Oathbreaker - Chapter 12
Quinn stood on the deck of the Ice Queen and looked out over the empty waters, seeking sign of the missing ship...
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 stood on the deck of the Ice Queen and looked out over the empty waters, seeking sign of the missing ship. The air was crisp and cool, the sun sinking towards the western coastline. Wind crackled around him, called by his magic, filling the sails to drive them on through the silent waters. Yet still a cold dread clenched around his heart.
Devon had killed the demon. It shouldn’t have been possible, but he had seen it himself. He had watched in disbelief as the giant hammerman turned aside the creature’s dark magic and fought off its frenzied attacks. The shock of the final blow had caused him to stagger back in horror. In silence, Quinn had stared as Devon carried the body to the side of the ship and hurled it out into the harbour.
His message had been clear: come after us and die.
Yet, here he was.
Quinn shivered again, forcing the doubt from his mind. The man might have found a way to counter the creature’s power, but Quinn still had the weight of numbers on his side. He had brought another company of Stalkers with him from Lon. Their sixteen men would be more than enough to kill Devon. The man was a fearsome warrior, but he was not invincible.
If only he could convince his men of that. Already he had caught them speaking in hushed whispers of the giant warrior, about his exploits in Trola and his battle with the demon. Enraged, Quinn had ordered any man caught spreading rumours about the hammerman be lashed. All his life it seemed he had been standing in the shadow of the man. In Trola, Devon had been promoted to lieutenant ahead of Quinn, despite his common upbringing and lack of magic. When the fool had rescinded his commission and quit, Quinn’s hatred had only grown, seeing it as an attack on everything in which he had ever believed.
It galled him now to find himself still standing in that same shadow. Worse yet, Alana stood with the man.
He gritted his teeth, turning his mind to other pursuits. Leaving the railing, he strode across the deck to where the captain stood at the helm. The man’s nervous eyes flickered in Quinn’s direction as he approached. He hadn’t wanted to set sail after the escapees, but Quinn hadn’t given him a choice, commandeering his ship and crew in the name of the Tsar. To refuse would have meant death.
Unfortunately, the Ice Queen had proven a poor choice. Despite full sails, it was sluggish in the water, and Quinn guessed it had been a long time since the hull had been scraped clean of barnacles. Silently, he cursed the captain for a fool.
“How goes our progress?” he asked out loud.
“With your magic, we’ll catch them, my lord,” the captain replied, an edge to his voice.
Supressing his anger, Quinn shook his head. “We had better, captain,” he said dangerously. “It’ll be your head if we don’t.”
With that, he wandered across the deck to where the captain’s cabin waited. His soul was weary, the strain of using his magic draining him. Yet he could not release it—without his power, the ship would slow to a creep.
Pulling open the cabin door, he moved inside and slumped onto the captain’s bed. Leaning his head back against the wall, he struggled to keep his eyes open. Magic still poured from him, drawing wind into the sails, but as he looked inside, he saw his pool of power shrinking. It would only last a few more hours.
They would not catch Devon’s ship before then.
Defeat settled on his shoulders like a blanket. His heart ached, and he wondered how long it would be before the Tsar came for him. Despite all his faithful years of service, this failure would cost him everything.
If only Julian’s informant had come sooner, he might have caught them before the ship departed. If only there had been another ship ready to leave the instant the Songbird had escaped. If only he’d had the power to strike the ship down with lightning.
Instead, he’d been forced to watch, helpless, as the Songbird carried his prey beyond reach. He had robbed the wind from their sails, even tried to force them back with his powers, but the rowers aboard were strong, and he was not strong enough to overcome all of them.
Now he found himself aboard another ship, leagues behind his quarry, praying to long dead Gods to bring them within his reach.
Hours crept past as Quinn tracked his magic’s slow decline, until it was nothing more than a blue spark in the darkness of his mind. Outside, night had fallen over the ship, but still they sailed on. He sighed as he heard the sails overhead flapping, then fall silent as the last breath of wind left them. Curses whispered through the wooden walls as the captain shouted for the few sailors he could spare to take to their oars.
