Stormwielder - Chapter 8
Eric shivered as the rain poured down around him...
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.
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Eric shivered as the rain poured down around him. Water gushed from the rooftops in an endless torrent as they moved through the streets of Chole. He was thankful for the cloak Alastair had given him, though even the thick oilskin was not enough to keep the damp from seeping through.
Alastair took the lead, threading his way through the crowds of revellers dancing in the streets. The arrival of morning had not deterred them. Soaked to the skin, they continued to dance into the new day.
Eric smiled as he watched them, taking pleasure in their ecstasy. Ahead, Alastair strode confidently through the flooded streets. At each corner he would glance back, checking Eric was keeping up, before moving on. Eric did his best to keep up with the pace the old man set, though his legs ached like he’d just run ten miles.
It took half an hour in the rain soaked streets to reach their destination. From outside, the house looked like any other. Thin cracks spread through the white-washed walls, and water ran from the tiled roof down into the long-dead garden. Its walls pressed up against the neighbouring buildings, leaving no passage through to the rear, while a thick steel door barred the front.
Alastair stopped at the door and banged on the knocker to announce their presence. Then they waited, huddling beneath the tiny eaves to escape the rain. After a minute, Alastair knocked again, but it was clear from the silence inside that no one was home.
Frowning, Alastair leaned across to peer through the barred window.
“Maybe they’re out?” Eric ventured.
Alastair shook his head and continued to stare through the glass. Eric shifted on his feet, glancing back at the street, feeling suddenly exposed out in the open.
Then Alastair took a step back from the door and raised his arm. Eric’s ears popped as he felt something sweep past, and then a shrill shriek came from the metal door. He spun to face it, and watched as the steel buckled and flew backwards off its hinges. Eric stared as Alastair strode forward through the hole it had left, his sword now in hand.
He shook himself awake as Alastair disappeared inside and glanced around, but no one seemed to have noticed the disturbance. Then he quickly moved after his mentor. Stepping over the twisted remains of the door, he peered into the dark corridor, his heart beating in his ears.
A crash came from farther inside, and he stilled, listening for Alastair’s voice. After a moment he pressed on, his hands balled into fists.
He sensed movement from the door at the end of the corridor, and moved towards it. Another crash came, and slowly he drew the dagger from his belt, unsure what waited in the room beyond. Taking a breath, he stepped around the corner…
And froze in the doorway. His eyes swept the room, taking in the table flipped on its side, the broken porcelain plates and half-eaten food scattered across the floor. Books had been torn from their shelves and then discarded, while high on a windowsill, a single cactus in a pot remained untouched. A large mat covered the floor, woven with an intricate scene Eric could not quite make out through the blood covering it.
Eric’s stomach churned as his gaze settled on the man and woman sprawled across the matt. They lay face down, their faces hidden, their life blood congealing in a pool around them. Their clothes had been slashed and torn, revealing deep cuts to their back and arms.
Retching, Eric turned away. He struggled to keep down his breakfast, but lost the fight. Tears stung his eyes as he sucked in a breath.
Footsteps echoed on the wooden floor, and Eric spun back, raising his knife with a scream. But it was only Alastair. He moved into the room from another door and stood over the bodies, his face grim. He still held his sword in one hand, but the blade shook as he sucked in a breath.
“What...what is this, Alastair?” Eric croaked.
Sheathing his sword, Alastair crouched beside the couple. “This is the family I was meant to protect,” his voice shook.
“Who did this?” Eric managed to whisper.
He could hardly breathe. He had seen death before, but never like this. As he glanced at the bodies again, he saw now that several of their fingers were missing. Whoever had done this had not given the couple an easy death.
Alastair cursed as he stood. He looked around the room, his emerald eyes shining with rage. But whatever he was searching for, he did not find it, and finally his shoulders slumped as he looked back at Eric.
“Archon’s hunters. Vile, scheming men willing to sell their souls for the power he can grant them,” he spoke through clenched teeth.
