Oathbreaker - Chapter 8
Behind Alana, the others rose, weapons in hand. Gritting her teeth, Alana drew her sabre...
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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Behind Alana, the others rose, weapons in hand. Gritting her teeth, Alana drew her sabre. At the rasp of steel on leather, all sounds from outside ceased. Cursing softly, Alana slid closer to the temple’s entrance.
She lifted her blade as movement flickered in the doorway, preparing to hurl herself at the unknown intruder. Before she had a chance to attack, a hunched figure stepped from the shadows into the light.
Alana blinked, her feet almost tripping over themselves as she pulled herself up short. Soft laughter whispered through the courtyard as the figure took another step towards them. Firelight illuminated the withered folds of a woman’s ancient face. Blue eyes glowed in the darkness, and silvery hair hung around her shoulders. Green robes cloaked the woman’s ancient body. While she moved at a shuffle, Alana did not miss the glint of a sword hilt at the woman’s waist. Taking a hasty step back, she lifted her own blade and pointed it at the old woman.
“Stay back!” Alana cursed inwardly as her voice shook.
The laughter came again, quiet, filled with mirth. “Are you so afraid of an old woman?”
“These are strange times,” Kellian said, stepping up beside Alana. “Trust does not come easily. Who are you?”
“A priest.”
“What’s a priest doing in a place like this?” Devon asked gruffly. He walked forward, kanker in hand, firelight reflecting from the steel head.
“Looking for you,” the priest replied.
Taking her blade in a two-handed grip, Alana advanced a step on the old woman, until the point rested on her chest. “Why?” she hissed.
The blue eyes dropped to the blade, then back to Alana. The smile never left the ancient face. “You fought the Arbor,” she said quietly. Her eyes turned on Devon. “You killed one.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Devon growled.
“The magic of the black trees clings to you like a cloak.” The woman continued as though the giant hammerman had not spoken. “You were fortunate to survive.”
“The black trees?” Kellian asked calmly. “That’s what you mean by the Arbor?”
The woman nodded, turning to face the innkeeper.
“And what do they have to do with you, priest?” he pressed.
“I hunt them,” the old priest said simply.
Silence met her answer. Then Devon threw back his head and began to laugh. The booming sound echoed around the courtyard. When it finally faded away, the big man wiped tears from his eyes and looked at the woman. “You hunt them?” he asked. “And how does someone as old as you manage that?”
The old woman had said nothing as the hammerman laughed, but now a smile of her own spread across her lips. “Like this.”
Before anyone could react, the woman moved. Short sword suddenly in hand, she lashed out, catching Alana’s sabre just above the hilt. The shock of the impact knocked the blade from Alana’s hand, then a booted foot lashed out to catch her in the chest. Stumbling backwards, she crashed into Kellian and the two of them went down in a heap.
Cursing, Devon lifted his hammer and swung at the old woman, but she had already slipped below his guard. He froze as the silver steel of her blade touched his throat.
“Do you need another demonstration?” she asked into the sudden silence.
Devon carefully shook his head. “I take your point.”
The woman’s laughter bubbled forth as she sheathed her blade and wandered across to their fire. She sat down with a low groan, only then glancing back at them. “Well, are you going to stand there all night in the cold, or are you going to join me?”
“Join you?” Alana snapped. Finally managing to disentangle herself from Kellian, she scooped up her sabre and leapt to her feet. “Why don’t you try me in a fair fight, you old hag?”
The blue eyes flickered up at Alana. She froze mid-stride, reading the danger there. “Put away your blade, girl,” the woman said, her words like ice. “Before I take it from you.”
Alana swallowed, suddenly lost for words. The threat in the woman’s eyes was unmistakable, and despite their obvious mismatch, she sensed it would be a mistake to attack. After a long moment, she pushed down her anger and sheathed her sabre.
The smile returned to the woman’s face. “Good girl.” She nodded to the log beside her. “Why don’t you join me and tell me of the Arbor you fought? I would like to hear the tale.”
