Stormwielder - Chapter 11
Inken’s words hung in the air, damning, irrefutable...
The Sword of Light is an original fantasy novel, packed with gods, dragons and magic. Leap into an epic adventure as a young man cursed with terrible power must master his abilities in order to save the world. You can find my other books on my website.
For five hundred years the Gods have united the Three Lands in harmony. Now that balance has been shattered, and chaos threatens.
A town burns and flames light the night sky. Hunted and alone, seventeen year old Eric flees through the wreckage. The mob grows closer, baying for the blood of their tormentor. Guilt weighs on his soul, but he cannot stop, cannot turn back. If he stops, they die.
For two years he has carried this curse, bringing death and destruction wherever he goes. But now there is another searching for him – one who offers salvation. His name is Alastair, and he knows the true nature of the curse. Magic.
Become a paid subscriber to access this entire series from the start, plus many of the other series I have written! You can even take a free 7 day trial to see if my books are for you.
Inken’s words hung in the air, damning, irrefutable. Enala was gone, and with her, the last hope of the Three Nations. Their quest had failed before it had even begun. Eric held Inken tight to him, unable to find the words.
“It’s over,” Caelin whispered.
Above, branches rustled in the evening breeze, but beneath the canopy the air was still. A horse snorted, pawing at the ground. They did not like the smells here. From the distance came the crash of an animal in the undergrowth, too small to be a dragon. Even so, Eric stilled, his eyes scanning the woods for signs of movement.
Looking at his companions, he wilted at the despair in their eyes. Inken slumped against him, all the fight in her sucked away, while tears shone in the eyes of Michael and Caelin. Only the two Magickers managed to hide their emotion.
Without even meeting the young girl, Enala had become central to their lives. She was the princess they were meant to rescue, but they had failed her. This perilous land had claimed her—might claim them too, if they did not leave soon.
“We have to go back,” Eric whispered.
Inken winced in his arms and a cloud darkened Caelin’s face, but neither spoke.
“No.” Alastair suddenly straightened. He shook his head. “We can’t give up. Not all the tribes are violent. The Gold dragons may know what has happened to her. We can ask for their help.”
No one replied, and Eric found himself wondering if Alastair had finally lost his mind. To continue now, without hope, was suicide. Yet no one spoke against him, and Eric could not find the strength to argue.
“What do you want us to do?” he asked.
“The Gold’s nest on the coast,” Inken cut in, her voice laced with misery. “They wouldn’t have been here. The Reds or Blues would have found her first.”
“Whatever the chance, we have to try. Without Enala, there is no hope,” Alastair pressed. “Not for anyone.”
Inken shivered. “You know the tales about the coast, about Malevolent Cove”
Alastair nodded. “I lived them.”
“Malevolent Cove?” Eric whispered. The name called to him, and with a start he remembered where he had heard it. “That was where...that was where King Thomas disappeared?”
“Yes,” Alastair looked away then, and his voice grew dull. “I have not returned since.”
“It is the closest point on the coast to us,” Inken murmured. “Going around would cost another day.”
There was silence for a moment, before Alastair spoke again. “It is a dark place, but we cannot afford to delay,” he paused. “I will go on, but it is up to each of you to decide whether you will follow.”
“We can’t abandon her,” Eric echoed Inken’s words from the night before. Beside him, Inken nodded.
Silently, Caelin and Balistor nodded their ascent. Together, they turned to see what the doctor would decide. Michael’s eyes were wide and his lips were trembling. He still wore the green robes of his order, but this was no place for a priest.
“Elynbrigge asked me to help you, and so I will,” he straightened. “I think this is folly, but I will follow you, Alastair.”
Alastair nodded and closed his eyes. “It might be folly, but I cannot give up hope, Michael. I have searched for too long to surrender now.”
After that, there was nothing left to say.
Firelight flickered across the clearing, casting shadows across the surrounding trees. They had left behind the humid valley, and now a cool breeze blew across the open grass. A pot sat over the open flames, a thick stew bubbling within. Eric’s stomach growled as he watched it, breathing in the rich fumes. A hot meal would be a welcome change. Balistor had lit the fire with a flick of his hands after finding the clearing, and no one had bothered to disagree with the decision. They were all sick of caution.
