Firestorm (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 2) (18 page)

When she reached the bottom, Laurel spared a glance back up the slope, surprised to feel a touch of sadness for the boy’s death. She had planned to see him hang, but it had never been personal. In truth, she felt a touch of respect for Eric and Enala’s feisty resistance, for their courage in the face of death. But despite their youthful audacity, they were not immortal.

Laurel glanced down the canyon after Enala. The girl was made from the same cloth as Eric – her courage bordering on the edge of stupidity. Challenging Thaster to single combat had been pure insanity, and only her innate magic had saved Enala from death. Magic she had not even been aware of.

Laurel shook her head, still unable to believe the luck.

Taking one final glance up the slope, Laurel sent an old prayer to Darius for the boy’s soul. She may not have been a very good apprentice of the Light, but she still remembered a few things. It was the least she could offer Eric.

Then she turned her back on the graveyard, and broke into a jog.

Somewhere ahead, Enala waited.

Enala stood alone in the centre of the valley, the heat of the baked earth seeping through her boots. Cracks crisscrossed the valley floor and the white cliffs still towered overhead. The air was still and sweat soaked her clothes, leaving them sticking to her skin. She stared at the granite arch stretching across the end of the canyon. The flowers etched into the grey stone were exactly as Eric had described.

A thin mist swirled beyond the arch, beckoning her, promising freedom.

Before her stood the cursed creature that haunted this realm. It, too, was exactly as Eric described. Its yellowed bones gleamed in the light of the blood red sky. Joints clacked as it moved, a bony arm reaching down to wrap bare knuckles around the hilt of its scimitar. Metal shrieked as it drew the rusted blade. The skulls empty eye sockets bored into her, jaws set in a toothy grin.

“Ahhh, a visitor,” its head tilted to the side. “And one who is familiar. I know your scent – you are the descendent of one who escaped me…” it took a step towards her.

Enala reached for a blade that was not there. Panic rose in her chest but she forced it down. “What do you want, monster?” she asked, trying to stall, searching for a plan.

The skeleton laughed, the dull whisper echoing from the cliffs. “To hear you scream. Your death will be slow, for your ancestor’s defiance,” it took another step.

Enala bent down and swept up a rock. Bracing herself, she pulled back her fist to hurl the missile. Before she could swing, the skeleton froze. It stood deathly still, one bony toe clacking on the sunburnt ground. Then the skull turned on its naked spine, staring into space a few feet to Enala’s right.

“I see you,” it laughed. “Come out, Magicker, or I will make your death as long as hers.”

A tremor of intuition ran down Enala’s neck an instant before Laurel materialised.

She followed us!

Laurel puffed out her cheeks and exhaled, as though she had just run a long distance. Grimacing at the skeleton, she spared Enala a glance. “I think we might have a common enemy,” she held a sword in each hand and without further word, tossed one to Enala.

Enala reached up and caught the blade by the hilt, smiling when she realised it was Alastair’s. Still shaking with the shock of Laurel’s reappearance, she turned to face the skeleton. Questions would have to wait.

It felt good to have a sword back in her hands. She switched to a two-handed grip and smiled. At least now she stood a fighting chance.

The skeleton laughed, and surged towards them.

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

The first thing Eric became aware of was the pressure. It pressed in from all around, steady, unrelenting, reducing each breath to short, quick gasps. An ache came from his spine, and as awareness returned he found himself curled into a ball, legs crushed up against his chest.

A dull grinding came from all around, as though the darkness itself was moving. Eric listened to the sound, struggling to recall its source. Memory came slowly, trickling back from the depths of his mind. The boneyard, the scree slope,
the landslide!

Had he been able to move, Eric would have thrashed about in panic then. But the weight of a mountain had settled on him, trapping him in place. Coarse stones dug into his skin and a dusty darkness met him when he opened his eyes. Already the air tasted stale, his panicked gasps quickly using up what little remained.

How deep am I buried?
A suffocating fear swelled within him. He held it down, struggling for calm. Panic would serve no use now. He had to think.