After a moment’s hesitation, the four of them shuffled across to join the woman. Embers of rage still burning in her stomach, Alana took the seat across the fire from her. Kellian busied himself with his bag, pulling out a pot and a few stray leaves he’d collected from the jungle. Within a few minutes he had a pot of water bubbling over the fire. Tearing the leaves into smaller pieces, he added them to the pot to make tea.
“There’s not much to tell,” Alana said shortly. “My brother and I got lost. We stumbled into a clearing, where they attacked us.”
“But how did you survive?” The priest asked. She leaned forward, the firelight casting shadows across her wrinkled face.
“We were lucky enough to hear their cries,” Kellian answered. “I helped Alana fight off the vines, while Devon destroyed one of the…Arbor.”
“Yes,” the priest mused. “Its death lingers on you still, hammerman.”
Devon shrugged. Lifting his hammer, he held it out to the flames. “It was no match for kanker.”
The woman’s eyes widened as they alighted on the hammer. “I know that hammer,” she whispered. “Where did you come by it?”
Devon glanced at his friend before answering. “It has been passed down through my family for generations.”
A smile appeared on the old woman’s face at that. “The bloodline of Alan runs true.”
To Alana’s surprise, Devon’s face darkened at the woman’s comment. The hammer slipped from his fingers and struck the cobbles with a sharp crack. Rising, he moved away without speaking, his eyes downcast. He vanished into the trees without a word.
The strange woman stared after him, confusion on her face. She glanced at Kellian. “Did I say something?”
“No, my lady,” he replied gently. “Only, his ancestor’s deeds have weighed on him his entire life. It is no easy thing, being descended from a hero.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” the priest murmured.
“It is his demon to battle,” Kellian replied. He trailed off a moment, before looking at the old woman again. “I’m afraid we still do not know your name, my lady.”
The edges of the woman’s eyes crinkled as she laughed. “Forgive my poor manners,” she said. “I have not been amongst civilised company for a long time. I go by Tillie.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Tillie.” Braidon, silent until now, finally spoke.
“And you, young man,” the priest replied.
“Braidon,” he added with a smile, “and this is my sister, Alana. And Kellian and Devon.”
“Pardon my interest,” Kellian broke in as he took up a piece of bamboo and began cutting it into pieces. “but why have you spent so much time in this forest, Tillie?”
“As I said, I have been hunting the Arbor.”
Kellian poured the tea into his makeshift bamboo cups and then offered them around the circle. Alana accepted one with a smile, before taking a sip. The tea tasted of rosehip and mint, and smiling, she took another mouthful.
“But why you?” Kellian asked finally. “I mean no offence, but surely there were younger priests to undertake such a dangerous mission.”
Tillie laughed. “You do not pull your blows, young Kellian.” She shook her head, considering his words. “Perhaps I did not wish such youthful lives to be risked in such a dangerous task.”
“A noble thought,” Kellian offered.
Tillie grinned. “I did not say it was true though.” She trailed off, her face thoughtful. For a moment, Alana didn’t think she was going to speak. When the words finally came, they were soft, filled with sorrow. “There were others once who stood with me against the darkness. I’m the last of them now, though.”
“That sounds lonely,” Braidon whispered.
Reaching out, Alana gripped his hand, thinking of their own plight, their rush to escape the grip of the Tsar.
As if summoned by her thoughts, the old woman’s eyes turned towards her. “And what brings the two of you into this forest, young Alana?”
Alana swallowed, seeing again Quinn’s eyes, whispering in her dreams.
Are you ready?
“We’re passing through,” she said quickly, determinedly keeping the tremor from her voice. She looked around at the ruin of the temple, as though seeing it for the first time. “What happened to this place?”
“Sitton was never a large city, but it once served as a waystation between Lon and Ardath, a safe port for ships to dock and resupply. It was destroyed during the final war between Archon and the Gods, when his demon was hunting the Sword of Light.”