Eric could only stare at Alastair. His mouth opened and closed, but he could not find the words, and no sound came out. A shadow seemed to have fallen across the room, a darkness that stole away all light, all hope.
Archon.
Finally Eric managed to shake his head. “No,” he gasped. “That’s not possible. He’s gone, banished by the Gods. I saw it myself, in Antonia’s vision.”
Alastair turned to face him. “Banished, but not destroyed. The Sword of Light had the power, but Thomas did not have the knowledge to wield it. And now Archon’s strength has returned.”
Eric could feel a shriek building in his chest, fed by a terror he had never felt before.
Archon.
Even now, a century after the dark Magicker’s conquest, the name was feared.
“How?” he kept his gaze averted from the bodies, as he struggled to regain his composure.
Alastair moved across the room and glanced out the window, before returning to the centre of the room. “I told you the Sword of Light had passed to Thomas’s children, and on down the royal line, until today.”
Eric nodded, his lips pursed tight as he listened to the old Magicker.
“But I did not tell you the rest of the story,” Alastair closed his eyes, and a shadow passed across his face. The lines on his brow deepened, and when he looked at Eric again, he could see the sorrow behind them. “Thomas was cursed that day in Kalgan, when he and the Gods cast Archon from the Three Nations. The curse was subtle—a failsafe that did not attack him directly, but worked slowly overtime. By the time we realised what had happened, it was too late.”
“You said Thomas lived to be an old man,” Eric pressed.
“He did,” pain flashed behind Alastair’s eyes. “It was not his life the curse affected, but his magic, and the magic of his descendants. Down through the decades, their magic has weakened, corroded by Archon’s darkness. With it, their control over the Sword has slipped. And now the magic of the Trolan King has failed. There is no one left to wield the Sword of Light.”
Goosebumps stood up along Eric’s arms as he stared at Alastair. “That means…”
Alastair nodded. “The last traces of the spell the Gods cast has dissolved. There is nothing left to stand between the Three Nations and Archon.”
Ice trickled down Eric’s neck. His throat constricted as he saw again the massed armies of Archon outside the walls of Chole, saw the fear in the eyes of Antonia as she spoke of his coming. Slowly he shook his head.
“What...how…” his eyes were slowly drawn to the murdered couple. “Who were they?” he whispered.
The silence stretched out for so long Eric began to think Alastair wouldn’t answer. He was about to ask again when the old man straightened suddenly and shook his head. “Thomas had a sister. Her name was Aria. When we discovered the corruption in the magic of Thomas’s children, we sent Aria into hiding, in case the day came when the Trolan kings lost their magic completely. The woman is her descendent.”
Eric swallowed. “What does this mean then?”
Alastair’s eyes did not leave the young couple as he replied. “They have a daughter.”
Gabriel stood in the road and watched the house. People walked around him, giving a wide berth to the beast at his side, but he ignored their stares. He had only one thought now, one purpose. The rain did not bother him, nor the mud or the cold wind. All he cared about now was revenge.
“They went in there?” he asked.
Yes, the voice whispered in his mind, indistinguishable from his own thoughts.
“Are they still there?”
No, the wolf lifted its rain-soaked muzzle. But there is something inside you must see.
Nodding, Gabriel crossed the street and approached the house. As he drew closer, he realised some great force had caved in the door. Rain swept through the jagged hole where it had stood, soaking wooden floor boards inside. Cautiously, he stepped across the threshold and moved deeper into the house.
It didn’t take him long to find what he needed to see. They lay in a pool of their own blood, faces pressed to the ground, their bodies marked by gruesome wounds. His chest contracted as an image flickered through his mind—of a house in ruins, and three pairs of eyes staring blankly up at him, dead amidst the rubble.
There is something else, the wolf moved around the room, its nose pressed to the ground. Someone else.