Eric lay back in the grass and stared up at the tapestry of stars above. Balistor had assured them dragons returned to their nests at night, but his chest was still tight with anxiety. Dragon Country was a different world, ruled by creatures that were a law unto their own.
“Here, Eric,” he sat up as Caelin offered him a bowl. “And one for you too, my lady,” he grinned at Inken.
They accepted his offering with a word of thanks. Eric took a long sip, enjoying the warmth of the spices Michael had added. Heat spread through his stomach as he devoured the meal, fighting back the cold night.
When Eric finished he handed back the bowl and glanced at Inken. She sat staring into the trees, her thoughts hidden by a grim mask. Her bowl was still half-full, the spoon dangling loosely from her fingers.
Eric put an arm round her waist. “What are you thinking about?”
Inken blinked and looked at him. “Sorry? I was lost in thought.”
Eric kissed her. “I know the feeling. What were you thinking about?” he repeated.
She sighed. “Do you really believe she is alive?”
“Truthfully?” Eric spoke slowly, mulling over his words. “No. What chance did she stand against a dragon?”
“So we’re chasing a ghost now. Why?”
Eric gazed into her eyes, feeling oddly at peace. “Because there’s no other choice. Without her, he’s already won.”
“You’re almost as stubborn as the old man, you know,” she looked off into the trees again, and then stood suddenly. “Come on, there’s something I want to show you.”
“What is it?”
“I found it earlier, when I was searching for firewood. You’ll like it. Come on!” she tugged at his arm, pulling him to his feet.
Eric stumbled as he stood, still exhausted from the day’s ride. The stitches in his side pulled tight, but he tried to ignore them. All he wanted to do was lie down and sleep, but Inken was tugging at his hand, and there was no choice but to follow.
“There goes the couple again,” Caelin teased as Inken led him to the edge of the trees.
Eric blushed, and ignored them. But as they entered the trees, he hesitated, pulling Inken back.
“Wait,” he whispered. “It’s not safe out here.”
Inken looked at him and raised an eyebrow. Her breath hissed between her teeth, and shaking her head, she stalked past him back towards the fire. Wincing, Eric made to follow her.
“Stay there!” Inken shot him a warning glare. “I’ll be back in a second.”
She jogged into the campsite, gathered her gear and ran back. Now she carried her bow strung over one shoulder and wore the cavalry sabre at her side.
“Happy now?” she teased.
Eric nodded reluctantly, knowing this was the best he would get. It seemed they were going into the woods whether he liked it or not. Inken shot him a mischievous smirk as she took his hand again, and dragged him into the darkness.
He stumbled after her, tripping over roots and bumping into tree trunks in the pitch-black. He could barely make out the outline of Inken ahead of him, and without her warm hand in his, he would have been lost. Twice he almost fell, only for Inken’s quick hands to steady him.
When they finally emerged from the trees, Eric was puffing and holding his injured side. But as he looked up to see where Inken had brought him, the pain fell away, and his mouth dropped open.
The giant trees had parted to reveal a patch of low-lying ferns. A soft glow seeped from the ferns, their gentle luminescence banishing the night. Tiny insects buzzed between them, and these too shone with light. A creek threaded its way through the clearing, the currents playing a warm melody against the coarse pebbles. Steam rose from the water, blanketing the ferns in a thin fog.
“There was only a faint glow when I found it,” Inken spoke in a hushed voice. “I thought you might like it.”
“It’s...it’s beautiful,” Eric had no other words.
Inken turned to him, the scarlet curls of her hair ablaze. She took his hand and drew him further into the ferns. They sat beside the stream, arms around one another, savouring the closeness of their bodies, the warmth of their skin.
“Eric, I...I want to ask you something,” she paused.
Eric leaned forward, reaching up to stroke her cheek. Her eyes closed at his touch. She shivered.
“What?” he breathed.
“What do you want, Eric? What are your dreams?”
The question took him by surprise and he looked away for a moment.
What do I want?
He had not thought about the question for a long time. It hadn’t really mattered—not until Alastair.
“I don’t know,” he realised then how tragic it was. “I guess, to help Alastair…”
Inken reached up and entwined her fingers in his hair. She turned him to face her. “There must be something more. You had a life once, before the magic. What did that Eric want?”
He closed his eyes, unable to meet her fiery gaze.
“He was lost a long time ago.”
“I know that’s not true. When you were meditating, I saw him. Now, what do you want, Eric?”