Gritting his teeth, Eric tried moving different parts of his body. Another bout of terror threatened to overwhelm him as he realised the pressure had locked his legs in place. He clenched a fist and found he could at least move an arm. Stones rattled and he realised where the sound came from – the slow, unrelenting crawl of gravel down towards the valley floor.

Still on the verge of panic, Eric tried to move again. A shiver ran up his arm as stones tore through his skin. Curled into a ball, he attempted to lift his arms, trying to dislodge the stones either side of his body.

Time passed and his efforts grew weaker, but he knew he was making progress. The stones pressed down on his back, the pressure growing with every strained breath. Finally, he managed create enough space to move his arms with relative freedom. Reaching out, he began to clear space beneath him so he could straighten his legs.

Sharp points stabbed him, slicing through his clothes and grinding against raw flesh. Fear dulled the pain and drove him on. Exhaustion slowed him, but there in the darkness he had only one goal: to escape. As the stones slid away, he twisted, levering himself into a better position. Taking another breath of stale air, he started digging in the direction he prayed was up.

Suddenly the stones to his right gave way, his movement undermining the slopes fragile balance. He shrank back as earth roared and the slope collapsed. Light flooded the darkness. Eric sucked in a breath of fresh air and levered his arms beneath him. Using every ounce of his strength, he pulled himself from the scree and back to his feet.

His boots sank to his ankles and stones rattled away from him, another landslide already threatening. Eric did not stop to think. He leapt, fear propelling him downwards. Each bound carried him closer to safety. Stones slipped beneath him with each crash landing, the force of impact flinging them up at his face.

When he reached the bottom, Eric almost dropped to his knees to kiss the ground. Puffing, he resisted and continued into the valley until sure he was beyond range of stray rocks. Then he collapsed to the ground and looked back at the slope. It towered over him, giving no hint anyone had ever passed that way.

How long was I buried?
He wondered, looking for sign of Enala.

The hairs on his neck prickled when he saw no sign of her.

Turning to face the valley, he climbed to his feet and began to run.

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

Enala ducked beneath a decapitating blow and threw herself backwards. To her left Laurel darted in and swung at the skeleton. The skeleton spun with almost casual speed, its rusted scimitar turning aside the blow. A contemptuous backhand sent Laurel reeling.

Driving herself forwards, Enala stabbed at the yellowed skull. The skeleton leaned back and her sword fell short. Instinct kicked in, sending Enala sideways as the scimitar sliced through the air she had just occupied.

Laurel regained her feet and threw herself back into the fight. They shared a glance, then attacked together, blades slashing out like vipers. Using every scrap of strength they could muster, they forced the demonic creature back – one step, then two. Yet still the ancient blade blocked their every attack, the dull ring of its steel mocking them.

Enala could not help but think it was toying with them.

Then as Enala launched herself forward, slicing low at its legs, the skeleton stepped up to meet her. It turned her blow away with ease, then the rusted scimitar flashed out, driving into her side.

Enala screamed and lurched backwards. Laurel charged in to halt the creatures next attack, her frantic blows keeping it at bay.

Enala’s hand groped to her side and felt hot blood. Pain throbbed from the wound, sending tremors down to her knees. She clenched her teeth and pressed hard against the gash. She risked a glance at their foe and quickly looked away.

Two steps away, Laurel was fighting for her life. It was clear the creature had her hopelessly outmatched. The skeleton cackled each time she swung her sword, batting away her attacks like a cat playing with a mouse. Without aid, Laurel would not last thirty seconds.

Swallowing her pain, Enala released her side and gripped Alastair’s sword in both hands. Blood rushed from the wound and ran down her leg, but she drew on her courage and dove back into the fight.

The skeleton’s grin widened as it watched her approach.

“I see you enjoy pain, young one,” it’s laughter sent shivers down her spine.

Enala ignored the taunt. She gritted her teeth, fighting to keep her feet as agony swept through her body.

The skeleton cackled and spun towards her. Enala brought up her sword and swung it at the deathly skull with all her strength.

The creature reached up and caught it in one skeletal hand.