Kellian snorted. “That old myth?” he asked, laughter in his voice. “Surely you don’t believe the Gods were ever foolish enough to hand their powers over to a mere mortal?”
“Who am I to question history?” the priest replied, her eyes dancing in the firelight. “Even so, there is no question that the God of the Sky met Archon’s demon here. The battle shook the very earth, and in the end Sitton was razed to the ground. Empowered by the demon’s magic, the forest grew up around the city overnight, spreading for leagues and cutting off the ruins from the rest of the world. Amidst that forest, the Arbor took root.”
“And you decided to change that?” Braidon spoke in a low voice, his eyes wide.
“I have tried,” Tillie replied sadly. “But I fear it has been for naught. The trees are rooted deep. They resist mortal weapons. Fire can hurt them, but only magic has the power to kill the creatures. I have cleared them from the city and the Gods Road, but others still remain, hidden in the depths of the forest.”
“You’re a Magicker then?” Alana asked, her heart quickening at the thought.
The old woman didn’t look up from the flames. “That would make me a renegade from the Tsar, would it not?” she asked, her voice barely audible above the popping of burning wood.
No one spoke for a moment, and quietly Alana let the subject die. Her eyes drifted to where kanker lay in the dirt, and her thoughts turned to the question they’d been pondering before the woman appeared. Reaching out, she lifted the weapon and brushed it clean with her hand.
“How did Devon kill the tree, then?” she asked quietly. “He has no magic.”
“Alan,” Tillie replied. “The man was a mighty warrior, not just because of his strength and courage, but because his hammer was no mortal weapon. He married the daughter of a powerful Magicker. I don’t doubt the old man bound his power into the weapon kanker, to protect his son-in-law in battle. Though exactly what its nature is, I cannot tell.”
“How has Devon carried it for so long then, without coming to the Tsar’s attention?”
The priest chuckled dryly. “The Tsar may be a Magicker beyond compare, but even he does not possess all the secrets of magic. The power contained within the hammer is dormant. Other Magickers would not be able to sense it.”
Alana nodded, still processing the new information. Before she could reply, a cold voice came from the shadows.
“Thank you, priest, for answering that mystery.”
Devon sat amongst the trees, his mind far away, lost in memories of his past. He could still hear the screams of men as they fell beneath his hammer, smell the stench as their bowels gave way, see the terror in their eyes at the approach of death. For years he had gloried in the triumph of battle, confident in his own invincibility.
Then the war had turned into a slaughter, and doubt had come gnawing into his mind.
Hero?
How could he call himself that, when his hands were stained with the blood of innocents?
Shivering, he clenched his fists, feeling the power in his meaty hands. He had never desired any other trade but war. He was bred for it, as his father and his grandfather had been before him. They had marched in the legendary footsteps of Alan, following Gods and Kings as they fought against the bandits and monsters who still roamed the Three Nations. Devon’s grandfather had even joined the Northland alliance to help cleanse the northern wastelands of Archon’s creatures.
Now an evil force had finally shown its face to Devon, and he had faced it down with courage. But he was afraid it had come too late. His soul was already stained, corrupted by the darkness of his past. He didn’t deserve to wield kanker, wasn’t worthy of his ancestor’s name.
“Drop your weapons!”
The voice cut through Devon’s melancholy, and he looked back to where the firelight glittered between the trees. He frowned as he saw shadows dancing there. Rising from the tree stump, he reached for his hammer, then swore as he remembered he’d left it behind.
Laughter whispered through the trees as Devon took a step towards the campsite.
“Move and you die!” a voice growled.
Devon stilled, but the words had not been directed at him, and after a moment he continued edging towards the camp. Treading carefully between the sticks littering the broken courtyard, he crept towards the fire. Ice slid down his back as he paused at the treeline and looked out at the men surrounding the campfire. The others stood beside the fire with the priest, but now they were surrounded by eight dark-cloaked figures, their swords drawn.
