Oathbreaker - Chapter 11
Quinn sighed as he lowered himself down into the chair behind the mahogany desk. It had been a long and drawn out night, filled with urgent meetings and the furious scribbling of messages...
Legend of the Gods is an original fantasy novel, packed with gods, dragons and magic. In the Three Nations, magic is outlawed, with severe punishment for those who disobey. When her brother’s magic emerges, Alana will do anything to protect him from the Stalkers that hunt them. Meanwhile, disgraced warrior Devon must choose between loyalty to the empire and his desire to protect the innocent. You can find my other books on my website.
A century since the departure of the Gods, the Three Nations are now united beneath the Tsar. Magic has been outlawed, its power too dangerous to remain unchecked. All Magickers must surrender themselves to the crown, or face imprisonment and death.
Alana's mundane life has just been torn apart by the emergence of her brother's magic. Now they must leave behind everything they’ve ever known and flee – before the Tsar’s Stalkers pick up their trail. Tasked with hunting down renegade Magickers, the merciless hunters will stop at nothing to bring them before the Tsar’s judgement.
As the noose closes around Alana and her brother, disgraced hero Devon finds himself at odds with the law when he picks a fight with the wrong man. The former warrior has set aside his weapons, but now, caught between the renegades and the Stalkers, he is forced to pick a side – the empire, or the innocent.
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Quinn sighed as he lowered himself down into the chair behind the mahogany desk. It had been a long and drawn out night, filled with urgent meetings and the furious scribbling of messages. The morning was already approaching, and he still had not slept. His back ached from the hard days of riding, and his heart was weary with failure.
When the river had finally receded, he and his men had spent a day and a night racing across the Lonian plains, following the fading tracks of their quarry. He’d thought they’d continue heading north, but instead the party had veered east towards the Lonian capital.
Now Devon and his friends had vanished into the human cesspool otherwise known as Lon. Quinn’s men were scouring the city, checking in with contacts and informing the city guard, but amidst Lon’s slums and backstreets, it would not be hard for the Magicker to disappear. Despite their best efforts, they might be forced to wait for another outburst of the boy’s magic.
In the meantime, he and his men would keep a low profile, so as not to alert Devon of their presence. If they were lucky, the giant warrior or his friend, Kellian, would slip up and reveal his presence. Quinn knew the men well—neither was suited to a life of poverty and anonymity.
No, the more he considered it, the less he thought it likely the two would seek to remain in the city. And if they left its crowded streets, there was only one other place they could turn to—Northland.
With the Trolan revolt, the Tsar’s plans to conquer the independent state had been put on hold, but it would not be long before his eyes turned north once more. It was well known that the northern state still allowed Magickers the freedom to wander its streets. This could not be allowed to continue—lest they return to the Three Nations unknown and continue the spread of wild magic.
Quinn had several contacts on the docks. He had sent out messages to them but had yet to hear back. The delay was frustrating, but there was little he could do now but wait.
Reaching into the drawer of his desk, he took out an old bottle of whiskey. It had been almost a year since his last visit to Lon, and he was pleased to see its contents remained untouched. Pouring himself a glass, he took a sip, savouring the fire as he swallowed.
He looked up as a knock came from the door. Glancing out the window, he saw the distant glow of the rising sun on the horizon and sighed. Exhausted, he lit another candle, but as he moved to open the door it swung inwards. He was about to bark a reprimand to whichever servant dared let themselves into his office, when a figure stepped into the room.
Swallowing, Quinn took a step backwards. The intruder followed him, the very air seeming to blacken with its approach. A dark cloak swathed the small body, its hood casting the pale face in shadow. But there was no hiding from the pitch-black eyes as they gazed around the room.
Quinn. The demon’s voice slithered through his mind like a snake.
Knees shaking, Quinn managed to reach out and grip the edge of his desk for support. With the demon’s presence, all warmth seemed to have been sucked from the room. Terror gnawed at his stomach, but he straightened, drawing on reserves of strength he hardly knew he had. Walking around the desk, he lowered himself into his seat.