Enala gasped as ice swept the blood from her face.

Before either of them could react, the skeleton drove its rusted blade up into her unprotected body.

Whatever pain Enala had felt before, it now fled before the white hot agony sweeping from her stomach. It spread down her legs and along her arms, overwhelming all other sensation. She heard a distant ring of metal on stone, and wondered if she had dropped her sword. She tried to clench her fist, and realised she could not feel her hands.

Enala stumbled backwards, collapsing to her knees. A strange ringing started in her ears, a bell tolling with each thump of her heart.

The skeleton stepped towards her.

Laurel looked between them, eyes wide with shock and terror, and vanished.

Head bobbing, Enala watched her foe approach. Tears sprang to her eyes as she struggled to control her body, determined at least to defy this creature to her last dying breath. A gurgle rose in her chest and she tasted blood, but she looked at her foe in defiance.

Pain radiated through every fibre of her being. She felt something else rising with it.

The creature looked down at her, skeletal fingers clenched around the hilt of its ancient weapon. From so close, she could see the blood of long dead foes congealed on the rust-flecked metal. It held the weapon poised over her, ready to slash the head from her shoulders.

Then it withdrew the blade, and a whispering cackle echoed up from somewhere in its yellowed skull. “Not so easy for you, young one. Did I not say your death would take an eon?”

Slowly, the creature’s words sank in, seeping through the agony of her fractured mind. Fear chilled the pain spreading through her body. Looking up at the creature, hands clenched to her gut, Enala felt her terror take light. She glared at the creature, allowing the power within her to grow, letting its mocking grin feed the flames within. Energy pulsed through her veins, throwing back the shackles of her pain.

Enala felt heat in the palms of her hands.

With a scream of defiance, she threw her arms out at the creature.

Flames roared and raced towards the monster.

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

Eric sprinted down the ancient stream bed, rocks slipping beneath his booted feet. Several times he came close to twisting his ankle as he leapt between boulders, the broken surface threatening to send him tumbling. He paid little heed. His lungs burned and his heart pumped hard in his chest.

Please don’t be too late!

The ring of blades carried to his ears, echoing off the white-washed cliffs. There was no way of telling how far off they were, but he pushed himself harder, picking up speed. He did not stop to question how Enala had gotten a weapon.

The empty sky stretched out, unbroken, giving no hint to the passage of time. Hours could have passed since the landslide buried him. Eric recalled the power of the creature they faced all too well. Not even Alastair could stand against it; Enala would not stand a chance.

His foot landed awkwardly on a loose rock and sent him spinning across the ground. Gravel sliced at his skin, but he rolled and came up running again. He dodged around a bend in the canyon, his foot striking the opposite cliff to make the turn without slowing.

Ahead the canyon straightened. At its end he caught a glimpse of Enala, on her knees and staring up at the dark skeleton he remembered all too well from Antonia’s vision.

As he watched, flames erupted from the girl to engulf the skeleton.

Putting down his head, Eric sprinted for the conflagration. His spirit soared as he sensed the swelling of magic. Enala’s magic had responded again to her need, summoning heat from the scorching wasteland to burn the skeleton from their path. Perhaps her power could do what Alastair’s could not.

Or perhaps not.

Eric ran harder, determined to reach Enala and do what he could to help. He just hoped her magic did not spread as it had in the Baronian camp; there was no wind here to carry him from harms reach.

With a gasp of relief, he drew to a stop behind Enala. He raised a hand to shield his face from the heat, taking in the scene in a single glance. Enala knelt on the ground, flames pouring from her small frame to envelop their foe.

But now Eric saw the blood staining the ground beneath her, saw Enala swaying and the tremble in her arms. A gasp gurgled from her throat and she dropped one hand, halving the flow of fire. A chill swept through him as he realised Enala could lose consciousness at any moment.

Laughter came from the conflagration enveloping the skeleton. Its dark shadow appeared against the flames. The pop of stones shattering beneath its feet sounded unbelievably loud to Eric’s ears. He heard Enala sob in frustration, saw her other arm begin to dip.