Eric sighed, trying to think back, to remember the boy he had once been, before his magic had awakened. It seemed part of someone else’s life now, too innocent to be his own. The memories took a long time to surface, but Inken waited in silence, ever patient.
“I wanted to be a carpenter,” he laughed.
Inken rested her forehead against his. “Do you still want that?”
“I don’t know…” he hesitated.
Inken kissed him. “Go on.”
“I want to be normal. To finish this business and start a new life,” Eric drew in a breath. “But if we can’t find Enala, what is the point? Archon will tear the world apart.”
“There is always a point, Eric. Life is a fickle thing, and it must be lived. Archon will attack, or he won’t. It is no different to the farmer whose livelihood depends on the weather. He knows he may be ruined one day by a drought or a storm, but he battles on anyway. True bravery means pursuing what you want, no matter the obstacles. The world may end tomorrow, but what matters is what we do with the time we have left. Otherwise, we are already lost.”
Warmth spread through Eric’s chest as she spoke. He drew strength from her words, but knew they were not enough. “I can’t put the past aside so easily,” he looked away. “It is an anchor dragging me down. I cannot move on until I have redeemed myself.”
“And you think saving Enala will do that?”
Eric nodded.
“Oh Eric,” she hugged him. “I think you have already redeemed yourself. You’re learning to control your power. You’re doing all you can to prevent the past repeating itself. And you used it to heal Chole. What more can you do?”
“I don’t know, but it’s not enough.”
Inken sighed. “I understand. Maybe there is nothing you can do to put those ghosts to bed. But you still have to live, Eric.”
“I know,” he smiled as he looked at her. “There’s something else I want, you know.”
“Oh?”
“I want you, Inken.”
She stood then, her eyes still locked to his. “Well I’m right here, Eric Storm. Come and get me,” she teased, walking backwards towards the stream. As she moved she pulled off her leather jacket, then the shirt beneath. The rest of her clothing quickly followed, until she stood there grinning, wearing nothing but the soft curves of her sun-touched skin.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his eyes feasting.
“Going for a swim,” Inken grinned. “This stream is fed by a thermal spring. Are you going to join me?”
Springing to his feet, Eric followed her into the steaming waters.
Eric and Inken lay wrapped in each other’s arms, eyes closed, the hot water streaming over their naked bodies. Neither had spoken for a long time, and Eric lay at peace in the tranquil silence. Warmth wrapped around his stomach, and for just a moment, he forgot about the world waiting beyond the luminescent clearing.
Then a roar shattered the darkness.
Inken reacted instantly, rolling from Eric’s arms and leaping to the bank in one fluid movement. Scrambling in their pile of clothes, she came up a second later with her bow. Eric clambered after her, his eyes scanning the canopy overhead as the roar came again.
The camp!
Barely pausing to pull on their clothes, Eric and Inken took off towards the campsite. The darkness fed their panic, as terrified screams came from ahead of them. Eric hardly noticed the pain in his side as he stumbled through the trees, only Inken’s steadying hand keeping him on his feet.
Inken emerged from the trees first, exploding through the undergrowth and out into the long grass. Eric followed a second later, his arms still raised to protect himself from the low-lying branches. Ahead, Inken came to a sudden halt, and before he could stop himself, he slammed into her back. Reaching out a hand, he caught Inken before she fell. Then they turned together to take in the clearing.
The others stood in the centre of the campsite, weapons held at the ready, eyes fixed to the sky. Flames leapt across the long grass, stretching up into the night. Looking up, Eric caught a flash of red as something huge passed across the moon.
Then the sky erupted into flames, revealing the beast hurtling towards them. Fire licked from jaws large enough to swallow a horse whole, and bloody fangs flickered in and out of sight. The black orbs of its eyes swept the clearing, lingering on the group of men cowering in its centre.
The ground shook as it landed, flinging them from their feet. The horses screamed and tore free of their ties. The thunder of their fleeing hooves echoed in the darkness.
Lying on the ground, Eric stared up at the dragon, scarcely daring to breathe. It crouched on all fours, its scaly red hide filling half the clearing, as claws the size of men raked deep grooves in the earth. Giant wings splayed out on either side, blacking out the moon. Its tail flickered out behind it like a snake, and a stench like rotting meat carried to Eric’s nose. A blast of heat struck him like a furnace as it turned towards them, its tongue sliding out to taste the air.