The figure followed him, gliding across the room as though it no longer had need for its feet. It was small in stature, barely coming up to his shoulders, but that only added to its terror. Darkness swept before it like a wave, the candles sputtering, the lanterns dimming to little more than pinpricks.
“What are you doing here, demon?” Quinn asked, struggling to keep the fear from his voice. “I did not send for you.”
The Tsar sent me, the creature hissed. He is…disappointed with you.
Quinn gritted his teeth. “I will have them shortly.”
Laughter bubbled through the room, sending icicles dripping down Quinn’s spine. She has evaded you again and again…
“The boy surprised us.”
A mistake that was…beneath you, came the demon’s reply. Its head bent horribly sideways, as though to inspect him. Perhaps age has dulled your instincts.
“No,” Quinn growled, anger pushing back the fear. He stood, hands gripped around his desk. “I will have them soon.”
They have all of Lon to hide in.
“They won’t stay,” Quinn shot back. “They’ll try and flee to Northland. When they do, I’ll be waiting for them.”
So sure of yourself, the demon laughed again. Yet they evaded you at the temple of the Goddess, slipped through your fingers by the river.
“Luck!” Quinn said, trying to keep his desperation from showing.
Perhaps… the demon hissed. Perhaps you want them to escape.
“Never,” Quinn whispered, his face paling. His fingers twitched as the demon moved closer. He felt his magic beginning to stir and pressed it down. “I am loyal to the Tsar.”
Pray that is true, Quinn. The demon stood in front of him now. Before he could move, pale fingers shot out and pressed into his forehead.
Colours swirled across Quinn’s vision, flashing to black. Slowly the darkness faded, and he found himself in a windowless cell, his hands chained to the wall, his body naked to the freezing cold. A shadow moved towards him, blade extended. White-hot agony burned in his side as the blade bit him, driving through his kidney, stealing his breath.
Even as the physical pain tore at him, he felt something else, another force, a dark violation as something cold and terrible slid into his body. The pain fled as ice spread through his veins, then returned a thousand-fold as talons lashed at his insides, tearing him asunder. An awful darkness ripped into his mind, harrying his spirit. Opening his mouth, Quinn made to scream…
And found himself back at his desk. His brow soaked with a cold sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps, he threw himself back from the demon. His boots scraped loudly on the stone floor as he stood.
“They will not escape,” he wheezed. “I swear it.”
Very good, came the demon’s reply. Its laughter whispered through the room.
Quinn nodded, struggling to calm his racing heart. “Perhaps you could help us.”
He clenched his fists, hating himself for showing such weakness. But if the Tsar had sent the demon, it meant Quinn was at terrible risk. One more mistake, one more loss, and the vision the creature had shown him would soon become a reality.
As much as Quinn hated the dark creatures, its presence would ensure success. Few Magickers could withstand their power. A mortal like Devon would be swept away like sand before the tide.
Of course, the demon said, a sly smile spreading across its face.
Before Quinn could reply, another knock came from the door. Beside him, the demon vanished without a sound, though he didn’t doubt it remained close. Quinn shivered, and called out for the newcomer to enter.
One of his men stepped inside, his eyebrows raised as he looked around the empty room. “I thought I heard voices…” He trailed off as Quinn waved a hand.
“You have something for me, Kaylib?”
His man blinked, looking as though he’d momentarily forgotten why he was there. He stared blankly at Quinn, then nodded quickly and cleared his throat. “Ye…yes, sir! We…it appears we may have a lead on our prey, sir.”
Devon sucked in a lungful of air, savouring the fresh taste of salt on the wind. Overhead, the familiar gulls circled, their harsh cries mingling with the gentle creak of the ship as it rocked against its berth. Shifting his feet, he leaned over the railing and looked down at the docks, checking the progress of the sailors as they prepared to depart.
As far as he could tell, things were running to schedule. The five of them had arrived just before sunrise, having left the inn early to avoid being seen by morning commuters making their way to work. The crew of the Songbird was just beginning their preparations when the party arrived on the docks to board.