His friends had their hands on their weapons but had not yet drawn them. For a moment he wondered why, until he saw the man leading the intruders. He held one hand stretched out towards Kellian and the others. The tips of his fingers were obscured by a strange haze, and it was a moment before Devon realised the air itself changed there.
His eyes flickered to the man’s face, though he knew now who it was.
Quinn!
By the fire, Alana drew her sabre in a rush and charged the lieutenant. But before she could take two steps, there was a roar of air and then a great gale of wind caught Alana in the chest and hurled her back. Tumbling over the ground, she crashed through the campfire, scattering embers across the courtyard. Her brother leapt to her side and brushed her clear of the flames while she struggled to regain her feet.
“Anyone else?” Quinn’s icy voice carried across to where Devon hid in the trees.
He ducked lower, praying the shadows would conceal him from the prying eyes of the Stalkers. The company was smaller than he’d last seen it, and he wondered where the rest of Quinn’s men were lurking.
“What are you doing here, Quinn?” Kellian said, his voice hard and unyielding.
Quinn ignored the question. He stood motionless, still staring at the woman on the ground. “Alana?” he whispered.
Alana looked up sharply at her name, her eyes widening. She stood quickly and retreated a step, dragging her brother with her. “Stay back, Stalker,” she hissed. Her sabre had been lost when the wind struck her, but she drew a dagger and pointed it at the lieutenant’s chest.
Almost casually, Quinn flicked a hand. The wind tore at Alana, threatening to knock her flat. Screaming, she drew back her blade and hurled it at the lieutenant, but the wind caught the knife and tossed it far into the trees. Ignoring her warning, Quinn continued towards her. He wore a strange look on his face, his brow creased in a frown, but with the slightest of smiles on his lips.
“It was smart, hiding in the city so long,” he whispered, “but it’s over now. You must come back with me, before it’s too late.”
The look on Alana’s face had turned from shock to confusion now. She stared back at the lieutenant, mouth agape, fingers clenched tightly on her brother’s cloak. With obvious effort, she bared her teeth, eyes flashing. “We’re not going anywhere with you.”
The smile left Quinn’s lips. “You cannot stop me.” He started towards them again, but the priest stepped between them.
“That’s far enough, young man.” Her voice was soft as a summer breeze, but there was iron in it.
Quinn blinked, as though seeing the priest for the first time. “Who are you, old woman?”
“A priest of the Goddess, Antonia,” Tillie replied. “This is her temple still—you are not welcome here.”
The Stalker took a moment to look around, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. “This pile of rubble?” He laughed, the sound harsh and mocking. “I did not realise your order had fallen so low, priest.” His tone hardened and he took a step towards her. “Now get out of my way, before I make you.”
Amongst the trees, Devon’s heart sank as he studied the men surrounding the campfire. Anger flared in his chest. Between himself and Kellian, they might have stood a chance—although eight men would have been difficult even for them. But Quinn’s magic put the contest out of reach. They were helpless against his power. He turned his gaze on Alana, wondering what Quinn wanted. If he was not mistaken, the lieutenant knew her. If that was true…Devon didn’t like to think of the consequences.
Either way, he was better off minding his own business. He had done his best to avoid drawing the Tsar’s attention since his retirement, and he had no wish to break the pattern now. Whatever Alana and her brother had done, this was their fight. The thought of surrendering them to Quinn made his gut squirm, but there was no help for it. Clearing his throat, he stepped from the trees and waved at the Magicker.
“Well met, Quinn,” he grunted, walking slowly towards the group standing around the fire.
Several of the men stepped in his direction, but Quinn waved them back when he saw Devon’s empty hands. Fixing a smile to his bearded face, Devon strode through the ring of men and held his hands out to the flames.
“Cold night for riding,” he said softly. “What brings you and your men into this cursed forest, Quinn?”
Quinn narrowed his eyes. “Dark magic.”
Devon nodded. “Might be I know something about that.”