Growling, the wolf sank its fangs into the woven matt and dragged it sideways. The bodies came with it, leaving a bloody smear on the wooden floorboards beneath. Straightening, Gabriel walked across to the space that had been revealed. The blood had soaked through the matt and congealed in the gaps between the wood, making the trapdoor easy to recognise. Bending over it, Gabriel used his knife to pry it loose. The hinges groaned as it opened, revealing a ladder leading down into the darkness.
“Stay here,” he said to the wolf.
Levering himself into the hole, Gabriel descended into the black. Six rungs down, his feet found solid ground, but in the darkness he could not see anything but the thin lines of light cast by the gaps in the floorboards.
As he straightened, a shriek erupted from the shadows. Gabriel hardly had time to spin around before a body slammed into him. Something caught him in the face, and he staggered backwards. He scrambled for purchase, but unseen objects littered the ground, and suddenly he found himself falling.
Before he could regain his feet, the creature landed on his chest. Howling like a banshee, it lashed out at him, catching him in the chest and face. Nails clawed at his skin, aiming for his eyes. Raising his arms, he struggled to fend off the attack. He gathered his strength and rolled to the side, sending his assailant toppling.
“Die!” the girl screamed as she leapt at him again.
Lunging forward, she sank her teeth into his shoulder. Still on the ground, Gabriel howled and swung at her face. The blow caught her in the cheek and sent her rolling into the darkness. A second later she came at him again, her screams echoing in the narrow space.
“Die, die, die!”
This time he was halfway to his feet when her shoulder collided with his stomach. The breath exploded between his teeth, but he managed to keep his feet.
“Stop,” he choked. “It wasn’t me. Please, let me help you!”
To his shock, the girl suddenly went still. Then a sob tore through the darkness, and she slid to the ground and buried her face in her arms. The light caught on the golden locks of her hair.
“Go on. Just kill me,” she whispered.
Gabriel crouched down and wrapped his arms around the girl. She stiffened at his touch, but he did not let go. For a long time, they sat that way in the darkness, the silence stretching out between them. Breathing in the musty scent of her hair, Gabriel felt memories stir within him. The face of another woman rose in his mind.
My fiancée, tears sprang to his eyes as memories rose from the darkness of his mind. I couldn’t save her.
Then he was weeping too, the hot tears spilling down his face in an endless torrent. In his arms, the girl looked up at him, her blue eyes shining in the light from the trapdoor. Slowly her sobs slowed, and taking a long breath, Gabriel regained his composure.
Seeing the shock in her eyes, Gabriel shrugged and gave a sad smile. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
The girl nodded, silent now, and followed him up the ladder. At the top, Gabriel climbed out and helped her over the lip of the trapdoor. In the daylight, he finally got a proper look at his unknown assailant.
Tears still brimmed in her sapphire eyes, but reaching up, she quickly wiped them away. The sunlight played across her hair, setting the blond curls aglow, while a single copper lock hung down across her face. Wrinkling her nose, she blew it from her eyes and then reached up to tuck it behind one ear. Her head came up to his shoulders, but despite her diminutive figure, she still had the curves and figure of a grown woman. Gabriel guessed she would be around sixteen or seventeen.
Before either of them could speak, a growl echoed across the room. Remembering the wolf, Gabriel spun to face the beast. It stalked across the floorboards, teeth bared, the hair along its neck bristling.
Gabriel held out a hand. “Easy, it’s okay.”
She must die!
Gabriel drew his sword. The wolf was right. The girl had to die.
He turned to face her—and found himself drawn into her sapphire eyes. They had widened as he drew his sword, but there were no more tears, no fear. Instead, she clenched her fists and drew herself up, ready to fight.
What am I doing?
Staring at the girl, he felt something crack within him, and his sanity came rushing back. Slowly, Gabriel lowered his blade. How could he even think about attacking her?
The wolf, he realised.
He turned again, and pointed his sword at the beast. The demon in the forest had tricked him, stolen away his memories, his soul. And for...what? Gabriel could no longer even remember.
“No more, demon spawn. Our deal is done,” he growled.
So be it, the wolf whispered in his mind. Then you shall die!