Now those preparations were almost complete, with only a few crates of supplies left to be brought aboard. From what Devon had seen so far, the ship was mostly transporting silks and spices to the northern port. No doubt they would fetch a high price, though buyers might be in short supply in the developing nation.
Shaking his head, Devon checked on the others. Alana and Braidon stood at the bow with the priest, their eyes on the harbour. He could read Alana’s impatience by the way she stood at the railing, her shoulders tight, one hand resting on the pommel of her sabre. He couldn’t blame her. They were exposed out here on the docks. He had heard no word of Stalkers entering the city, but that meant little if Quinn and his men were keeping a low profile. If they were recognised before the Songbird set sail, they would be trapped on the ship with nowhere to go.
His eyes travelled to the other end of the ship, where a lantern burned in the window of the captain’s quarters. Kellian was there now, settling their bill with Julian and the captain. The night before he had brought back a small fortune in gold, and not for the first time, Devon found himself cursing his wasteful youth. If he’d set aside more of his salary while he’d been in the army, he might have avoided this mess altogether.
Devon cursed as he returned his gaze to the docks in time to watch two sailors drop a crate. The box shattered on impact, scattering clay jars across the wooden boards. Several cracked open, sending red spices flying as the men raced to save the remaining jars. Beyond the chaos, all progress loading the ship came to a halt as the other sailors waited for the men to clear the way.
Grating his teeth, Devon forced himself to take another breath. His heart was pounding against his chest, his nerves more than a little raw. He shook his head, trying to relax. The sun was still low on the horizon, and they would be away soon enough.
At the thought, the door to the captain’s cabin banged open, and he turned to see Julian approaching. Forcing a smile to his lips, he waved a greeting.
“Still get that unsettled stomach, ay, Devon?” Julian’s laughter rang out across the docks as his friend joined him at the railing.
Devon flashed the man a scowl. He’d never liked sailing. During the civil war, he’d been on more than his fair share of ships, but his stomach had never grown used to the rocking motion of the sea. “Nothing wrong with my stomach,” he muttered. “It’s the ocean that makes me sick. It’s unnatural, floating all the way out there with nothing but a few planks of wood to keep you from a watery grave.”
Julian grinned and patted the railing. “I wouldn’t worry, old friend. The Songbird’s one of mine. I trust her more than I’d trust my wife.”
“I thought your wife ran off with half your fortune?”
“Hardly!” Julian exclaimed. His eyes flickered furtively at Devon and he forced a grin. “It was a few gold bars and my favourite horse. Hardly half!”
Devon chuckled, slapping his friend on the back. “The single life suits you better.” He turned his eyes back to the dock. The men had finally cleared the spilled jars and loading had resumed. “Are you joining us on this voyage? We should be away shortly, I hope?”
“Ever the impatient one, Devon!” Julian laughed.
A grin spread across Devon’s cheeks. “If I’d known this was your ship, Julian, I would have waited until noon to show up. Once upon a time you couldn’t leave port less than two days late.”
Julian snorted. “Like I told my lieutenant at the time, conditions weren’t right to sail.”
“Tell that to the twenty other captains who arrived on time,” Devon replied.
“Reckless souls, all of them!” Julian said, then the smile fell from his face. “Thankfully those days are past. I wasn’t made to captain ships. My instinct for self-preservation is far too strong.”
“You seemed to have found your calling,” Devon murmured, eyeing his suddenly sombre friend.
Julian nodded, his eyes on the men below. “It’s been a hard year, Devon,” he said. “Business has been slow. I’ve had to make sacrifices.”
Devon sighed. “Things will improve.”
“I can only hope so.” Shaking his head, Julian looked up at Devon and forced a smile. “It’s been good seeing you again, old friend. I had best be going, though. Wouldn’t want to get in the way.” He paused a moment. “You sure you and Kellian don’t want to reconsider this journey? It’s going to be a cold winter in Northland.”
“Sorry, old friend, but our minds are made up!” Devon replied, offering his hand.
Julian gripped his palm. “Until next time then, old friend.”
“Until next time,” Devon replied.
