Firestorm (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 2) (25 page)

But the force of the blow had knocked the Sword from his grasp. The blade spun through the air, tip flashing with the magic within, and plunged into Enala’s chest. As it struck a shriek of pain exploded from Enala and her eyes widened in shock.

Then she slumped against her restraints and her eyes flickered closed.

“
No!”
Eric screamed.

And the ground rushed up to meet him.

Eric woke with a groan, every muscle in his body aching. Opening his eyes, he pushed himself into a sitting position. When he moved to put weight on his leg, agony lanced from his shin and something in his leg went
crack
. He collapsed back to the ground, muffling a shriek, and looked for Enala.

“
You fool!
” Jonathan screamed. Before Eric could move rough hands grabbed him, dragging him up. The king shook him. “
What have you done?
”

Eric’s leg smashed against a pillar and this time he could not bite back his scream. Struggling in the king’s grasp, he struck out blindly with his fist. It connected with what felt like a chin, but did not seem to make any difference to the madman’s iron grip.

The king lifted Eric above his head and tossed him like a ragdoll into a nearby wall. Eric raised his arms to protect himself as he crashed into the stone and landed in a pile of roofing tiles. Their jagged edges cut his skin as he rolled aside.

Heavy footsteps came from nearby, driving him up onto his good leg. He managed to bring himself to a half-stand before a meaty fist slammed into his stomach. Air whooshed from his mouth and he stumbled backwards, pain lancing from his broken leg as it took his weight.

Looking up, he tried to avoid the next blow.

Scarlet fury twisted the king’s face as he swung again, this time aiming for his head. The air rustled in Eric’s hair as he ducked and reached for his sword. His hand scrambled at the empty sheath. Dread caught in Eric’s throat; Alastair’s sword must have slid free when he crashed.

Jonathan did not miss the futile gesture. Stepping back, he spun to look where Eric had fallen. They both saw the blade at the same time. Eric managed one stumbling hop before Jonathan reached the weapon. Reaching down, he wrapped his thick fingers around the hilt and raised it in front of him.

“You will pay for what you’ve done,” the king growled.

Eric mustered his strength and dove into his magic. Reaching for the sky, he searched out the nearest storm. Energy crackled and black clouds appeared overhead. Thunder roared as lightning fell. It struck Eric’s outstretched hand and danced along his arm, banishing his fear.

“Give up. Don’t make me do this.”

The king scowled and stepped towards him. Lightning leapt from Eric’s fingers.

Jonathan flinched back and raised Alastair’s sword to protect himself.  The lightning flashed as it struck the blade, followed by a roar and sucking sound as it disappeared into the cool metal.

The king blinked, holding the weapon out in front of him as though it were a snake about to bite him. Then he laughed and flashed Eric a wicked grin. “What an interesting sword. Very useful,” he stalked towards Eric.

Eric stumbled backwards, trying to put a pile of rubble between himself and Jonathan. He flung another bolt at the traitor, but the king only raised the blade, and the energy vanished again into the weapon. Apparently whatever spell Alastair had cast on the sword still held, protecting its wielder from magical attack.

As Eric retreated he glanced at Enala, then quickly looked away. She still hung by her arms, silver manacles chained tight to her wrists. The Sword of Light had impaled her high in the chest, pinning her to the column. Blood stained her shirt and ran down the stone behind her. He bit back a sob, unable to believe she might still live. 

Jonathan screamed and swung Alastair’s blade in his direction. Eric was still well out of the king’s range, but he still ducked behind another of the stone columns, eager to put as many obstacles between them as possible. His mind raced, searching desperately for a way to overcome the madman.

“Come out, come out, little Magicker,” the king hissed. “Don’t you want to help your friend? She’s bleeding to death over there, you know,” he chuckled, leaping out from behind the column.

Eric swallowed hard, still staggering backwards, broken leg dragging on the ground.

What do I do?