Before Gabriel could react, the wolf leapt. It crashed into his chest, flinging him from his feet. Its teeth snapped at his face, but as he fell its momentum carried it past before it could catch him. The girl flung herself out of the way as it hurtled at her. Claws screeched on the floor, digging long grooves in the wood as it turned back towards him.
Gabriel hauled himself to his feet and faced the wolf again. From the corner of his eye, he saw the girl grab a chair and hold it out before her, ready for the next attack. The wolf howled, the sound echoing loudly in the little room, and began to circle. Its bright yellow eyes watched him, seeking a way past. He kept his sword low, pointed at its throat. He would not be knocked down so easily a second time.
Gathering himself, Gabriel lunged forward with his blade. The beast dodged back, but its claws slipped on the hard floor, slowing its retreat. Wrenching the tip of his sword around, Gabriel swung again, and brought it down on the wolf’s skull.
The blade bit deep, scraping against bone. He gagged as a rotten stench filled the room. Yelping, the wolf retreated further. This time Gabriel let it go. If he followed, he would give it enough space to slip around him and attack the girl. Black blood dripped from his sword.
He crouched low as the wolf rushed him again, and stretched his sword out before him like a lance. At the last moment, he lunged forward, and the wolf ran straight onto the blade. Its momentum drove the tip deep into its chest, and howling, it staggered, wrenching the blade from his grip. Then the beast’s weight crashed into him, throwing him to the ground.
Straightening, the wolf growled and staggered towards him. Before he could find his feet, it leapt. Air exploded from Gabriel’s chest as it crashed down on him. Bloody saliva dripped from its maw as it leaned closer. The sword was still embedded in its chest, close to where its heart should be, but not close enough it seemed.
Goodbye, Gabriel.
As its jaws opened to tear out its throat, a chair came out of nowhere to smash the wolf from Gabriel. Before it could regain its feet, the girl leapt over him, and swung the chair again. A wild scream tore from her lips as it struck, crashing down on the beast’s back. Again and again she swung, smashing at its head and chest. One blow caught the sword and drove it deeper. Finally, the beast’s strength gave out, and it slumped to the ground unmoving.
Even then, the girl did not cease. Her face stricken with anger and grief, she smashed the chair into the broken body, until her weapon had been reduced to nothing more than a wooden club.
Pulling himself to his feet, Gabriel moved to the girl’s side and caught her arm as she raised it for another blow. She went still then, and a great shudder went through her.
“They’re gone,” she sobbed.
Her eyes were fixed on the man and woman lying dead on the rug, and Gabriel felt a wave of sympathy sweep through him. Taking her in his arms, he hugged her tight. “I know. I’ll look after you.”
She shuddered then, and her sobs cut off. Her chest swelled as she took a breath and pulled away.
“We should go,” her voice was steady. “There are people out there, looking for me,” she closed her eyes. “I wish I knew why.”
Gabriel nodded. Reaching down, he pulled his sword from the wolf and wiped the blood away on its fur. Silently, he made a vow to himself. Never again would he allow his sword to be used for evil.
He moved towards the door and paused. Turning back, he asked. “What is your name?”
“Enala,” she said.
“I’m Gabriel.”
Together they walked out the front door, and disappeared into the rain swept streets.
For three days they searched for her. Three endless days in the wind and rain, questioning the family’s acquaintances, scouring the streets, seeking any sign of the missing girl. Elynbrigge had given them a name—Enala—and a description of a young girl with blonde hair, marked by a single lock of fiery copper.
Yet there was not a whisper of her, not a single trace or rumour.
To make matters worse, wherever they went, Eric now found himself constantly looking over his shoulder. After what had happened to Enala’s parents, he could not shake the feeling of being watched. Archon’s servants could be anywhere, and judging by the way they had tortured the couple, they knew of the missing daughter.
