Firestorm (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 2) (15 page)

Enala spun through the air, the sword slipping from her grasp. With a sudden thud she crashed to the ground. Air whooshed from her lungs, leaving her winded, gasping as dust billowed out around her. Pain shot through her body and she struggled to take a breath. She lay there for a minute, sure she must be dying, choking, waiting for Thaster’s blade.

At last she managed to inhale. Oxygen flooded her lungs, feeding strength to her burning muscles. Tears of pain ran down her cheeks, but she wiped them away, angry at her weakness. She managed to get her knees beneath her before she looked up.

Thaster stood over her, a mocking grin on his lips. He held her sword in one hand, his greatsword in the other.

“Would you like your toothpick back, little girl?” he laughed.

Enala closed her eyes as the rage took light, boiling through her like wildfire. Hate rose to overwhelm her, a red hot energy that left no room for sanity. Her chest burned and power surged through her veins, rising up from somewhere deep within, until her whole body shook with it. A buzzing began in her ears as the pressure built, pressing against her skull, unrelenting.

A scream rose within her, beginning in her chest and shrieking up from her throat. As it split the air, Enala felt some barrier in her mind shatter.

She opened her eyes. A brilliant red light lit the circle, and for a second she thought someone had added fuel to the bonfires. Then she saw the sudden fear in Thaster’s face, his panic as he looked around the circle, his mouth opening to cry out. Screams of terror came from around them. The Baronian’s started to edge away, some already turning to flee.

Finally Enala looked down and saw the flames. Fire covered her body, leaping from her clothes, her arms,
everything
. It leapt from her, tongues of flame taking light in the dry grass and racing out towards Thaster and the crowd. The chief did not even have the chance to run before they reached him.

His scream sent a shiver down Enala’s spine. She watched as flames caught on his leggings, burning as they went. He turned and tried to run, but the fire danced all around him now. He had nowhere to go. In seconds it covered him, the inferno scorching through cloth, burning deep into his flesh.

Thaster screamed again, beating at the hungry flames, his movements already growing feeble. Enala tried to cover her ears, but flinched back from the fire dancing along her arms.

Panic took her, and she struggled backwards, fighting to escape the blaze, unable to understand where it had come from. Had Eric broken Laurel’s hold on his magic? But she had heard no thunder, seen no lightning.

And why was she not burning with Thaster?

Then she heard the shrieks from the crowd. She looked up and saw the Baronian’s fleeing in panic. The blaze leapt among them, uncontrolled, wild, burning wherever it touched. Wagons turned to bonfires in the night as people stumbled amidst the ruin, desperate to escape. Thaster’s struggles had already ceased; all that remained of the chief was a pile of ash amidst the flames.

Enala gaped, a slow dread spreading through her. She could think of only one impossible explanation – magic. Her own magic.

But how? She had never had power before, never even considered the possibility. How could this have happened?

Chaos swept through the Baronian’s. They fled, leaderless, defenceless against her wild magic. Ice ran down Enala’s spine as she realised Eric was somewhere amongst them. She looked at her hands, searching within for a way to make it stop, to halt the destruction. Staring at the flames, she willed them to die, but she could not begin to contemplate how to control such a force.

Enala spun in a circle, but all she could see now was fire, racing out in all directions.

What have I done?

*************

The glint of red on the horizon alerted Eric to the arrival of dawn. He released a sigh of relief, looking down from his perch on the hill. Soon it would be safe to return, to search for Enala amidst the wreckage of the camp. Until now the dying flames had been the only light to see by.

He was still struggling to comprehend what he had witnessed. One moment Enala had knelt on the ground, at the mercy of the chief. The next she was alight, flames racing out from to engulf her foe.

There had been no time to think, only run. Eric had sensed the surge of energy the second Enala’s magic was released. Her magic crackled on the air, wild and out of control. He knew then what was about to happen. He remembered it all too well from his own past.

Magic always awakens on the anniversary of our births,
Alastair’s words rose from his memory.

Eric was already running by the time the flames reached the chief.

Knowing Laurel must also sense the magic, Eric wondered why she had not stopped Enala. But there was no time to ask questions. From behind he heard the first screams of the crowd. Their fear drove him on.

As one, the crowd turned and fled in his direction. Watching them, Eric reached for his own magic, sure Laurel would be too distracted to keep it suppressed now. His power rose within him, still weak, but enough for what he needed. He launched himself into the sky, beyond the reach of the firestorm below.