Closing his eyes, Quinn lay back on the bed as the ship rocked beneath him. The rowers would soon tire. Devon and his wards had slipped through his fingers again. Within days, they would disappear forever into the vast expanse of Northland. And he would feel the Tsar’s wrath.
He fought against the pull of sleep, dreading what would find him there, but it was insistent, his exhaustion beyond his will to resist. Slowly the darkness wrapped around him, drawing him down into nothingness…
When Quinn woke, the gloom was still all around, but he was no longer alone. A man moved through the shadows, his aura flickering with multicoloured hues, drawing closer. Quinn shuddered as he looked on the figure and felt the fiery blue eyes of the Tsar pierce him.
“You have lost them.” The voice rang with power.
Quinn bowed his head. “The demon failed.”
“You failed,” boomed the voice.
Shuddering, Quinn drew back, but bands of fire swept out to wrap around him. He screamed as the flames burned into his spirit. He reached for his magic, but the power was gone, consumed by his futile pursuit of Devon.
“For years I have watched you.” The Tsar’s voice was soft now. “Nurtured you, made you one of my most trusted servants. And how have you repaid me?”
“I am sorry, your majesty,” Quinn croaked, forcing back a scream. Bowing his head, he began to beg. “Please, they have not escaped me yet. I can catch them!”
“You cannot,” came the Tsar’s reply. “Your weakness has betrayed you.”
Anger gave Quinn strength. Summoning his courage, he looked into the Tsar’s burning eyes. “No!” he growled. “They shall not escape me, not while I still breathe.”
The form of the Tsar flared, the spiralling colours of his form shifting. A smile appeared on his ethereal lips. “Your spirit remains, Quinn,” he spoke quietly. “Perhaps you might yet serve me.”
“Anything, your majesty,” Quinn whispered as the flames binding him died away.
A long silence stretched out as the Tsar studied him. Colours spun and grew amidst his form, red and green and white and blue, plus a thousand others unnamed. Quinn found himself drawn to them, a part of himself yearning to join the swirling display.
“Feshibe and her children have been sent to intercept them,” the Tsar said at last.
Quinn’s spirit flickered at the mention of the beast’s name. His heart twisted. The creatures would bring death to everyone aboard the Songbird. Alana’s face rose into his thoughts.
“She has had her chance.” There was regret in the Tsar’s voice now. “I can spare her no longer. She will die with the others. Only the boy must survive. You will retrieve him for me.”
“If she dies, we cannot reverse—” Quinn tried to argue, but the Tsar waved a hand and his voice faded away.
“So be it,” the man’s words whispered through the void. “Bring me the boy. His power intrigues me.”
Quinn swallowed. “The beasts, they will bring him to me?”
Laughter sent a tremor through Quinn’s soul. “No, you must find him,” came the Tsar’s reply. “Scour the coast. You will find the boy there.”
Quinn bowed. “Yes, your majesty.”
With his words, the darkness shook, the vision of the Tsar fading away. Quinn lingered there a moment longer, wondering at his ruler’s words, and the death now winging its way towards his quarry. There would be no stopping the beasts when they came to them. No magic or hammer would turn them aside.
Alana would die alongside Devon and Kellian.
Alana sat on the bow of the ship, staring out over the open ocean, to where the coastline flickered in the distance. The burning globe of the sun was just beginning to disappear behind the scraggly trees. A cool breeze blew across her neck as darkness slowly crept over the ship and the last calls of the seabirds faded away.
Safe.
She could hardly bring herself to believe it. For hours she had been watching to the south, waiting for sails to appear, for the first signs of the pursuit that would drag them back to the capital. But the seas had remained empty, and, bit by bit, hope crept unbidden into her heart.
Freedom.
It seemed such a strange word to her, after so long spent in the darkness. It was so close now; she could taste it in the salty air, feel it in the cold wind, smell it in the fishy tang of the cargo hold.