“Oh?”
Turning toward the man, Devon nodded. “Ay, I do. Perhaps you’d like to put away your magic, and we can talk like men?”
A dark smile twisted Quinn’s lips, but after a moment he lowered his arm.
Nodding, Devon went on. “The priest called them the Arbor—demonic trees that feed on human flesh. Something the Stalkers should have dealt with a long time ago, I would have thought.”
Quinn’s eyes hardened. “What my men and I do is the Tsar’s business,” he spat. “And the trees might have drawn us here, but I see now it is you I have been hunting. Did you really think you could keep a Magicker from the Tsar?”
Devon reeled back at Quinn’s words. “What?”
A sneer appeared on Quinn’s lips. “Do not play dumb with me, Devon. Now stand aside.”
Before Devon could react, a blast of wind caught him in the chest and hurled him backwards over the fire. The breath hissed from his lungs as his bulk struck the ground. Gasping, he hauled himself onto his hands and knees, and began to cough.
He looked up in time to see Kellian leap to the attack, a dagger glinting in each hand. Steel flashed as one flashed towards the Magicker’s throat, but a flick of Quinn’s wrist sent it whirling away. Before Devon’s friend could reach the Stalker, another breath of air sent him hurtling sideways into the priest. The two went down in a pile of thrashing limbs.
Quinn laughed and turned on Alana and her brother.
On the ground, Braidon straightened and lifted himself to his feet. He stood over his sister, blue eyes flashing. Screaming, he threw out his hands at Quinn.
In an instant the courtyard descended into chaos. Light flashed from the boy’s hands, and a great, awful howling rent the air. The ring of Quinn’s men scattered at the sound, weapons raised to fend off the sudden attack. The very air seemed to vibrate, and with each flash of light, thunder crashed deafeningly. Even Quinn was shaken by the attack. Staggering back, he held up his hands before him. Wind swirled around his body, forming an evanescent shield.
Shocked by the explosion of magic, Devon crouched frozen on the ground, watching in horror as the black-garbed men retreated from the violence of the boy’s power, their faces a picture of terror. Quinn retreated to join them, but a loose brick caught his foot and sent him crashing to the ground. Instantly, the howling wind died away.
“Come on!” Suddenly Alana was at Devon’s side, her eyes wild, hair turning from blonde to black with each flash of light. She shoved kanker into his hands and hauled him to his feet. “We have to get out of here!”
Spinning on her heel, she disappeared into the flashing light. He saw her an instant later, grabbing her brother by the waist and heaving him over her shoulder. The flashing light faded away as he collapsed against her, leaving shadows of its presence burning in their eyes. Half blind, Devon stumbled after them, listening as the screams of the Stalkers turned to shouts of confusion.
Without looking back, Alana darted for the broken doorway, her small size belying her strength. The strange old woman followed, and Kellian had already vanished. Around them, the Stalkers were in disarray. Heart hammering in his chest, Devon raced after his friends.
As they emerged from the doorway onto the road, the thunder of horses came from to their right. Devon spun, hefting his hammer, only to find Kellian bearing down on them riding a stolen mount. He held the reins of two more tightly in one hand. Alana leapt forward, pulling herself into the saddle and dragging her brother up with her. Offering his hand, Kellian helped the old woman into his own saddle, while Devon took the reins of the last horse.
He shared a glance with his friend. There was no need for words. The second the Stalkers had walked into that courtyard and found them with the boy, their fate had been sealed.
They were dead men now.
Knowingly or not, they had harboured a Magicker from the Tsar. The Stalkers would hunt them to the ends of the earth to see his justice carried out.
There was no time to linger on that thought now though, so, kicking his horse, Devon turned it towards the north. Alana gave a shout, her horse leaping beneath her as she led the way. Anger flared in Devon’s chest as he followed her. Alana had known, Quinn had said as much. She had led the Stalkers straight to them, and sentenced Devon and Kellian to death alongside her.
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