It roared again, and fire gushed from its jaws. The grass burst into flames as Inken dragged him to his feet. Together they stumbled backwards.
Across the clearing, Alastair stepped away from the others. His cloak spun out around him, the silver embroidered lines glowing in the light of the moon. The air shimmered as he pointed a hand, and a dull ache began in the back of Eric’s skull as power surged across the clearing.
The Red dragon shrieked as Alastair’s magic struck, picking it up and flinging it into the trees. The ancient trunks groaned and toppled backwards under the beast’s weight. The dragon thrashed, limbs tearing at earth and wood, before its wings beat down.
Bounding into the air, it circled the clearing, then folded its wings and dived. Fire gushed from its jaws as it roared. The inferno raced across the grass towards Alastair and the others.
Alastair spread his arms, and flung the blaze back on itself. Burning wood crackled as the trees around the clearing burst into flames. Smoke drifted low to the grass, and Eric bent in two, choking on the acrid air. He staggered, straining to hear the crack of the dragon’s wings over the roar of the flames.
It appeared suddenly through the smoke, catching Alastair off-guard. He raised a hand in defiance—but too slow. The dragon slammed into the ground, knocking the old man from his feet, and unleashed a torrent of flame.
“No!” Eric screamed as fire engulfed Alastair.
Unbidden, his magic boiled up from the depths of his body. For once, he did not try to stop it. He let it grow, feeding it with his rage. High above, the wind stirred, and gusts swirled down into the clearing, whipping up the flames. They gathered around him, converging in a thunderous gale.
Squinting through the smoke, Eric searched out the dragon. It still stood over Alastair, fire streaming from its mouth. To his shock, Alastair was on his feet again, his arms outstretched in defiance of the flames. Roaring, the dragon lifted its claws and lashed out, but the monstrous talons ground to a halt a foot above Alastair’s head.
Drawing himself up, Eric pointed at the dragon, and unleashed the gale. The air rushed away from him and cascaded into the beast. The wind caught in its wings, lifting it from the ground and hurling it towards the trees. Before it struck, the great wings beat down, carrying it over the treetops.
Beside him, Inken groaned as the dragon turned towards them, but Eric was not finished yet. He gathered the winds, encircling the creature with their fury. Gritting his teeth, Eric pressed down with everything he had, and watched in triumph as the red wings folded and the beast toppled into the forest.
Eric’s shoulders slumped and letting out a long breath, he released his power. The strength fled from him in a rush, and he sank to his knees, an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. A tremor went through him. The brief exertion had drained his already weakened strength.
“Eric, stop it!” he gasped as Inken grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him.
“What?” he cried over the whistling wind.
Inken pointed.
The blood froze in Eric’s veins as he looked up. The wind had not dissipated. Instead, they raced around the clearing, sucking flames into the air. A column of fire was taking shape above the clearing, whirring around with the circling currents. Tree trunks groaned as it gathered force, and saplings were torn from the ground and hurled up into the tornado, where the flames quickly devoured them.
Eric gaped as Inken shook him again, wrenching him from his shock. Reaching down, he sought out his magic. But the pool of blue was gone, and only a spark remained to light the darkness. His strength was gone, his magic depleted—there was nothing he could do.
“I can’t...my magic...not strong enough,” the wind tore away Eric’s words.
Inken’s eyes widened and her knuckles tightened around her bow. Reaching down, she grasped him by the shirt and hauled him to his feet. “Then we’ve got to go. Run!” she yelled, trying to signal the others through the smoke and flames. “Run for the cove!”
Then they were on their feet, running, fleeing the burning air, the smouldering heat. Gusts of wind sucked at their backs as the inferno chased them, the crackling flames leaping between the trees. There was no trouble seeing the way now—the fire was everywhere.
A roar came from overhead as the canopy exploded, and the dragon came crashing down. Its wings shredded the bark from the trees as it landed with a thud, halting their desperate flight.
Eric dug in his heels and his hand whipped out to catch Inken’s collar, hauling her back. The dragon stood across their path, its eyes glowing with a visceral hatred. The flames raced through the undergrowth to either side of them, and the tornado howled at their back. They were trapped.