In the race to find Enala, Alastair had been forced to bring Balistor and Caelin into the fold. Though Eric didn’t know whether he trusted them or not, it seemed they had little choice now. The odds of finding the girl in the massive city grew less each day, and they needed the man power.
Now Eric was sitting at the table in their room. He held his hands out to the fire, where a few lumps of coal burned, and cursed his wet clothes. Three days ago the rain had been a blessing, but in the search for Enala it only added to their misery. While the city celebrated around them, his spirits grew lower each day.
Archon was coming, and the Gods were helpless before his power. Only Enala could wield the Sword of Light, and add its magic to theirs. The fate of the Three Nations hung by the fragile thread of her life.
Alastair sat across from him, his face lined, his eyes downcast. A shadow hung over him, growing deeper with each passing day, with every false lead.
Outside the sun was setting on a third day of constant rain. Balistor and Caelin were still out searching the streets and pursuing leads. Alastair and Eric would head out again after dark, but for now, they were at the end of their strength.
“Where is she?” Alastair whispered to himself.
Eric shook his head. He could not begin to guess what the girl must be feeling, where she would go now. She obviously knew her parents were dead—they had watched the house for over a day before giving up on that avenue. But where would she go from there?
His heart sank as he thought of her alone in the Dying City. At night, denizens still ruled the streets, and he feared something might already have happened to the young girl.
I know you desire redemption, he shivered as he remembered Antonia’s words back in the desert.
Now he finally knew what she’d meant. It had not been Chole she’d wanted him to save, but all the Three Nations. This was his quest, to help Alastair, to protect this girl. Then, maybe, he might finally put the ghosts of Oaksville to rest.
But only if he wasn’t too late, only if Enala still lived.
He jumped as the door to their room suddenly burst open. Lightning flashed outside, casting the room in its blue glow. By its light, he saw Caelin standing in the doorway. His chest panting, he stepped inside and swung the door shut behind him. Thunder boomed, but over its roar, Eric made out his words.
“I think I’ve found her.”
Inken sighed as she sank onto the barstool and took a long sip of her ale. The cold drink was exactly what she needed after the day she’d had, though it did nothing to calm her worries.
Around her, the tavern was buzzing, alive with the laughter of her fellow bounty hunters. Sitting back on the stool, she took a moment to appreciate the sight, still not quite able to believe the transformation the rain had brought. Inken had never thought she’d see the day when the battle-hardened veterans of the Federation danced together like children. And yet here they were, still celebrating after three days of endless rain.
Her friend Kaiden sat beside her, one giant hand around a jug of ale, the other clutching a greasy haunch of lamb. Words tumbled from his mouth in a torrent, but Inken hardly heard him. Her thoughts were elsewhere; silently counting the years it would take to pay off her new debt.
She had spent the last few days attempting to restock her supplies after her disastrous trip through the desert. But despite the rain, equipment in Chole remained expensive, and she had been forced to take on debt from several lenders just to garner the funds for a mount and new weapons.
Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad, if not for the horse. The gelding had cost half her debt, and was a decent enough animal, but its colour left a lot to be desired. Limited by her funds, she had been forced to take what she could—but a white horse was about as conspicuous as you could get. Even the thickest criminal would soon hear about a warrior woman riding into town on a white horse.
The rest of her equipment was at least satisfactory. She now wore a light, well-balanced sabre that would give her extra reach in the saddle, and the oak recurve bow she had leant against the bar had obviously been carved with great care.
Inken looked up as a man brushed passed her, but he did not stop to apologise. She caught a wisp of smoke as he moved on across the tavern, but with his hood pulled up, she could not see his face. Even so, her curiosity was peeked, and she watched as he walked across to one of the larger tables.
The men at the table continued their conversation for several seconds before they finally noticed the newcomer and looked up. One muttered something Inken did not hear, but the hooded man only shook his head. Then, without warning, he leapt onto the table top.
Cursing, the men jumped back as mugs of ale tumbled into their laps. Across the tavern, the room fell silent as the other hunters turned to stare. Inken gaped as the hooded man spun to face the room, ignoring the enraged men around him.