“How long will it be?” her brother asked, coming to sit alongside her.
Alana shook her head. The wind was weak, and the captain was using the rowers below sparingly. From Lon to Duskenville was a journey of many leagues, and it could take days to reach the northern city. Even so, a smile crept to her lips as she looked at her brother.
“As long as it takes,” she said. “They won’t catch us now, Braidon.”
Her brother nodded solemnly, his eyes trailing out to where the last red of the sunset was fading to black. “Why did he fight the demon?”
“I don’t know,” Alana whispered, remembering Devon’s amber eyes as he faced the creature.
Her thoughts drifted, recalling the battle between hammerman and demon. Trapped by the demon’s power, she and her brother had stood on the brink of defeat, staring into the black eyes of death. Had it not been for Devon, they would both be sitting in the Tsar’s dungeons by now.
Instead, they were free.
She saw him now, sitting on the deck with his back pressed up against a barrel. His eyes were distant, their amber depths catching the last glint of the dying sun.
How had he done it? The ancient warhammer lay at his side, his hand resting on its haft. Tillie had said the weapon had magic, but none of them had guessed it possessed the strength to turn aside the demon’s power. More so, Devon had matched the creature’s superhuman strength, blow for blow. She had never seen the like.
“You going to sit there all night staring, princess?” Devon’s voice called across to her.
Alana jumped, while at her side Braidon laughed. She flashed a scowl in his direction. Devon hadn’t moved from his perch, but she saw the hint of his smile on his lips.
“Who says I was staring?” she shot back.
“You were, sis, I saw it,” her brother cut in. His mouth snapped closed as her grey eyes turned on him.
Devon stood and sheathed kanker on his back, then walked across the gently pitching deck towards them. As he moved, several sailors cast angry glares at his back. The entire crew now knew they’d been tricked into safeguarding a Magicker from the Tsar. Most were from Northland, beyond the southern ruler’s influence, but the ship’s name would need to be changed if they ever wished to trade with the Three Nations again.
Devon ignored them. Silently, he lowered himself down beside Alana and trailed his legs out over the side of the ship.
“You think they’ll get us to Duskenville?” Alana asked suddenly, her gut churning at the thought of failure.
“They’d better,” Devon replied loudly. Reaching up, he tapped the haft of his hammer. “Or they’ll soon learn what a kiss from old kanker feels like.”
Alana shuddered despite herself. In the moment Devon had faced off against the demon, he’d been as fearsome as any God, his eyes burning, his face impassive, his shoulders rippling with power. Such had been his ferocity, even the demon seemed to shrink before him. Sitting there now, his massive arms pressed against hers, Alana couldn’t help but shiver, fear and admiration welling within her.
“How did you do it?” she asked, more to distract herself from his nearness than seeking an answer.
“Do what?” Devon asked. Leaning forward, he stared down at the racing waters, his eyes hidden by shadow.
Beside Alana, Braidon stood suddenly and wandered away. She stared after him, frowning as he approached Tillie and Kellian at the other railing, before returning her gaze to the hammerman.
“Umm.” She bit her lip, struggling to put words to her question. “How did you face it? How did you beat it?”
The big warrior laughed, the sound gentle, almost mocking. “The same way I always have.”
“Oh?”
Devon scratched his beard, the amber eyes flickering in her direction. “I didn’t think.”
Alana raised an eyebrow. “That sounds more like a way of getting yourself killed.”
“Ay, Kellian used to say the same thing, during the war.” His face darkened and he looked away. “But it’s the truth. Other men, they worry about what will happen if they fail, about dying, or being wounded, about their family and friends and comrades around them. For me, once I pick up the hammer, there’s none of that. There’s only myself and the enemy.”
His words sent a shiver down Alana’s spine. “But it was a demon,” she countered. “It was faster and stronger than you. How could it have lost?”
“Doubt,” Devon replied simply. “I could see it in the thing’s eyes. Its magic had never failed it before today. Sure, it had fought other men with its sword, but that was only ever a game. Today it had no choice, it was forced to cross arms with me. That unnerved it, sowed the slightest seeds of doubt in its mind.”