The dragon crept towards them, its black tongue flicking out in rapid succession. Then it paused, hesitant, and Eric realised it had been wounded in the battle. A thick branch had impaled one leg, and the webbing of its wings hung in shreds. Thick blood ran down its scales.
But it did not need to attack to finish them. The tornado was drawing closer, and the air was hot and suffocating. Flames flooded the forest floor, taking light amidst the leaf litter. Eric could feel his skin beginning to burn.
Beside him, Inken nocked an arrow and loosed it at the beast. It shot upwards and bounced off its hardened scales. The dragon roared and took another step, its confidence growing.
Eric’s heart sank as Inken drew another arrow. He searched again for a trace of magic, but found nothing. Around them the fire roared. They only had minutes left now. He prayed the others had made it clear.
Inken squinted through the smoky light. This time she took long seconds to take aim. Then she let out a slow breath, and loosed. The shaft arced up towards the dragon’s face, and plunged into its giant eye.
The beast screamed and staggered back, but Inken did not pause. She had already nocked another arrow, and drawing back her bowstring, she loosed again.
The dragon bellowed as the second arrow buried itself in its other eye.
Eric gaped, unable to believe what he had just witnessed. But the beast had had enough. Dropping its head, it charged.
Inken drew another arrow, but this time there would be no stopping it. Seeing a chance, Eric tackled Inken to the ground. Pain tore through his side as they rolled, carrying them clear of the dragon’s path, and the blinded beast charged past.
They sat up and Inken shot him a glare, but Eric only smiled back. Without speaking, they climbed to their feet and ran on. The forest around them was alive with flames, leaving them only one direction to flee.
Finally they left the flames behind, and the growl of the tornado died away as they left it behind. The forest grew dark again, lit only by the distant flickering of the forest fire.
Exhausted, they collapsed to the ground, clinging to each other in fear and pain and sorrow. The wound in Eric’s side throbbed, and he knew he had burst his stitches again, but he was too exhausted to care. He hugged Inken to him, drawing solace from her touch. He marvelled at her courage, to have found the calm to halt the dragon. They had been so, so lucky.
They lay in the darkness, silent but for their laboured gasps and half-choked sobs. Slowly, Inken’s breathing settled into a gentle rhythm as she drifted into sleep. Closing his eyes, Eric willed himself to do the same.
Instead, questions raced through his mind. Were the others okay? Had they heard Inken’s shout?
There was only one way to find the answers to his questions. In the morning, they would continue on to Malevolent Cove, to the place where the old king Thomas had vanished. The thought chilled him, filled him with a sense of foreboding, though he could not say why.
He no longer cared about the Gold dragons, no longer held out hope for Enala. Alastair’s plan had been folly—all that mattered now was gathering the shattered remains of their company, and fleeing this cursed land.
Enala was gone.
Eric heard the crashing of waves long before they reached the dark shores of Malevolent Cove. The sound called to him, drawing him on through the dense trees. So close to the coast, they had become twisted and misshapen things, utterly unlike their towering siblings further inland. They tugged at his clothes, slowing him and draining his energy. But they were close, and he pressed on, eager to find their friends.
At the edge of the treeline, he stumbled to a stop, and looked out at the infamous cove. They stood at the edge of a beach, its black sands running down into the swirling waters. Elsewhere, sheer cliffs ringed the bay. White-capped waves churned the murky waters, and shadows lurked beneath the surface, a hidden graveyard to many a ship. Rocky spires sprouted from the black sands, their jagged tips like the claws of some buried giant. The air stank of rotten fish and the tang of salt.
Staring down at the black beach, Eric reached out and took Inken’s hand. Cold fingers wrapped around his heart as he looked at her, then back to the beach, and the dark-cloaked figure standing on the black sands.
The figure stood like a statue, his features obscured by a hood, staring out at the raging waters. The outline of two swords stood out against his cloak, and his hands were clenched tight, his skin a deathly white.
Lingering in the trees, Eric stared at the figure, searching for some hint of his identity. Though almost completely concealed by the black cloak, there was something distinctly inhuman about the stranger, something dark and threatening.
Shivering, Eric fought to keep his feet. It had taken them several hours to reach the coast, and he was at the end of his strength. Only the hope of finding the others had kept him going, but there was no sign of their companions.
Eric shivered as a whispery laugh carried across the beach. Slowly, the figure turned towards them, and Eric caught the glint of black gemstones in the pommels of the stranger’s swords.