“Bounty hunters!” he boomed. “I have a message for you! Some days ago, a bounty was offered—a lifetime’s gold for the death of a demon. Some of your companions rode out to claim it.”
A low murmuring spread around the room, as several men started to their feet. The men the hooded man had knocked from the table slowly drew daggers from their belts, but the newcomer paid them no attention.
“They failed!” the room stilled at the man’s announcement. “And now the demon is here, in this proud city.”
Silence stretched through the room as the hunters exchanged glances. Inken’s heart began to race.
No, it can’t be…
“Oaksville’s Magistrate has been slain, but I am here to make good on his offer,” as he spoke, the hooded man reached into his cloak and drew out a clothe bag. He tossed it to the ground, and the room stared as golden coins spilled across the floor. “There’s a bag like that for every hunter who comes with me now. We will bring this demon and its accomplices to justice. Who’s with me?”
Around Inken, the room erupted into cheers. But she did not move from her stool. Her heart sank as the man jumped down from the table and moved through the room, drawing the hunters with him. Her eyes were fixed on the gold coins, already disappearing into greedy hands.
The reward would more than cover her debt—would even provide enough for a new horse. And if the hunt was for a demon, why should she hesitate?
What if it’s Eric? A voice whispered in the back of her mind.
Shivering, Inken looked up as Kaiden paused in front of her.
“You coming?” he grinned at her, open greed in his eyes.
Inken saw again the golden coins spilling across the ground. Taking a long breath, she nodded. This was an opportunity she couldn’t afford to miss.
The man in the black cloak strode down the street without looking back. He knew the fools would follow—they always did when gold was involved. They were blinded by their greed, their so-called ideals vanishing when wealth was at hand.
His anger flared then, as he remembered the defiance of Aria’s ancestors. They had taken their secret to the grave, refusing to give up their daughter under even mortal agony. Instead they had forced him to watch Alastair and Elynbrigge, in the hope the old men might find the girl for him, as they had done with the family.
But after three days, his patience was at an end. It was clear the old Magickers were as clueless to the girl’s location as everyone else. Their usefulness had come to an end—it was time to remove them from the game. He grinned at the thought. His master would be pleased to see the end of his wily old foes. It would be a heavy blow against the cursed Goddess.
Striding down the muddy streets, he cursed the rain. Somehow, the boy had shattered his master’s curse, and restored life to the city. In the end, it would not matter, but he was glad his trap would also bring an end to the young Magicker. Though it was a waste to destroy one with such power, it was far better than seeing it join the other side.
In the darkness ahead, the lights of the inn loomed through the pouring rain. Reaching out with his mind, he searched for the aftertaste of magic. It clung to the boy like mud, but now it was gone, the inn empty of power.
Leaving the hunters outside, he strode inside to investigate. The innkeeper had not seen where they had gone, but one of the waitresses mentioned seeing them heading east from the inn.
Outside again, he gathered the hunters around him. Leaving most to take up stations around the inn, he gave them a description of Alastair and his group, and left them with instructions to kill on sight. Looking at the grizzled faces of the hunters, he knew they would obey his instructions without question. They knew they faced a demon, they knew such a creature would slaughter them all if they gave it a chance.
It wasn’t true, of course, but the lie served his purpose well.
Taking the remaining men, he started down the streets leading east. A few blocks from the inn, he paused again at a crossroads, and nodded slowly to himself. If Alastair and the others returned the way they had come, they would inevitably arrive at the crossroads. Stationing the remaining hunters in the shadows, he left them there with the same orders as the others.
Then he moved off into the night, satisfied his trap would succeed with or without his presence. He hoped to return in time to see Alastair finally meet his end, but in the meantime there was one more thing he had left to do, one last chess piece to eliminate.
Sucking in a breath, Eric took another step up the worn staircase. The stone was slick beneath his feet, and he moved with measured care, doing his best not to glance at the open space away to his left. Above he heard the footsteps of the others moving confidently upwards, but he did not dare look anywhere but his feet. Silently he prayed they were close to the top of the wall.