Devon watched as he turned and wandered down the gangplank, wondering at the sudden change in his friend’s mood. The former ship captain paused on the docks, shouting a few words to the men there before continuing through the crowd. The remaining sailors moved quickly up the gangplank, carrying the last of the crates with them.
His eyes continued on across the docks. The crowds were building as the sun lifted higher in the sky, and other ships were beginning to pull away from the docks now, readying themselves to set sail on the high tide. He caught a last glimpse of his friend’s red cloak through the press of bodies, then he was gone.
Devon was about to look away when something else caught his attention. He frowned, staring into the crowd. His stomach swirled as he caught sight of a black-cloaked figure, then another. Swallowing, he clamped his hands around the railing and licked his lips. Silently, he prayed to the Storm God he was wrong.
Boots thudded on the wooden boards as Alana appeared beside him. “I thought we were leaving?” she asked, leaning against the railing.
“We’re meant to be,” Devon muttered, his eyes never leaving the crowd.
The dark-cloaked figures had come together now, their long strides eating up the distance to the Songbird. Fear clawed its way up Devon’s throat as he recognised the figure in the forefront. It was Quinn. He and his Stalkers would be on them in minutes.
Out on the docks, people were moving quickly about their business, filing between fish stalls and weaving their way between ships. Their presence was hindering Quinn and his men, but it would not delay them long. Already people were noticing the Stalkers and falling back, flinching away from the advancing black tide, almost fleeing in their eagerness to avoid them.
Beside him, Alana cursed as she saw Quinn and his men. Ignoring her, Devon turned from the railing and strode across the deck. Kellian and the captain were in conversation beside the cabin, and he made straight for them. Kellian looked up at his approach, but Devon had eyes only for the captain.
“We need to leave,” he said shortly.
The captain looked around, seeing the last of his men had just come aboard. “Looks like we’re ready to sail, just let me go sign the log book and we can be off.”
“No.” Devon caught the man by the wrist as he made towards the gangplank. “We need to leave now.”
Shaking his head, the captain tore his arm loose and fixed Devon with a glare. “Listen, young man, I understand your journey is somewhat…urgent, but I cannot simply depart without the proper paperwork.”
“You can and you will,” Devon snapped, grabbing the man by the front of his shirt. With his other hand, he pointed out at the crowd. “See those men? They’re Stalkers. They’re here for us, and anyone caught helping us. So, unless you fancy spending the rest of your wretched life in a Lonian dungeon, you’d best get this ship moving!”
The man’s eyes flickered out across the docks, alighting on Quinn and his men. He swallowed, his eyes turning back to Devon.
“Don’t even think about giving us up,” Devon growled. Reaching up, he unsheathed his hammer and hefted it. “You wouldn’t live to see the reward.”
The man swallowed again, eyes wide, mouth gasping. Finally, he gave a curt nod. Devon released him but followed closely as the man marched around the deck screaming orders to his crew. Across the ship, men leapt into action, throwing off mooring lines and raising the anchor. Overhead, cloth rasped as the sails unfurled.
“That won’t work,” Devon said quickly, grabbing the man by the arm. He pointed at the rows of oars below the deck. “They have wind magic. Your men will need to row.”
The captain nodded quickly and began shouting fresh orders. Devon’s stomach lurched uncomfortably as the ship started to move. Freed of its restraints, it rocked gently beneath them and began to drift away from the docks. Still a hundred yards away, Quinn and his men redoubled their efforts to reach them.
“You think Julian betrayed us?” Kellian asked, coming alongside him.
Devon nodded. “He was jumpy,” he said softly, keeping the hurt from his voice. “I should have guessed. He must have sent someone to fetch Quinn.”
Steel rasped on leather as Alana drew her sabre. She didn’t speak, just stared out over the crowd, watching as the Stalkers advanced. From below the deck came the thump of oars being shipped. Behind them, the captain stood at the tiller, slowly turning the ship away from the dock. As Devon had predicted, the sails hung limp above them. The wind had died away to nothing.
A foot opened between the ship and the dock, then a yard, then more. As the gap widened, Devon’s panic began to ease, his heartbeat slowing. His eyes followed Quinn and his men, but he could see now they weren’t going to arrive in time. Slowly, the ship drifted away from the dock and turned towards the open sea.