Changing tactics, Eric reached for a gust of wind and threw it at the king. It rushed through the broken ceiling and struck Alastair’s blade, whistling as the protection sucked it into the abyss. But the blade could not completely block the more dispersed attack, and the king staggered backwards. Eric took advantage of the extra moments to place the alter between himself and Jonathan.

“Come here!” the king shouted, swinging the sword through the gusts. He staggered around the alter towards Eric.

Eric watched him come, realising the king was limping as well. His earlier attack must have caused more damage than he’d realised. A spark of hope returned as he considered how to take advantage.

“Who are you, imposter?” Eric shouted, trying to stall. “What do you want with Enala?”

Jonathan smiled. “I am no imposter, you fool. I am King Jonathan, and I want her
magic
,” he slashed at Eric, but another gust forced him back.

They stood facing each other, locked in a desperate stalemate. Jonathan was panting heavily and sweat ran down his face. Eric fought down his own pain, struggling just to keep his feet. He had to fight on, had to end this now if there was to be any possibility of saving Enala.

“Then I’ll give you one last chance to surrender, Jonathan. Put down the sword, and I’ll spare your life,” Eric warned.

Jonathan’s laughter rang from the stone walls. “And how do you plan on killing me, young Eric? With your broken leg and worthless powers?” he raised Alastair’s sword. “Why don’t
you
give up, and maybe I’ll give you a quick death,” he glanced at Enala. “If she is still alive, I believe it’s in both our interests to finish this quickly,” he observed.

Thunder rumbled as Eric summoned the power of the storm. He was thinking back to what Alastair had taught him about magic, about how his own magic worked. Alastair had once said magic was finite – that if he drew on too much of his own, he would eventually expend his own life force. Staring at the sword in Jonathan’s hands, a plan had come to him.

He did not know how the spell had been cast on Alastair’s sword, but surely it could not absorb an infinite amount of power, especially without someone to refresh it’s magic. Perhaps if he threw enough energy into the blade, the spell would shatter.

Jonathan strode towards him, sword at the ready. There was no way of knowing if his theory would work, but Eric had run out of options. Throwing out his arms, he released the lightning.

Blue fire surged through the Temple of the Light, casting shadows across the room. The roar as it came was deafening. Jonathan flinched back from its might, face lit with fear. Despite his words, he too was unsure of the blades power.

As the lightning struck Alastair’s sword, Eric gritted his teeth and pressed on, unleashing a continuous stream at the weapon. Blue light burned across his vision, all but blinding him. Jonathan disappeared behind the fury of the lightning’s dance, until all he could feel was the strange vacuum where his power vanished into the sword.

Blinded by his own attack, Eric did not see the first blow coming as Jonathan’s fist lashed at him. Eric reeled back, losing his grip on the magic. The lightning flashed and died away, abandoning him to the king’s fury.

Jonathan struck again, knocking Eric from his feet. He stared up at the hateful monarch, unable to believe the king had fought his way through the onslaught. Before he could move the king’s foot crashed down on his chest, pinning him to the ground. Alastair’s blade hovered overhead, poised to strike.

“Good bye, Eric.”

Eric rolled as the blade flashed towards him, sending the king tumbling. He bit back a cry as rubble struck his broken leg. Coming to a rest against one of the pillars, he used it to stagger to his feet.

Well that didn’t work
, Eric cursed.

Returning to the wind, he hauled it down from far above. At least that would slow the coward.

Gusts whipped about him, carrying down cool air from high above. Goosebumps pricked Eric’s skin. He tucked his hands into his cloak to ward off the cold. Then an idea, a memory, came to him.

Drawing on more power, he sent his magic further afield, reaching higher than ever before. There he grasped at every whisper, every gust he could find and drew it down. Taking a breath, he directed the swirling mass at the approaching king.

Jonathan paused as the gale struck. It tugged at his cloak and whipped around him, shrieking in his ears. Eric could sense Alastair’s sword working its magic, but drawing on his own power, he redoubled his efforts.