The wind howled around him, threatening to pluck him from the treacherous staircase, and reaching out a hand he clutched at the stones to his right. Smooth as they were, they offered little purchase, but he still drew a small measure of reassurance from them. Shivering, he moved on, silently cursing himself for leaving his cloak behind.
Above, the crunch of footsteps ceased, and after a moment’s hesitation, Eric drew to a stop. His gaze still locked to the steps, he blinked rain from his eyes, and waited for his companions to resume their climb.
Laughter carried down to him. “What are you doing, Eric?” Caelin called.
“Why have we stopped?” Eric shouted back.
“We’ve reached the top, Eric,” Alastair’s voice was rich with humour. “You’re just a few steps away.”
Eric’s cheeks grew hot, and cursing under his breath he moved up the last few steps and scowled at the two men. Then he walked past them, out onto the battlements. The path along the top of the wall was lined on either side by tall crenulations, which offered at least some shelter from the wind. The wall stretched away through the swirling rain, lit only by the occasional torch.
Caelin took the lead again, moving off along the parapet. Eric and Alastair followed close on his heels, eager to reach the end of their quest. Somewhere up here was a man who might have seen Enala. They had already been to the eastern gate where they had expected to find him, only to learn he had been switched to a patrol atop the wall.
Overhead, lightning flashed, and Eric wondered what the guard had done to deserve the switch in duties. Thunder rolled across the wall, so loud Eric almost had to cover his ears. For three days now the storm had raged, and looking out across the city, Eric found himself wondering how much more it could take.
On the other side of the wall, Mount Chole loomed above them, its slopes stretching almost to the wall itself. He remembered Alastair mentioning how the Magickers of the city had halted the lava’s advance, and staring out into the darkness, he could almost imagine the molten rock crawling towards the city.
Ahead, a figure loomed through the gloom. He wore a heavy trench coat over his chainmail and a hood pulled tight around his head, though Eric doubted either did much against the rain. As they drew to a stop beside him, lightning lit the mountainside beyond, and for a moment it seemed to Eric the slope was moving. Then the darkness resumed and he turned his attention back to the guard.
Caelin stepped up to the guard, but Eric could not make out the words that passed between them. Then Caelin nodded and returned to speak with Alastair.
“This is the man,” he shouted over the storm’s fury. “He’ll say that much, but he’s refusing to tell me about the girl.”
Alastair scowled and elbowed his way past Caelin. Striding up to the guard, he slipped his hand inside his cloak. The guard flinched back and reached for his sword, but Alastair only drew a small cloth bag from his cloak. He tossed it to the guard, who barely managed to catch it before it tumbled over the side.
“Wha–?” the guard stuttered.
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Alastair moved a step closer, until he stood nose to nose with the guard.
Despite Alastair’s obvious age, the guard shrank beneath the old man’s gaze. His mouth opened and closed, before he quickly snatched a glance inside the bag.
“The girl,” Alastair growled.
“What, yes, of course, my memory is coming back,” he nodded and tucked the pouch inside the pocket of his coat. “There was a girl. She left by the eastern gate a few hours ago. Pretty little thing. Was on gate duty then. Shoulda kept my mouth shut, might still be down there in the dry.”
Alastair nodded impatiently. “Yes, yes, but the girl, what did she look like? Did she follow the road?”
“Can’t tell you much I’m afraid,” the man glanced out at the mountains. “The rain is great and all, but it makes keeping watch a right chore. Her hair was hidden beneath her hood, but from what I glimpsed it was blonde. Small face, small nose, small girl. Oh, and crystal blue eyes. Only glimpsed them when she glanced back, at the end. They followed the road round the base of the mountains and up towards the north, far as I could see.”
“They?” Alastair interrupted.