“Devon!” A voice carried to them on a sudden breath of wind.
Devon turned back, his spine tingling as he saw Quinn had come to a stop. The Stalker’s words carried to them across the open water. “Turn back now, or die.”
Grinning, Devon stepped up to the railing and laughed. The sound boomed out as he lifted kanker above his head and shouted. “Come and get me, sonny!”
With that, he turned away, his anxiety melting like ice before a flame. Quinn and his Stalkers had almost had them again, but it seemed luck remained on their side. Julian had betrayed them, but his strange manner at the end had been enough to alert Devon in time. He breathed out a long sigh, a smile touching his lips.
“That was too close,” he said, looking at the others.
Just close enough, an ice-cold voice replied, whispering through their minds.
Just close enough.
Alana spun away from the rail as a dark voice whispered through her thoughts. Her gaze swept the deck, passing over crew and captain to settle on the figure of a boy sitting on the port railing. Swathed all in black, he sat on the railing with legs crossed, hands clenched before him. A hood hid his face, but as the Songbird’s passengers looked on, pale hands reached up and pulled it down.
The jet-black eyes swept the ship before settling on Alana. She knew instinctively what it was, that this was a demon sent by the Tsar to bring them back.
Alana, the voice came again, drilling its way down into her consciousness. How good to see you.
The voice was shocking, like a cold breeze on a summer’s day. Fear tied Alana’s stomach in knots as she staggered back from the creature. She grabbed her brother by the wrist, pulling him close. Dragging him with her, she retreated towards the gap in the railing where the gangplank had been.
“Stop.”
Alana groaned as the demon spoke out loud, the command bringing her feet to a sudden halt. She stood trembling, her brother’s wrist locked in her iron grip, and watched as the creature slowly climbed from its perch. As it moved, its cloak swept out, revealing the dark hilt of a sword at its waist. A smile twitched on its pale face as the black eyes swept the sailors crowding the deck. At its voice, all movement had ceased.
The creature’s awful laughter rent the air. Alana gritted her teeth as it turned back to her. “You have led Quinn a merry chase, Alana,” it whispered, dark eyes flashing. “But it is over now.”
A terrible sob tore from Alana’s lips. She could feel her brother trembling in her hold. Alana looked across the deck, seeking help, but as she looked on the faces of Devon and Kellian, their eyes fell away.
“Come to me.”
She gasped as her foot took an involuntary step forward. A low keening came from the back of her throat. She tried to release Braidon as her legs marched her towards the creature, but her hand had become a vice around his arm. He cried out as Alana dragged him with her. Their eyes met, and she wept at the horror she saw in his face. Tears streaming down her cheeks, Alana swung back to the demon.
“Please,” she whispered, staring into the merciless face of the creature. There was no sign of life in its pitch-black eyes, no compassion on which to draw—only darkness.
Alana suddenly realised that a great hush had come over the ship. The cries of the gulls had fallen away, the distant shouts of street vendors were silenced. Only the gentle creaking of the ship beneath them remained.
She watched in open terror as the demon strode forward. It moved with a strange grace, its boots making no sound as it trod across the wooden planks. A chill breeze wrapped around Alana as it approached, as though its presence sucked the very life from the air. A thin white hand reached out, stretching towards her. She closed her eyes, waiting for its touch, knowing it would be the last thing she ever felt…
“No.”
The voice was gruff, almost shaking, but with an iron in it that brooked no argument. Alana’s eyes snapped open. She stared as Devon strode across the deck, placing himself between them and the demon. His amber eyes flickered in her direction, shining with fear, but, nonetheless, he turned and faced the demon. He held kanker gripped tightly in one hand.
Awful laughter whispered over the ship as the demon looked at the giant hammerman.
You are in my way, mortal.
The muscles along Devon’s back rippled as he straightened. “You’re not taking her anywhere, demon.”
Devon hardly knew what he was doing.