Now as the sun cleared the horizon, Eric saw the scorched patch of earth marking the Baronian campsite. He swallowed hard. Nothing remained of the wagons and tents. There was not a soul in sight; the Baronian’s either long gone or dead. No one, except for the pale figure of a girl laying at the centre of the conflagration.

Eric stood, eyes fixed on the girl. The winds whipped at his clothing, lifting him into the sky. It could only be Enala. He shot towards her, straining to make out details, searching for sign of movement, of life.

The earth cracked as he landed, his foot breaking through the hard crust of ash which had formed on the surface. He stumbled before righting himself, then made his way closer to Enala. As he approached, he glimpsed a sheen of metal and saw Alastair’s sword still lying where Thaster had dropped it. Detouring, he retrieved the blade. Its weight felt reassuring in his hand.

When he turned back to Enala, he saw her chest rise and let out a long sigh.

“You’re alive,” he whispered.

Enala lifted her head from where she lay. Relief flooded her eyes as she saw him. Tears cut through the ash covering her face. She struggled to her feet, kicking at the ash piled up around her.

“Eric, you’re alive!” she made as if to run to him, then froze.

Eric frowned. “What’s wrong, are you okay?”

Enala’s face went white and her eyes rolled in her head, as though searching for someone behind her. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

“Enala?” Eric made to step towards her.

“That’s quite close enough, Eric,” Laurel’s voice hissed from somewhere behind Enala. “One more step, and your little friend dies.”

Eric froze, frantically searching the ashes for sign of the Magicker.

He heard Laurel laugh. “Does this help?”

Eric lurched back as Laurel materialised behind Enala. She held her dagger to Enala’s throat, her other arm holding the younger girl tight. A sly grin spread across her face.

“Hello again, Eric, Enala. Did you miss me?”

Gabriel raised his mug of ale. “To Michael,” he said, his voice solemn.

Glass clinked as Inken and Caelin’s joined him in the toast. “To Michael,” they repeated.

Gabriel took a long swig, the cool liquid refreshing after the day they’d had. And truth be told, his nerves could use calming. If the ale could wash away the anxiety he’d experienced as Caelin spoke to the king, it would be no small miracle. He was surprised they’d avoided the execution block, let alone the dungeons.

It was mid-afternoon and the bar was almost empty, but when Inken suggested a drink after their appearance before the king, none of them had argued. A few other patrons sat at the bar while they huddled together at a table in the corner. A chandelier lit the room, the flickering light of the candles casting shadows across the walls.

“He was a good man,” Inken added. “Braver than any of us, to come on such a journey without even a dagger to protect himself. But that was Michael: a healer, even if he did not have magic.”

Caelin nodded, taking another swig. “Agreed. Sometimes I wish I had his courage. The world needs more men like him.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Really? Right now I think what we need are fighters. How many men and woman will it take to hold back Archon’s armies?”

“Thousands,” Caelin grunted. “But what happens afterwards; if we reduce our people to numbers and swords, if we praise a man’s fighting ability above all else? Or a woman’s,” he added at a look from Inken. “Whatever happens, we need men like Michael: doctors and builders, farmers and fishermen. Men who do not rely on violence to make their way in the world. Men like me, we do not build. We can only give our lives to protect what we already have.”

“Or we can change,” Inken added.

Gabriel looked at his glass, remembering his days in the forge with his father. “What if we have already changed? Picked up a sword and turned our back on peace?” he paused. “I don’t know if I could go back.”

Caelin shrugged. “A worry for another day. As you say, the Three Nations need warriors now more than ever. But believe me, war will make you sick to your stomach. It is the worst of man’s demons.”

“That may be so,” Gabriel looked up. “But it is necessary, for now at least. Plorsea cannot just stand by and wait for Archon to come.”

“No, we can’t,” Inken agreed. “Whatever alternative the councillors are considering, it won’t work. Only the magic of the God’s was able to banish Archon last time. Now we only have the Sword of Light, if we are lucky. It will take every ounce of might the Three Nations can muster to fight him to a standstill.”

“More,” Caelin added grimly.

“No,” Inken shook her head. “I have to believe it’s possible, that if we all stand together we can match him. The Sword is powerful, and there are hundreds of Magickers in our lands to help combat Archon’s magic. There has to be a chance.”

“I wish I had your optimism, Inken,” Gabriel gave a short smile. “What’s your secret?”

Inken met his eyes. “I think I got it from Eric.”