“And then you laughed at it…” Alana murmured.
Devon smiled.
“It lost control,” Alana continued for him, “grew reckless.”
A gentle silence fell between them. Alana closed her eyes, feeling the heat of him pressed against her. A smile tugged at her lips. In that moment, she felt safer than at any other time in recent memory.
“Thank you,” she whispered suddenly, “for protecting us.”
A giant hand settled around her own. “Anytime, Alana.”
She nodded, leaning her head against his shoulder. Her thoughts wandered as she sat there, and after a while she found herself drifting off to sleep, the exhaustion of the past few days returning to claim her.
This time, when she dreamed, Alana found herself a silent observer, a ghost standing amidst the green gardens of the past. She watched in silence as her brother ran through the roses, surrounded by other children, their youthful faces relaxed and smiling.
But as she drifted closer, she found one who did not smile or run with the others, who stood in silence, his face turned away, watching the others play. She circled him, her heart hammering hard in her chest as the boy’s face came into view.
The demon stared back at her, his eyes the brightest shade of green…
Suddenly, darkness fell across the garden, a great shadow plunging the roses into black.
And Alana woke…
Sitting up on the ship, Alana glanced around quickly, surprised to find herself in the small cabin they’d taken over from the captain. Her heart raced as she looked for the others, and found Devon, Kellian, Braidon and Tillie sleeping close by. She breathed out a sigh of relief, touching a hand to her heart.
Closing her eyes, she sought sleep once more, but now it would not come. She tossed and turned for a time, struggling to forget the dream, and the dark cloud that had covered the garden. Finally, she surrendered to her wakefulness. Rising, she clipped her sword to her belt and moved outside, leaving the others to their sleep.
Overhead, the night was crisp and clear, the stars shining in the sky. A half-moon was slowly rising. The air was calm, the sails furled, leaving the ocean around them as still as glass. Standing at the railing, it seemed to Alana as though they sailed through the sky itself, their boat becoming a bird to soar through the stars.
At that moment, she saw something flicker across the moon. She frowned, squinting her eyes to search the night sky. Had it been a bird? It had seemed too big for that, as though some great hand had covered the moon for half an instant.
As she stared up at the sky, she heard the door to the cabin squeak behind her.
“Alana?” Devon’s voice carried across the deck.
She turned towards him, raising a hand to silence him, then pointing at the sky. He glanced from her to the stars. Her heart eased as she saw he had kanker strapped over his shoulder. Whatever might be out there, she was confident they could face it with the ancient weapon on their side.
Devon moved towards her, his eyes on the sky now. Before he could reach her, the shadow passed across the moon once more. He came to a stop and reached for the haft of kanker.
As his hand gripped the weapon, an ear-splitting roar pierced the night. Alana’s heart froze in her chest as she swung towards the sound, hand fumbling for her sword. Around them, the sailors asleep on the deck came alive, scrambling from their hammocks. The door to the cabin slammed open as the others emerged onto the deck.
“What is it?” Kellian called.
Devon had joined her at the railing now, his amber eyes fixed on the stars. “Nothing good,” he muttered, though Kellian would not have heard his words.
Alana shivered. She opened her mouth, and then closed it again. With her second glance, she had recognised what it was, the death that hovered overhead, but the knowledge would do them no good. Whatever magic her brother might possess, whatever power Devon’s hammer had imbued in its steel head, they could not fight this beast. It would kill them all.
Dragon.
The word was on her lips as the first flames blossomed. An angry red flashed across the sky, blotting out the stars. By its light, they saw the beast’s head illuminated against the sails. Blood red scales rippled across the massive body as it dove towards them, jaws wide, flames building in the black void of its mouth. Teeth glinted in the moonlight, each the size of her brother’s dagger. The great wings spread out to either side of it, crackling in the wind as it rushed towards them. A long tail slithered out behind it as the golden globes of its eyes slid across the deck to find them.