A moment ago, he’d been standing beside the railing, staring at the dark creature that had appeared in their midst. As the black eyes had fallen on him, he’d frozen, memories rising up from his past. Demons had been the Tsar’s secret weapon during the civil war, the reinforcements sent in to sweep away the enemy when all else failed. He had watched creatures such as this one toss full-grown men around like ragdolls, had seen their dark magic tear buildings to pieces. Now one was standing on their ship, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. A glance at Braidon was all it took to see the boy was exhausted, his youthful energies spent from the hard ride across southern Lonia. Without magic, they didn’t stand a chance against the creature’s power.
Then the demon’s voice had whispered across the ship, calling Alana to it. Her eyes had flickered in Devon’s direction, but he’d quickly looked away, kanker suddenly heavy in his hand as shame welled inside him. Yet even the legendary weapon could not aid him against such a creature. No mortal in recent memory had ever stood against a demon and lived.
But as Alana had continued towards the demon, Devon’s gaze had caught in the crystal blue eyes of Tillie, and her words from the road had come rushing back.
You are stronger than you think, hammerman.
And Devon had suddenly found himself moving forward, stepping between Alana and the creature, kanker held at the ready.
“No,” he heard himself saying. “You’re not taking her anywhere, demon.”
Now, as the awful eyes looked up at him, it was all Devon could do to keep himself upright. They bored into him, piercing his soul, robbing him of strength. He gripped the haft of kanker harder, willing himself to defy the creature, to stand strong. A shudder went through him as it laughed again.
“Devon,” came Alana’s voice from behind him. “Don’t.”
He ignored her. Breath held, he glared down at the demon, every muscle in his body taut, ready to do battle. He forced himself to move, to take another step towards the creature. It watched him come, a smile on its ghostly face. Slowly, it unfolded its hands and shook its head.
Do not be a fool, hammerman.
Devon gritted his teeth as the awful voice spoke in his mind. “Get off my ship,” he growled, drawing on his anger.
The demon’s eyes flashed, and, despite himself, Devon found himself retreating a step. The dark laughter chased after him, sliding its way inside him. His legs shook, but with an effort of will, he forced himself to stop, to stand his ground.
Very well.
Grinning, the creature reached down and drew its sword. The black blade glinted in the sunlight as it slid free, gripped in a paperwhite hand. Lifting it high, the demon laughed, and a darkness pulsed from the weapon, stretching out to encircle the creature.
From somewhere deep within, Devon found the courage to speak. “A pretty trick, demon,” he laughed. Hefting his hammer, he started towards it.
For a second, a flicker passed across the creature’s face. The brow of the boy it had once been creased. A low hiss came from the awful mouth as it pointed the blade at Devon.
Die!
The shadows swirling around the blade crackled, gathering on its iron tip. A boom sounded across the ship, and then the darkness rushed from the sword towards Devon.
Watching it come, he found himself smiling. The fear had fled now, the doubt of the last five years vanishing like mist before the dawn. Gripping the weapon of his ancestor, he lifted it high and screamed a battle cry. The dark magic rushed onwards and crashed into the steel head of the hammer.
Another boom rang out, sending gulls screaming in flight. Across the deck, men were thrown from their feet. Devon stumbled back, still waiting for the pain, for the rush as his life was swept away.
Instead, there was only a strange, drawn out silence.
Blinking, Devon shook his head and straightened. He glanced down at his body, expecting to see a tangled mess, but he remained whole. Not even the stained fabric of his brown tunic had been touched by the creature’s power. His eyes turned to kanker. The weapon glinted in the morning sun, but the ancient runes on its head glowed with a light all of their own, although it was already fading.
Devon smiled as he looked back at the demon. Around him, the occupants of the ship were picking themselves up and staring with wonder at the giant warrior standing against the demon.
The demon still stood with its arm outstretched, sword extended, a look of pure bewilderment written across its ghostly face. It was clearly as shocked to see Devon still standing as he was himself.
Devon’s laughter rung out across the deck as he pointed kanker at the demon.
“Now you die, demon.”