Gabriel scowled, fighting down the anger Eric’s name still brought. He may have decided to let go of his hate and join them, but the act was easier said than done. He shook his head, forcing a smile. “I’m glad Enala has him then. They’re going to need all the courage they can get.”

Silence fell around the table as they nursed their drinks. When Caelin finally spoke again, there was frustration in his voice. “Elton did not lie; the king has changed,” he shook his head. “How could he just dismiss us like that, after all we’ve done… after all
I’ve
done for him?”

Gabriel stared at the sergeant, surprised by the venom in the words. “What do you mean?”

Caelin rubbed his eyes. “I have served Fraser for years, long before I won the king’s tournament. This is not the first quest I have undertaken for him,” his eyes took on a haunted look. “He has always trusted me. Though I can’t say an assignment has every unravelled this badly.”

“I do not know the man,” Inken offered. “But his manner did not seem to match the tales told of him.”

“No,” Gabriel added. “From what we heard of the king in Oaksville, he was a kind man, not quick to anger.”

“He’s different, there’s no doubting that,” Caelin accepted. “But to all but accuse
me
of treachery? To suggest I could have killed one of our own?” his words drifted off into a growl.

Inken leaned across the table, eyes flashing a warning. “Careful, Caelin,” she hissed. “We are being watched,” she sat back in her seat and took another swallow of ale.

Caelin’s eyes widened and Gabriel would have turned to look around the bar, had Inken’s foot not connected with his shin.

“Don’t, you’ll give us away,” the hunter fixed him with a glare. “The man at the bar, the one nearest to the bartender, he’s been following us since the citadel. Someone is keeping tabs on us.”

From the corner of his eye, Gabriel glanced a man in an indistinct green tunic and black leggings, with a swords strapped to his side. His eyes were in his drink, ignoring the other men at the bar. There was nothing to the way he sat suggesting he might be interested in the three patrons in the corner.

Caelin swore softly beneath his breath. “Damnit. If that’s true, things are worse than I thought.”

Inken shrugged, but Gabriel glimpsed the same concern reflected in her eyes. “It’s what I expected, after our reception. They don’t want us going anywhere…” she paused. “Or, perhaps they do not want us looking around too much.”

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean?” she looked around the table. “I mean things may not be all as they appear here in Ardath. Balistor was a trusted Magicker here, and he obviously had many friends on the council. Maybe they weren’t all as shocked as they seemed when you told them of Balistor’s betrayal. Maybe there are other traitors amidst the king’s advisors,” she took a breath. “Maybe they’ve turned the king.”

The hairs on Gabriel’s arms stood up. He watched as a tremor swept through Caelin. “No, that’s not possible,” the sergeant growled. “I know the man; he would never betray Plorsea. He loves his people.”

“Even so, how else can we explain the way he greeted you, one of his most loyal soldiers?”

Caelin fell silent, his eyes haunted. Gabriel stared at him, struggling to find some words of comfort. “What about Katya?” he said at last. Caelin and Inken turned to stare. “She seemed pretty determined to prevent the army marching north. Could she be the traitor? From what the king said, she is one of his most trusted advisors. She could be steering him down the wrong path.”

Inken frowned. “It’s possible. No one is beyond suspicion, they could all be traitors for all we know.”

“If they were, it would certainly explain the king’s despair, listening to their dark whispers all day,” Gabriel said in a hollow voice.

Caelin still had not looked up from his drink. “How do we figure out who is friend and who is foe?” his voice cracked. “You say Katya could be the traitor, but how do we know if she’s not just incompetent? That she truly believes holding back from the Gap is the best strategy?”

“We don’t,” Inken replied. “We can’t. All we can do is hope to convince them otherwise. If the king is truly uncorrupted, we at least have a chance of persuading him. Same with the other councillors, if they truly serve the interests of Plorsea.”

“You want to go to the king again? To the councillors?” Gabriel shuddered, remembering the detached eyes of the council staring down at him. “Who are they anyway, the councillors? How did Katya become so close to the king?”

“They are the king’s advisors, elected by the people of Ardath and other provinces. They are meant to offer innovation and differing opinions to the rulers of Plorsea. They also help to govern different parts of the nation: trade, agriculture, mining, even parts of the army. Katya has been a councillor for years, and is one of the few Fraser trusts absolutely. She commands the city’s defence.”

“Maybe that’s why she wanted the army here, to bolster Ardath’s protection against Archon?” Inken asked.