“Dragon!”
The cry went up from the crew, then the men were hurling themselves overboard. Alana shivered, readying herself to follow. In the darkness she could not tell which direction the shore was, or how far, but it was better than remaining on the ship to burn.
“Get down!” Devon crashed into her as the dragon swept past.
His weight pressed her down against the deck as a wave of heat engulfed the ship. A whoosh came from the mast as the wood went up in flames, and overhead the sails turned to ash. Screams came from the crew who remained on the ship as their clothes caught fire. One staggered sideways into the railing and tumbled overboard, the flames dying as he struck the sea. Others crumpled to the deck, overwhelmed by heat and smoke.
Light flashed, brilliant and blinding. Shielding her eyes, Alana saw her brother standing outside the cabin, arms extended. Power crackled as he pointed at the dragon. Light shot upwards to meet the beast. Its roar washed over the ship as it seemed to freeze in the middle of the sky. But as the light struck its scarlet scales, the magic shattered, spiralling outwards into the night. With a roar, the dragon twisted and came at them again.
The great wings swept down, sending them reeling in a blast of wind. The flames leapt higher, fed by the fresh air, and in seconds the entire ship was ablaze. There was nowhere left to go but over the side.
Alana staggered to her feet. Flames separated her from Braidon and the others. Choking on the smoke, she waved a hand and screamed over the crackling of burning wood. “Make for the shore!”
She couldn’t tell if they’d heard her, but Kellian waved back and then grabbed Braidon and Tillie by the hand. Turning, they staggered to the railing and disappeared over the side.
Alana was about to follow them when she remembered Devon. She searched the flickering shadows for him. The flames hissed, leaping through the rigging overhead, and a great groan came from the mast. If it fell, it would drag the entire ship down with it. Another roar came from the sky as the dragon turned for another pass.
Glimpsing movement nearby, she found Devon on his knees, blood streaming from a cut on his forehead. She rushed to his side, dropping to a crouch beside him and offering her shoulder. Wordlessly, she heaved him to his feet. The hammer was still sheathed on his back and, gritting her teeth, she began to half-carry him towards the side of the ship.
As they reached the railing, a rush of wind came from overhead, and, looking up, Alana saw the dragon heading straight for them. The great jaws opened, flames blossoming. Without thinking, she dove forward, dragging Devon with her.
Ice swallowed Alana as they struck the dark waters. She gasped at the sudden cold, her breath rushing out as salty water filled her mouth. Choking, she thrashed, kicking out. Breaking the surface, she coughed out water and sucked in a breath. She looked around, searching for Devon, but there was no sign of him. Cursing, she sucked in another lungful of air, and dove back into the depths.
Forcing her eyes open, Alana squinted through the black water. Lit by the flames overhead, she glimpsed Devon below. Eyes closed, the hammer strapped to his back, he was sinking slowly into the abyss. Diving down, she slid his arm over her shoulder and began to kick.
The man’s giant bulk slowed her, the weight of the hammer fighting her. Alana clung on, determined to save him. Her sabre, still strapped to her waist, slowed her ascent, but there was no time now to stop and remove it. Above, she could see the surface glowing, the flames of the burning ship calling her upwards.
She gasped as they burst through the surface. The sudden heat of the flames burned her lungs, but she sucked in the breaths as though the air were fine wine. Finally, she turned her attention to Devon. He was still breathing, but his eyes refused to open. A dead weight beside her, she could barely keep his head above the surface.
Somewhere overhead, the dragon’s roar came again. She sensed its eyes scanning the waters. Grabbing Devon by the back of his shirt, she began to kick away from the burning ship. With Devon lying on his back, the air in his lungs would keep him afloat, leaving her the hard work of moving them towards the shore.
Or so she hoped.
Slowly, the flames faded behind them, and with it, the screams of the dragon. She prayed it would be gone by dawn. On land the creatures could smell a human from a league away, but their vision was poor in the darkness. With the smoke and ocean all around, it was unlikely the beast would find them now.