Still cackling, he advanced on the creature. The demon blinked, drawing back its sword and straightening. For a moment it stared at the oncoming warrior, before pointing the blade again. The shadows gathered once more. With a scream from the demon, they sliced across the deck towards him.
This time, Devon did not so much as break stride. With a contemptuous swing of kanker, he sent the darkness swirling off into the harbour. The water hissed and boiled where it struck, and pure hatred twisted the demon’s face.
With a roar, he charged.
For a moment the demon’s hatred gave way to fear. It staggered back, the dark cloak rustling around it, the sword extended uselessly before it. Devon closed the gap, his powerful shoulders directing the hammer down at his foe’s head.
Sparks flashed as the demon recovered and raised its blade. Moving with impossible speed, it twisted in place, its own sword arcing back out to slash at Devon’s ribs. He leapt backwards, cursing softly as he felt the tip slice through his shirt. Not wanting to draw attention to themselves, he had neglected to put on his mail-shirt before boarding the ship.
The demon growled, chasing after him with eyes of dark fire, its tiny figure belying its awesome strength. Kanker leapt to meet it, the ancient hammer shining like gold as it deflected another blow from the black blade. Vibrations shuddered down Devon’s arm as their weapons met, but he held tight to the hammer’s haft, and swung it back at the creature’s face.
Spinning, it ducked the blow. A grin spread across its face as its blade lanced for Devon’s stomach, too close to avoid. Dropping kanker, Devon’s arm swept down and caught the creature by the wrist, halting the attack. The demon’s eyes widened as he lifted the thing from the ground and hurled it at the mast.
A dark cackling carried across the ship as the creature twisted, landing easily on one foot. Its blade flashed up, black energies crawling along its length to surge at Devon, but he had already recovered kanker and batted the attack aside.
Steel rang as they came together again. Devon grunted, the demon’s speed and strength forcing him back, only raw instinct keeping him alive. The creature’s movements grew more frenzied, its arms becoming a blur, and twice he felt the lick of its blade on his flesh. There were no words now, only silence as the two combatants tore at each other.
The initial thrill of combat faded, and Devon felt his energies tiring, his body unused to the rigours of armed combat. Still he fought on, driven by a primal need to conquer the enemy before him, to best the creature who dared challenge him. Swinging his hammer, he roared, fighting his way back against the demon’s blistering assault.
Devon saw something cross the creature’s eyes as he pressed forward. The black blade still moved with unnatural speed, flicking out to turn aside his blows, but there was a hesitation now, a doubt before each movement. This was a beast unused to defiance. Its enemies fell to its power like trees before the storm, devoured by its magic.
Yet now a mortal man stood against it, unyielding, and Devon could sense its doubt.
Snarling, the creature pressed forward again, but Devon began to laugh. He swept his hammer down, blocking a disembowelling cut.
“Is that all, demon?” Devon’s mirth boomed out across the waters.
The demon’s face twisted and a screech tore from its throat. The air grew cold, and it seemed the very light was being sucked from the world about it. Yet where Devon stood, kanker in hand, the sun shone brightly, setting the runes of his hammer aglow. Screaming, the demon hurled itself forward.
Devon met the creature’s charge with a scream of his own, kanker rising to block its desperate attack. Once, twice, three times their weapons met. Then, with a shriek of breaking metal and boom of sundered energies, the black blade shattered. Bellowing his triumph, Devon drove forward and brought the ancient hammer down on the creature’s skull.
A white brilliance flashed across the ship, and with a sharp suddenness, light and sound and life were restored to the world. A gull cawed, circling overhead, and the sun shone brightly across the watchers on the Songbird. Wind blasted into the sails, sending the ship surging forwards.
Drawing back his hammer, Devon watched as the creature collapsed face first onto the deck. A whisper went through the crew and, looking around, he saw the fear in their eyes. Ignoring them, Devon dropped kanker and strode across to the creature. Lifting the frail body above his head, he carried it to the railing. In the distance, he could see the Stalkers gathered on the docks, watching the Songbird’s retreat.
With a great heave of his shoulders, Devon hurled the body of the demon over the side. It struck the waters with a crash and vanished beneath the surface without a sound, as though it had never been.
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