gabriel had to cover his ears.
She lunged forward, sinking her teeth into his shoulder.
Gabriel, still on the ground, cried out and threw her off. She fell heavily, rolled, and came at him again. “Die, die, die!” she bawled.
This time he was halfway to his feet when she launched herself into his stomach. The wind exploded from his lungs, but he managed to keep his feet. “Stop,” he coughed. “It wasn’t me. Please, let me help you!”
“Go on. Just kill me,” she sobbed.
Gabriel crouched down and wrapped his arms around the girl. They sat in the darkness for a long while. He breathed in the musty scent of her hair. Memories flickered to life in his mind, of another woman he had once held and comforted. My fiancé, he remembered. Tears of his own sprung from his eyes. I couldn’t save her! He wept.
After a few minutes, the tears began to slow. He realised the girl had stopped crying. He looked over to see her staring at him, eyes wide in shock. Gabriel shrugged. “Come on, we’d best get out of here.”
The girl nodded, silent now, and followed him up the ladder. When they reached the top, Gabriel helped her over the lip of the trapdoor. In the daylight, he realised she was not as young as he had first thought.
She stood silent and still, sapphire eyes brimming with tears. The sunlight played across her hair, the blond curls hanging down to her shoulders. A single copper lock hung across her face, standing out like black sheep in a heard of white. She blew it from of her eyes, thin lips tight with grief. She stood as high as his shoulders, her plain clothes torn and tattered. Despite her small frame, she displayed the curves and figure of a young woman. Gabriel guessed she might be sixteen or seventeen.
A growl came from across the room. He spun, remembering the wolf. It padded forward, teeth bared. The hair bristled along its back. The stench of wet fur overpowered the bloody stench of the room. It crouched, muscles tensed to spring. Snarling, it slunk closer.
Gabriel held out a hand. “Easy, it’s okay.”
She must die!
Gabriel drew his sword. The wolf was right. The girl had to die. He turned to face her – and fell into her sapphire eyes. They had gone wide with shock, tears spilling over to wash down her dirty face. Yet there was no fear in them. Instead, she tensed, prepared to fight.
He lowered his blade. His fiancé was dead. He clung to his one, irrevocable memory. He blinked and looked around. What am I doing? How could he consider murdering a helpless girl?
The wolf, he realised.
He turned again, holding his sword point out at the beast. The demon had tricked him, stolen away his humanity in return for… for what? Gabriel could not even remember now.
An image of the guard at the city gates flashed through his memory. Guilt ate at him. He had given in to evil, he realised. He had become a monster. It was time to put an end to it.
“No more, demon spawn. Our deal is done.”
So be it. You will soon wish otherwise, the wolf whispered in his mind, and leapt.
Gabriel had no time to bring up his sword. The wolf struck him in the chest, flinging him from his feet. Its teeth snapped inches from his face before its momentum carried it past. The girl flung herself out of the way as it hurtled at her. Its claws screeched, digging grooves into the wood. It turned to charge him again.
He hauled himself to his feet and moved to stand between wolf and girl. From the corner of his eye, he saw her grab a chair. She held it out before her, ready for the next attack.
The wolf howled and began to circle. Its bright yellow eyes studied him, searching for a way past. He kept his sword low, pointed at its throat. It would not knock him down so easily a second time.
Gabriel lunged forward with his blade. The beast dodged backwards, but its claws could not find purchase on the hard floor and it moved slowly. His first sweep missed, before he wrenched the tip around and brought it down on the wolf’s head.
The blade bit deep, scraping against bone. He gagged as a rotten stench ran from the wound. The wolf yelped and retreated further. Gabriel let it go. If he followed, it might slip around him and attack the girl. Black blood dripped from his sword tip. The beast only had eyes for him now. When it rushed him, Gabriel was ready.
He crouched low, sword point out before him. At the last moment, he lunged forward, meeting the charge with his sword. The wolf ran right onto the blade, the tip tearing through its hide to sink to the hilt. There it lodged, ripping from his grip. The beast’s weight carried it forward, driving him backwards. Gabriel fell. The wolf growled, stumbling forward. He struggled to climb to his feet. It leapt.
Air exploded from Gabriel’s lungs as the sharp claws landed on his chest. He collapsed back to the ground, pinned beneath the weight of the wolf. It towered over him. Bloody saliva dripped from its jaws. The sword still stuck from its chest, close to where its heart should be. Not close enough, it seemed.
Goodbye, Gabriel, its voice whispered in his mind. Its mouth opened to rip out his throat.
Neither of them saw the girl. The chair lashed out, smashing the wolf from Gabriel. She bounded over him, weapon in hand and heartbroken fury on her face.