When a partially scorched board from the ship bumped against them, Alana snatched at it desperately. Exhaustion weighing on her, she helped Devon grip one side of the board. He was half-conscious now, and it was large enough to keep them both afloat, for a time. Together, the two of them clung to the wooden raft and allowed the cold ocean currents to carry them where they would.
Devon woke to the sound of waves crashing on a rocky shore. Moments later, the pounding in his head struck him, sounding through the darkness like a hammer on a gong. Groaning, he rolled onto his side, the contents of his stomach churning. In a rush, he vomited onto the smooth gravel, the taste burning in his throat.
When he was done, he lay back, gasping at the cold air. Dark clouds rolled across the sky, and he shivered as a wave washed up the beach to soak his leg. Looking around, he found Alana lying next to him, her eyes closed, the sabre still strapped to her waist. He stared at her a moment, breath held, until he saw the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Taking a moment to gather his strength, he watched the waves as they lapped gently at his boots. Finally, he stood and, lifting Alana in his arms, he began to make his slow way up the beach.
The gravel shifted beneath his boots, making him stumble, but he did not fall. Shifting Alana to his shoulder, he looked up at the low cliff ahead of him. Its face was crumbling away, leaving piles of gravel around its base, but it was still too high for him to scale. If he tried, he would likely bring half the cliff down on the two of them.
Looking along the beach, he saw a thin gleam of water threading its way down towards the ocean. He moved towards it, knowing the creek would have carved a path through the gravel cliff and hoping he could follow it up into the forest beyond.
By the time he reached the break in the cliffs, he was panting hard. His clothes were heavy with sea water, and Alana still hadn’t woken. The warhammer strapped to his back only made matters worse. Shaking his head, he looked up at the cliffs. The creek was little more than a trickle, but his guess had been correct, and the water had cut a narrow slit through the cliff-face. Soft sand and gravel had given way on either side, forming a ramp for the water to trickle its way down. Wooden debris from the trees further upstream had lodged in the little gorge.
Glancing back out over the ocean, Devon scanned the skies, but they remained empty. He breathed a sigh of relief—he had no wish to go up against the creature again. A shudder went through him as an image of the dragon flickered into his mind, its blood-red scales glowing in the light of its flames. Shaking his head, he turned his thoughts back to escaping the beach.
The ground over which the creek ran looked soft and unstable, but the broken trees and branches lining the stones offered a better path. Taking a firmer grip on Alana, he started up the trail.
He was halfway up the ramp of wooden detritus when Alana suddenly began to thrash in his hands. A sharp shriek echoed off the gravel walls. Cursing, he tried to set her down, only to catch an elbow in the face. The blow knocked him backwards, sending them both crashing into the creek bed. The stones crumbled beneath him and he began to slide. His hand shot out and wrapped around a fallen tree branch, the other snatching at Alana before she tumbled away.
“Alana?” he panted, lying back on the shifting stones.
Alana didn’t reply, and he saw that her eyes remained closed, her eyelids fluttering with untold dreams. A low muttering came from her lips, but he couldn’t make out the words. Devon swore and pulled them both back onto the broad branch of the fallen tree.
Taking a moment to catch his breath, Devon sat up and looked down the gully towards the sea. They could be anywhere in Lonia now—or in Northland, for that matter. He had no way of telling which until he had a better look at their surroundings.
His heart twitched as he thought of Kellian and the others. There had been no sign of anyone on the beach—not even the crew. He tried to think back to the ship, whether anyone else had made it off, but his memories were foggy. Only the image of the dragon remained crisp in his mind. Shaking off his melancholy, Devon stood, dragging Alana up with him.
There was nothing he could do for the others now. If they survived, they would head north. If not…he shook his head and pushed the thought away.
At the top of the gully, he found himself amongst the trees of a youthful forest. Looking around, he glimpsed larch and juniper trees; all species among the first to colonise barren land. Spotting a few oak and hickory trees, newcomers which only grew beneath the shade of older trees, he guessed the forest was probably fifty years old. That, along with the gravel cliffs, told him they were still south of Fort Fall – still within the realm of the Tsar.