“It’s possible,” Caelin answered. “But it wouldn’t make sense. The Plorsean army alone cannot stand against the armies Archon will muster. Alone, we would be overwhelmed.”

“And if Trola and Lonia stand alone at Fort Fall, the battle there won’t last long either,” Inken added.

“Agreed,” Caelin replied, sitting straighter in his seat. “So we had better hope your plan works, Inken. Our only chance is to get the council to see reason. I just pray there are more loyalists than traitors in their midst.”

A silence fell around the table, as each realised there was no one left to pray too. “They might be gone, but we’re still here,” Gabriel swallowed. “Michael believed in us, believed we could win; it’s up to us to prove his words true.”

“Agreed,” Inken and Caelin added in unison.

They raised their mugs again, offering one last toast to their fallen comrade.

“What about Enala and Eric?” Gabriel whispered after a moments silence. “Where are they?”

Sadness crept into Inken’s face with the mention of Eric, though she tried to hide it. Gabriel watched her swallow the lump in her throat. “We must have faith. I believe they’re still alive. For whatever reason, they must have decided to carry on their quest alone. Eric will get Enala to the Sword. It’s up to us to keep the Three Nations together long enough for it to matter.”

“Agreed,” Caelin whispered.

“Agreed,” Gabriel repeated.

*************

“Don’t worry about your magic, either of you,” Laurel growled. “This time I’ve got you
both
nicely under wraps,” she bared her teeth, pressing the dagger hard against Enala’s throat. “Who knew this one was a latent Magicker? Certainly not Thaster!” she laughed.

Eric wiped ash from his tunic, fighting to remain calm. “What do you want from us, Laurel?”

“Not much,” she shrugged. “Just the bounty on your head, Eric.”

Ice wrapped around Eric’s heart and he struggled to keep the fear from his face. “You don’t ask for much, do you?”

Laurel grasped Enala’s hair and pulled back her head. The dagger sliced a shallow cut across Enala’s throat. Blood trickled down her neck. “I don’t really need her alive, you know. Now throw down your sword, Eric.”

Hands shaking, Eric tossed Alastair’s sword to the ground. Quick as a Raptor, Laurel threw Enala aside and scooped up the blade. She held it out before her, warning Eric to come no closer. He held his hands up in surrender.

“Excellent, there you go. I knew you could listen,” she waved Alastair’s sword at them. “Well, Chole is about one day in that direction. I suggest you start walking,” she swiped the sword for emphasis.

Enala fell in beside Eric as they began to march in the direction Laurel indicated. The Baronian’s footsteps followed close behind them.

“Be good, and maybe I’ll let Enala live when we reach Chole,” Laurel laughed.

Eric’s mind raced, searching for a solution. They had come so far; he could not believe their escape could fail at this last hurdle. Yet now they found themselves unarmed and powerless against the Magicker; with the sword at her side and Eric’s own blade, Laurel held all the cards.

He shot a glance sideways and saw Enala looking back at him. Blood still seeped from the wound at her throat, turning her shirt to a red mess, but there was defiance in her eyes. He smiled back. After what Enala had accomplished last night, he would not want to be the one left standing between the girl and freedom.

They just needed the right opportunity.

*************

Eric slumped to the grass with a groan. The volcanic peaks of Chole were just peaking above the rolling hills, towering on the distant horizon. But with night setting they could go no further. So close to the desert, who knew what lurked in the darkness. Especially now, with Antonia gone.

Beside him Enala sat with slightly more grace. Laurel had pushed them hard and with no food, they were close to breaking. Eric’s legs trembled and a sharp pain pricked his spine. He lay back, inhaling a deep breath to fight the ache.

“Anyone would think you two weren’t used to walking,” Laurel smirked, crouching down beside them.

“Maybe it’s the lack of food and water,” Enala snapped back.

Laurel laughed and pulled a water skin from her belt. She tossed it down between them. “There you are, drink up,” she sat nearby, casting her eye over them. “I’ll admit, the two of you interest me. For starters, why give Enala a fake name?”

Enala glared back, lips shut tight. Eric answered in her stead. “Why do you care? You’ll be done with us come tomorrow.”

“True, true,” Laurel grinned, “but still I’ve been wondering. Maybe there’s a bounty on your head too, Enala?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Enala grated.

Laurel sighed. “I thought we’d gotten past this. After all, we don’t want to take the hard route, do we?” her dagger slid from its sheath, glittering in the last rays of the dying sun.

Eric gritted his teeth. Then an idea came to him. “That depends on whose side you’re on now, Laurel.”