Even from ten feet away, Eric could feel it working.

Jonathan stared at him. “Wha– what are you doing?” he stammered, the cold winds sucking the words from his chest.

A shiver ran through the king. Ice began to gather in his beard and settle on his shoulders. His face took on a blue tint and his jaw clenched. He waved Alastair’s sword around his head, as though it’s magic could ward off the air itself. Beneath him, a frost formed on the broken tiles.

When the sword finally slipped from the king’s numb fingers, Eric was ready.

Throwing out his hand, he released one final bolt of energy. Lightning flashed across the space between them, taking Jonathan full in the chest. The air crackled as the blast knocked the king from his feet. He did not get back up.

Alastair’s blade struck the ground, and shattered.

Eric turned and staggered towards Enala. His heart twisted in agony as he drew closer, unable to bare the horrifying sight of his sister.

The Sword had sliced clean through Enala’s chest and struck the pillar behind her. Blood still seeped from the wound and had begun to congeal around the blade. It’s light bathed her face, her jaw locked in a painful grimace. Her eyes were closed.

Eric reached her, struggling for breath. When he had last seen her, she had just been stabbed by the cursed skeleton, barely able to stand. This was much, much worse. He closed his eyes, hope fading.

A half-choked sob rattled from his chest. He reached for her hand, trying to prize the cool metal from the rock. The silver bracelets refused to budge, the metal so tight around her wrists they seemed almost fused to her skin. Blood trickled from where they bit into her flesh.

“Eric,” Enala croaked.

He jumped, so shocked by her voice he thought for a second Jonathan had recovered. He looked around, but the king still lay where he had fallen.

“Eric,” Enala whispered again.

Eric allowed a wild hope to take hold as he turned to her.

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Eric,” he leaned close to catch her words. “Get me off this damned pillar,” Enala coughed, and blood bubbled from her mouth. She groaned, head leaning back against the cold stone.

Eric nodded. He ran to where Jonathan had fallen and swept up the hilt of Alastair’s sword. Part of the shattered blade still remained in place. He returned to Enala and held the weapon at the ready.

“Let’s hope this works.”

With cautious movements, Eric wrapped an arm around Enala’s waist and took her weight from the cuffs. A rattle came from her chest as she sucked in a breath. Hot blood stained his hands but he ignored it, aiming the ruined sword at her right cuff. Silently he prayed Alastair’s sword still contained enough magic to counteract whatever spell Jonathan had cast. He stabbed the jagged edge of the blade against the silver band.

The silver gave way almost instantly, the soft metal crumbling beneath Alastair’s sword. He repeated the procedure with her other arm and took her weight as she slumped against him. Clutching the broken sword under his arm, he carried her to the alter and gently laid her on the stone. Alastair’s blade clattered down beside her, but he did his best not to disturb the Sword of Light still lodged in her chest. He distantly remembered Caelin’s advice from so long ago –
leave it in, or you’ll bleed to death.

“Thank you,” Enala croaked.

“Just stay still, Enala. You’re going to be okay.”

A dry laugh racked her body, followed by a groan. “You don’t give up, do you?” she gasped.

Eric shook his head. “Neither do you, remember?” tears spilt from his eyes. Thoughts raced through his head as he searched for a way out. “I guess it must run in the family,” he whispered.

Enala’s eyes opened to stare at him. “What?”

Eric smiled through his tears. “Turns out I’m adopted. I’m your long lost brother, Enala.”

Enala groaned and gave a weak smile. She opened her mouth to respond, but dark laughter cut her off. It echoed around them as a shadow fell across the alter. A shudder ran through Enala, her pupils dilating with fear. The hairs on Eric’s neck rose in warning. Dread filled his veins as he spun.

The demon hung overhead, a dark grin spreading across its face.

“So you are the other one. My master has been looking for you, Eric.”