“Why do you lurk in the shadows?” a voice slivered through the air.
Eric gasped as his foot took an involuntary step forward. He grasped at Inken’s hand, struggling to stop himself, but she was moving too. Their eyes caught, and he saw the naked terror in her eyes. Step by step, they made their unwilling way down onto the black sands.
“Welcome,” laughter mingled with the word.
Teeth clenched, Eric watched the figure, struggling to pierce the shadows beneath its hood. His mind raced, searching for answers, clutching at ideas. Who was this man, this creature? Where had it come from? What was happening?
Beside him, Inken straightened and reached for her sabre. “Who are you?” she growled. “What are you doing here?”
The hidden face beneath the hood turned to stare at her. “Wait...and see.”
Eric swallowed. He still clutched Inken’s hand in his, and silently he gave her fingers a squeeze. The figure had turned back to the trees, resuming its silent vigil. Helpless, they stood beside it, breaths held, and waited.
Within minutes, a crash came from somewhere in the forest. Looking up, Eric watched as Caelin emerged from the trees, stumbling onto the sand like a dead man. The others followed one by one, a trail of burnt and bloodied bodies. Alastair came last, hobbling and leaning heavily on a branch. His eyes widened as he looked down and saw them waiting beside the black-cloaked figure.
“Alastair,” Eric turned as the word whispered across the cove, his neck tingling as he finally recognised the voice.
Slowly, the figure reached up to pull back its hood, revealing the creature beneath. Stark white hair whipped across a smooth grey face, and jet-black eyes swept the beach, burning with hate. He had lost his eyebrows and beard, but Eric still recognised the man from the vision Antonia had shown him.
“Thomas,” Alastair hissed.
Alastair seemed to shrink as the king’s black eyes found him. The laughter came again, echoing off the cliffs and casting a shadow across the beach.
Eric shook his head, unable to speak. The thing standing before them was Thomas, the king who had saved the Three Nations, who had stood with the Gods and defied Archon’s wrath. The same king whose descendants had wielded the Sword of Light down the decades. The king who had disappeared on this very shore, all those years ago. Yet it was clear there was nothing left of the man he had once been.
“Ah, Alastair,” the fiend spoke in a voice so low Eric strained to catch the words. “How good it is to see you again. You have aged poorly, old friend.”
“Do not call me that!” Alastair cried.
“Why not? You named me Thomas, did you not?”
“What did Archon do to you?”
“Archon?” Thomas laughed. “This was never his doing, old friend. Thomas was weak, dying. He let the magic win. He set the beast loose.”
“No.” Alastair closed his eyes as pain swept across his face. “It’s not possible.”
The creature cackled, the sound grating on their ears in a mockery of the old king’s vibrant laughter.
“Oh, Alastair, did you truly never consider it?” The demon spread its arms. “I guess not, or you would have searched for me. I have been here all along, waiting. Decades have passed, and my natural born magic has long since given way to the darkness, but finally you have come.”
“You are not him,” Alastair shook his head. “There is nothing left here of the man I once knew.”
“Why are you here?” Balistor cut in.
The dark eyes turned to stare at the fire Magicker. “Of course, how could I have forgotten?” the demon grinned. “Archon grows tired of failure. His human servants have disappointed him at every turn, forcing his hand. It is time I prepared for his arrival. When he finally marches south, I will ensure there is no one left to resist him. The Three Nations will fall like leaves before the autumn breeze.”
“You are here to kill us?” Alastair asked.
Laughter answered Alastair’s question, as the demon reached down and drew a sword from its scabbard. Steel rasped against leather as the blade slid clear. Runes shone along the length of the dark blade, and it glowed with a sickly aura.
“Do you know what this is?” Thomas whispered as he looked at Alastair.
Lips clenched tight, the old Magicker shook his head, and a smile spread across the demon’s face.
“Then let me show you.”
Before anyone could react, Thomas vanished.
Eric had no time to search for their missing foe. He gasped as a sudden, terrible pain ripped through his back and burst from his chest. A half-choked scream tore from his throat, and looking down, he stared at the black tip of the demon’s blade stabbing from his torso. His body convulsed, and a dark sensation swept through his veins. He could feel the strength draining from him, as though sucked a way by some black vortex. His knees gave way, but an iron grip on his shoulder held him up. Behind him, the demon cackled.