The wolf thrashed about, fighting to reclaim its feet. The chair crashed down on its back. The girl lifted it and swung again, screaming with each blow. Gabriel saw one smash its head, another its chest, a third the sword. Again and again she struck, long after the creature had ceased to move.
Gabriel pulled himself to his feet. His chest ached where the wolf had landed. Bloody patches marked his jerkin where its claws had torn skin. They were nothing to the suffering of this girl. The couple could only have been her parents. To have them murdered while she hid helpless below…
He shook his head and moved to her side. He reached for the chair, though there was not much left of it now. She threw herself into his arms when he took it. “They’re gone,” she sobbed.
Gabriel suddenly felt old. What could he say to this girl? He was lost, but the words slipped out before he could think. “I know. I’ll look after you.”
She stopped crying and pulled away from him. “We should go,” her voice was steady. “There are people out there, looking for me,” she closed her eyes. “I wish I knew why.”
Gabriel nodded. He reached down and pulled his blade from the wolf. Wiping the blood away on the beast’s coat, he made a silent vow to himself. Never again would it be used for evil.
He moved towards the door and paused. Turning back, he asked. “What is your name?”
“Enala,” she said.
“I’m Gabriel.”
They walked out the front door and disappeared into the heavy rain.
Sixteen
Three days had passed. Three long, endless days of searching, questions, and danger. Yet still there was no sign of the missing girl, not even a whisper. Instead, they found themselves leaping at shadows, worn down by the ever-present threat of Archon’s hunters.
Eric sat at the table in their room, staring into his hands. His clothes were still damp from the search. The endless rain hampered their efforts and now another night was closing in. Another day was over and still Enala remained an enigma. Alastair sat across from him, exhausted. Each day sucked a little more life from the man. His eyes were downcast and ringed by shadows.
The rain lashed at the misty glass of their window. Balistor and Caelin would return soon. They had enlisted the men in the search, although Eric was unsure whether Alastair now trusted them, or was just desperate. Either way, even with the four, the task had proved impossible. They didn’t even know what Enala looked like, and there were hundreds of empty buildings in which she could hide. It was like searching blindfolded for a needle in a burning haystack.
Eric glared at the old man, his irritation growing. He had kept his silence until now; sure Alastair would finally tell him why the girl was so important. It was galling, knowing the two strangers knew the truth, while he searched in ignorance. Tired and hungry, he now found his anger bubbling just below the surface.
“Where are they?” frustration strained Alastair’s voice. “We need a new plan. The longer she is out there, the more likely the other hunters will find her first.”
Eric’s anger finally snapped. “Who is she, Alastair? Why is she so important?” he all but shouted.
>
Alastair sat back in his chair, fixing Eric with a cool stare. There was no anger in his eyes, just a look of resignation. Then the old man leaned forward, resting his palms on the table. “Very well, Eric. You have been patient. But you should know; if I tell you the truth, you may never be safe again.”
Eric sucked in a breath of air and exhaled. “So be it. At least I won’t be blind to it.”
Alastair leaned closer. “Do you recall, Eric, the memories Antonia showed you?”
“Of course.”
“Good,” Alastair responded. “Think back to the end, when the Gods and Thomas summoned their magic. Did you notice anything?”
Eric frowned, thinking back to the scene. As the magic erupted into the sky he had seen a shadow in the grass, but dismissed it as nothing. “The shadow?”
“Yes, the shadow. I saw it at the time, but Thomas was surrounded by power, protected by the Gods of Earth and Sky. And it vanished so quickly, I thought I had imagined it.”
“What was it?”
“A fail safe cast by Archon. As the God magic took hold and cast him from the Three Nations, it triggered. It was aimed at the ones who wielded the God magic.”
Eric stared, a cold dread seeping into his heart. He remembered the shadow clearly now, creeping across the green lawns of the Trolan palace, drawing closer to the unsuspecting king. “But they were fine. Thomas was fine. You told me he lived for decades after that, long enough to have children to carry the Sword after him. They were the only ones who could wield it.”
Alastair nodded. “You’re right. Archon’s spell was not strong enough to touch Antonia or Jurrien over such a distance, so instead it sought out the weak link in the circle. The wielder of the Sword of Light – Thomas.”
“But Thomas survived.”
“Yes, but it was never meant to kill him. Archon knew it would take something more subtle to escape our notice.”
“Then what did the shadow do?”
Outside thunder crashed. “The curse was a slow sickness, one targeted at his own magic rather than the Swords. By the time it took hold, its roots were too deep for even Antonia to heal. Worse, it did not stop there. The curse affected his children and every descendent since, slowly weakening the powers of the Sword wielders. A decade ago, it was all but gone. Now the Trolan King has lost the last of his magic and the bloodline is at an end. There is no one left to hold the Sword of Light. Archon is already mustering his forces.”
Stormwielder (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 1) Page 17