“Yeah. There was a guy with her. Didn’t get a good look at him either. He had a sword, couldn’t have been much older than her, but that was all I noticed. Strange business, two young folks venturing out in this,” he nodded at Caelin. “We were discussing it, the boys and me, when your buddy there heard us.”
Alastair nodded slowly to himself, and with a wave, moved away from the guard. A few steps along the ramparts, he glanced back. “Thank you. I’d appreciate if you didn’t mention the girl to anyone else.”
The guard grinned and patted his chest. The clink of coins carried to Eric over the pounding rain. “Don’t think I need to, sir!”
Turning back to Eric and Caelin, he shook his head. “It might be her. She matches the description Elynbrigge gave me, but he said nothing about a boy. Still, it’s the only lead we have. Eric and I will go after them. Caelin, find Balistor and head back to the inn. Bring the horses and try to catch up. We’ll leave signs for you to follow if they leave the road...Eric, are you listening?”
Eric shook his head. He moved past Alastair to the edge of the crenulations, and stared out into the darkness beyond the wall. Over the rumbling of thunder, he heard an answering roar, like an echo of the sky’s fury. His eyes strained to pierce the darkness, searching for the source.
Then lightning flashed, casting its glow across the mountainside, revealing the stark rock in its eerie light. And mud—mud rushing down the slope towards them, a wall of earth tumbling down the side of Mount Chole.
“Landslide!” he screamed.
Alastair and Caelin turned to stare as another jagged bolt of lightning flashed across the sky. A second later the darkness returned, but by then they had all seen it. The guard screamed as he raced past, and beneath their feet, the wall began to shake.
“Gods,” Caelin cursed. “It’ll bury half the city.”
No, no, no! Not again!
Staring into the darkness, Eric sank to his knees, his hands tearing at his hair. He felt no fear, only a deep despair, as he resigned himself to death. At least here, finally, he too would be a victim of his own folly. There was no escaping the oncoming flood of stone and mud.
Then Alastair stepped up to the ramparts, his hands raised above his head. The wind whipped around him, trying to cast him from the wall, but he stood against the storm’s fury, his eyes fixed on the tide of death rumbling towards them.
“What are you doing?” Eric shouted over the roar of falling earth.
“What I must,” Alastair faced the mountain.
Eric’s head pounded and his ears squealed as Alastair gathered his magic. Red burned across his vision, and for a moment he was blind. The wall beneath them shook harder, until it seemed the stones themselves would come unstuck, and the whole structure would come crumbling down. On hands and knees, Eric crawled to the edge of the ramparts and looked out at the oncoming nightmare.
The landslide came on, but now the earth before the wall was rising into the air. Boulders and stones and mud and water alike disobeyed the laws of gravity, while around them the air shimmered with magic.
On the wall, Alastair’s arms began to shake. His neck stretched taught, the tendons strained to breaking point. His lips drew back in an awful scowl and he clenched his teeth, as though he held the weight of the city on his shoulders. Soon his whole body was shaking, but still more debris rose to join the conflagration before the wall.
Eric groaned as one of Alastair’s legs gave way, and the old man sank to one knee. The lines on the Magicker’s face deepened. It could only be a matter of time now. No man could take such strain.
Then Alastair threw down his hands, and Eric felt another surge of energy. Suddenly the host of debris before the wall was no longer stationary, but racing upwards, a second landslide to match the first.
A deafening boom shook the wall as the two mammoths of earth met. Mud sprayed forty feet above the mountain plains, and a high-pitched screech rent the air. Boulders the size of houses shattered with the force of the collision, and on the wall Eric and Caelin ducked for cover as stone rained down on them. Out on the plain, mud swirled, and began to settle.
On the ramparts, Alastair crumpled without a sound. Covering his head, Eric crawled to where he lay, and used his body to shield the old man from the hail of rock. Alastair’s face was deathly pale and he did not respond as Eric shook him. Desperately he felt his wrist for a pulse, and let out a long sigh as he found the faintest beat.
“Is he alive?” Caelin called.
“Barely,” Eric responded.
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