He heard Inken scream, but she sounded distant, as though she were miles away. He looked up, searching for her, but shadows swept across his vision. He glimpsed five figures standing on the beach, but he could not separate them, could not find her.
Another blow struck him in the back, pushing him from the sword. Eric toppled to the ground, landing with a thud. He coughed, choking on the taste of blood. Agony swept through him in waves, and the dark threads spread, enveloping him in an otherworldly pain. He reached for the last drop of his magic, desperate to defend himself, but the power had vanished.
Through the fog, he heard the demon speak. “Such power for one so young. I am glad to take it off his hands,” the boom of lightning followed.
Eric cracked open his eyes. Darkness swirled at the edge of his vision, but the demon’s sword stood out stark and clear. Lightning danced along the blade.
The demon stalked towards his companions. Eric closed his eyes, unable to watch. His breath came in ragged gasps. The dark energy continued to envelop him, tearing at his soul, and he had nothing left to fight it with. Oblivion loomed. He wished for Inken.
Then Michael was at his side.
A scream built in Inken’s chest as Eric fell, crawling up from some dark recess within her. Hot tears ran down her cheeks and her knees shook, the strength fleeing her legs. In her mind, a voice screamed for her to run to him, to save him. But the demon stood between them, laughing.
Hands trembling, her vision blurred by tears, Inken struggled to nock an arrow to her bow. But she missed the string, and the arrow tumbled to the sand. Shrieking, Inken hurled the bow to the ground and drew her sabre. An icy hand took hold of her heart as she stepped towards the demon.
It turned towards her, but Alastair attacked first, leaping across her path. His sword lashed out at his old friend, but the demon’s blade swept up to meet it. Steel clashed and lightning jumped between the them. Electricity raced along Alastair’s blade and vanished into the cool metal. Alastair sneered and lashed out again.
Caelin raced in from the right. The demon turned aside a decapitating blow from Alastair and struck out with its boot. The blow caught Alastair in the chest and flung him backwards into a rocky spire, and the old king spun in time to avoid Caelin’s wild slash.
Now the demon turned its sword on the young soldier. Lightning leapt from the blade, but Caelin was already moving, and the bolt struck empty ground. The air erupted, the sand boiling where he’d just stood. Rolling with a smooth grace, Caelin regained his feet and swung at the demon’s face.
The fiend leaned back to avoid the blow, but Caelin pressed the attack, his sword reversing its sweep. This time the demon caught his blade on its own. Lightning danced between the weapons, followed by a terrible boom, and Caelin’s sword shattered like glass. The blast sent Caelin bouncing across the sand like a ragdoll.
Inken threw herself into the battle, and Balistor charged in beside her. The demon turned to meet them, leaving Alastair and Caelin to recover—or so she prayed.
Black steel flashed for her face and Inken hurled herself aside. The blade sliced the air, its razor-sharp edge shearing off a few fiery strands of her hair. Rolling, Inken struggled to lift her sabre as the fiend swung again. But before the blow could land, a ball of flame smashed into its chest. Embers exploded from its cloak, but the demon shrugged off the attack and turned to grin at Balistor.
Balistor launched another fireball, but the fiend’s cloak was already aflame and it didn’t seem to care. He began to retreat as it advanced on him. Inken saw her chance as the demon turned its back, and sprinting forward, she brought her sabre down on the demon’s neck.
The blade struck home, and came to a sudden, jarring halt. A bone numbing shock ran up her arm and the sword slipped from her fingers. It was as though she’d struck solid rock, but the blade had not even pierced the demon’s skin.
The demon turned on her, flames leaping from its cloak, and lashed out with a fist. The blow caught her in the chest and flung her into the sand. She tumbled across the beach and crashed into a stone pillar. Groaning, she struggled to sit up. Pain lanced through her chest, but gritting her teeth she lurched to her feet. Drawing her hunting knife, she stumbled back towards the fight.
Alastair was back on his feet and wielding his sword two-handed. Jaw clenched, he swung at the demon, but their foe was too fast, and each time the black blade was there to turn aside his blow.
Inken dove in, feet unsteady, searching for an opening. The hunting knife had no reach, but she hoped she could distract it, and give Alastair an opening. The demon began to laugh, its rasping cackle ringing with the clash of blades. Only Alastair’s sword could touch the black blade, protected by whatever spells had been cast on the weapon.