His eyes turned eastward to the ocean. The waters and sky remained empty, but there was no telling how long this would last. They needed to get going before someone or something came looking for them. Settling Alana on his shoulders, he started off towards the north, keeping the treeline in sight but never venturing too close. If the dragon was nearby, he had no wish to be spotted by the beast.
Devon’s thoughts drifted as he walked, turning to Kellian. Had his recklessness finally gotten his friend killed? He thought back to the night at his friend’s inn, when he’d insulted the royal guard and left him unconscious in a pile of garbage. If only he’d left things alone, they would still be in Ardath now, beyond the Tsar’s knowledge.
Instead, he was carrying a fugitive through an unknown forest, his friend lost, probably dead. Stalkers and demons and dragons were hunting them, and there was little sign of hope. The odds were impossible, the challenge unassailable.
Despite himself, Devon found himself grinning as he walked. He remembered the look in the demon’s eyes as he struck it down.
The stuff legends are made of!
Late in the afternoon, the trees finally began to thin, the taller trunks giving way to scraggly bushes of mulberry that offered little shelter. Devon continued casting glances at the eastern horizon, but it seemed the beast had given up for the moment. He wondered if that meant Braidon had been captured.
His heart sank at the thought of the boy, the weight of Alana pressing down on him. Imagining Alana’s face when he told her the boy had been lost sent a shiver down his spine. He would rather fight ten demons than face the young woman’s anger again. She would not be stopped, not by anyone. If the boy had been taken, she would turn around and march straight back to Ardath and demand his return. Silently, he prayed to the Storm God, Jurrien, that the boy was safe.
As the last of the trees fell behind, Devon’s eyes were drawn out across the plains. Ahead, the coast twisted inwards on itself, the cliffs growing into the towering expanse of The Gap. There, lifting above the granite cliffs, were the immense walls of the greatest fortress ever constructed.
Fort Fall.
For more than five hundred years the fortress had stood in defiance of the north, the first and last bastion of the Three Nations against the ragged wasteland. In all that time, it had fallen only once, when the dark Magicker Archon had used his power to sweep the defenders from the walls. Eventually the Gods had defeated him, but even with their powers, they had only been able to banish him to the wasteland.
A hundred years later, he had returned. Only this time, Fort Fall had held, the courage of men prevailing, restoring the power of the Gods and casting down the dark Magicker.
Afterwards, the Gods had brought peace between the Three Nations and Northland. With peace had come trade and prosperity, and soon the borders had opened. Then there had been no more need for the great fortress.
Now Fort Fall stood empty, the gates torn asunder, the ancient walls unguarded but for the ghosts of long-dead warriors.
Looking at it now, Devon shuddered, the tales of his ancestor rising up from his childhood. His hand drifted to the haft of his hammer. It was on those walls where the legends of his ancestor had come to an end, as Alan stood in defiance of the dark Magicker’s power. Already a legend amongst the Lonians, his strength faded with age, Alan had stood with kanker in hand and fought the enemy until his dying breath.
It was said he had fallen on the first wall, holding it with a handful of men against the dark Magicker’s beasts, allowing the bulk of the army to retreat to the second wall. His sacrifice had saved hundreds of lives, keeping the defenders from being overtaken by Archon’s vile beasts.
Devon’s heart twitched as he thought of his own deeds, of the hundreds of souls who had fallen beneath the same hammer his ancestor had wielded in defence of the Three Nations.
In his arms, Alana twitched and moaned. A shiver went through her, and, touching a hand to her forehead, Devon cursed as he realised she had grown cold. Knowing where he was by Fort Fall’s proximity, he set off across the open landscape.
He found the pools a few minutes later, their crystal-clear waters untouched by the darkness that had once come creeping into the land. Setting Alana down, he pulled off his jerkin and covered her with it. Quickly, he set about collecting dry wood for a fire.
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