Alastair jumped back, chest heaving, hands trembling. Inken moved to stand with him, praying for the strength to continue. They crouched low, and then sprang forward to attack together.
Lightning arced from the demon’s blade, colliding with the sand at their feet. The beach erupted, and the force of the explosion picked them up and hurled them through the air. The breath tore from Inken’s lungs as she smashed into the sand, while Alastair flew backwards into the ocean and disappeared beneath the waves.
Inken coughed, choking, her body wracked with pain. She rolled onto her stomach and spat out a mouthful of sand. She glimpsed her dagger a few feet away and gathering her strength, began to crawl towards it.
Only Balistor fought on now. His face was black with soot, but his powers were useless against the demon. It advanced through his attacks, a dark grin on its pale face. Over the roar of the waves and flames, she heard Balistor shout. “Leave them, they’re mine!”
Inken closed her eyes, willing strength to her weary limbs. Her fingers found the blade and clasped desperately at the hilt. She felt better with a weapon in her grasp, though it was little use to her.
Across the beach, the demon raised its sword to the sky, dismissing Balistor with a contemptuous turn of its back. Above the clouds darkened, and then lightning lanced down, spearing the black sword. Another bolt followed, and another, and the beach shook with the boom of thunder.
The demon’s laughter followed. “You are all traitors. Farewell!”
Inken clenched her eyes shut and braced herself for the lightning’s burning touch. She wished for Eric, for one last chance to embrace him.
Then a roar sounded over the thunder. Looking up, Inken stared as a shadow passed across the sky. Golden scales glinted as the dragon folded its wings and dived. It streaked towards the beach, jaws wide, talons spread, and slammed into the demon. The energy gathered around the dark blade flashed away, the blasts leaving glassy marks in the sand where they struck.
The fiend twisted in the air and landed on its feet, sword held out before it. Dropping into a crouch, a scowl twisted its pale face.
On the ground, Inken could only stare, unable to believe her eyes. The Gold dragon towered over them all, twice the size of the Red from the night before. Its wings spread wide, casting a shadow across the beach as it prepared to take flight. The massive tail lashed out, shattering rocky spires like they were made from glass. Its diamond eyes shone as it faced the demon.
And on its back sat a girl with golden hair.
Her clothes were torn, her skin streaked with dirt, but she showed no sign of fear as she grasped the dragon’s neck. Her sapphire eyes glared down at them, her lips twisted with fury. Lifting her hand, she pointed at the demon, and screamed.
White-hot flames leapt from the dragon’s jaws, far fiercer than anything Balistor had summoned. Now fear showed on the demon’s face, and it dove from the path of the flames, unable to stand before their cleansing heat.
The dragon came after it, claws ripping up the black sand. Fire encircled the demon, forcing it to turn. Its sword lashed out, and a bolt of lightning lanced for the girl. Inken’s breath caught in her throat and the girl flinched back, but a golden wing rose to protect her. The lightning shattered on the thick scales.
Then the dragon was attacking again. An inferno licked at the heels of their foe, chasing the demon across the sand, leaving a path of glass in its wake. Roaring, the dragon leapt into the air, the great wings beating down.
On the beach, the fiend swung round and raised its sword. Lightning twitched along its length and lanced at the dragon’s unprotected stomach. White fire rushed to meet it. The forces collided mid-air and exploded outwards. The shockwave whipped sand into Inken’s face, but she squinted through the grit, and saw the flickering blue lightning succumb to the all-consuming fire. The demon disappeared into the conflagration.
A hideous scream rose from the flames, and within the inferno she saw a dark figure writhing. The dragon kept on, relentless.
A flash erupted across the beach, forcing Inken close her eyes and look away. Even then the light seeped through, burning. Then the light flickered, and died.
Opening her eyes, Inken blinked as her vision returned. The flames had vanished, but the dragon still towered on its hind legs, its great head scanning the beach. The ground where the demon had stood had turned to molten glass, but now Inken saw a trail of glass footprints burnt into the sand, heading for the forest. The demon had fled.
Inken looked up at the dragon and the girl.
Enala stared back at her.
Become a paid subscriber to access this entire series from the start, plus many of the other series I have written! You can even take a free 7 day trial to see if my books are for you.