Shield of Winter, page 25
Time to try for the walls, I think, came Dahniul’s voice.
Braidon nodded, his eyes watering with the cold. All he could do was cling on as the dragon fought to break through the Magicker’s winds. He prayed to the Gods that Enala was doing the same.
Then with a roar, Dahniul shot for the outer walls. The move caught the soldiers below by surprise, and they were on them before the first arrow rose to greet them. It made a sharp crack as it struck Dahniul’s breast, but bounced harmlessly away. Braidon ducked low, knowing there was little else he could do. The hiss of arrows filled the air, and he heard the dragon snarl as one sliced through the soft skin of her wings, but she flew on.
Then the air was silent once more. Sitting up, Braidon saw they had made it past the city, past the walls. The cliffs of the island were already falling away, the glistening waters of Lake Ardath spreading out all around. Braidon shivered as the island shrank into the distance.
Beneath him, Dahniul powered onwards, her great wings carrying them rapidly across the lake. Soon, the water below turned to open fields, a single river winding its way through their expanse. Ahead, the dark trees of Sitton Forest were approaching. Behind, Ardath became a speck of black amidst the silent blue.
Yet as he watched the distant city, it seemed to Braidon that it shimmered, and a light appeared on the walls atop the citadel. He squinted, trying to make out what it was, what was happening. The light grew stronger, its intensity swelling until it blotted out the city.
No… he realised, icy fear turning his limbs to lead. No…it’s coming closer!
“Dahniul!” he screamed, but it was already too late.
With a boom that seemed to come from all around them, the light came boiling up to meet them. Braidon cried out as it struck, an awful shriek filling his ears, a searing heat, a swirl of colours blinding him. He screamed as the dragon lurched beneath him, losing his grip on the golden scales.
Then he was falling, plummeting down, and an ocean of green was rising up to greet him…
Epilogue
Quinn’s legs trembled as he approached the ruined throne, his mind whirring, struggling to come up with some excuse, some justification that would save him. But in the awful silence that had swallowed the throne room, his thoughts had gone blank, and with a growing sense of despair, he sank to his knees before the dais. Hours had passed since the confrontation with Eric, but there was still no sign of the fugitives.
The Tsar towered over Quinn, his once magnificent doublet and leggings now scorched and torn. His eyes were dark as he looked on the lieutenant, giving away nothing of his inner thoughts. A slight twitch to his lips was the only sign of his displeasure.
“Well?”
The sudden break in the silence made Quinn jump, though the Tsar had barely spoken louder than a whisper. A vice clamped around his chest as he struggled to find the words to reply. With painstaking slowness, he unclenched his jaw and swallowed the lump in his throat.
“She was dying.” Once the words were out of his mouth, Quinn realised they were the only argument that might work. “She was choking, bleeding to death. I feared she would die before you finished dealing with the intruders…”
His voice trailed off beneath the withering stare of the Tsar.
“Is that all?”
Quinn gulped. “I…I…” He clenched his eyes shut, and bowed his head. “I’m sorry, sir. I failed you. I let your daughter escape. I am prepared to accept my fate.”
Despite his words, Quinn flinched as the soft rasp of steel against leather announced the unsheathing of the Tsar’s sword. A cold draught slithered down his spine as footsteps padded down the half-melted steps, finally coming to a halt beside him.
“It is I who failed, Quinn,” the Tsar’s voice came from overhead, touched now with unmistakable sadness. Quinn looked up in surprise, his heart palpitating as the monarch continued. “I should have dealt with Eric long ago, should have known Enala still lived, that she would come for them when she realised what I’d done.”
“What did you do?” Quinn whispered, hardly daring to breathe.
The Tsar lifted his sword into the air, and a brilliant white lit the blade. “I did what every Magicker since the fall of Archon has failed to do. I recreated the spell that brought the Gods into the physical realm.”
“How?”
A smile crossed the Tsar’s lips. “It cost me greatly, but we managed it, Eric’s son and I. Fool that he was, Calybe volunteered to be the host. We both came from the right lineage, but I guess he took after his father. Eric always was the type for self-sacrifice. Even at the end…” He shook his head, as though to dismiss the memory of the old man, before going on: “We cast the spell, and let the spirit of Darius enter Calybe. Together, we brought the God of Light back to life.”
Quinn looked around quickly, as though the reincarnation of Darius might suddenly appear before them. Then his eyes were drawn inexorably back to the sword in the Tsar’s hand. It was the same blade the intruder, Godrin, had tried to wield. Merely touching it had crystallised the man. It couldn’t be, and yet…
“But the God of Light…where?”
“Here.” The Tsar smirked, gesturing to the sword. “That was Calybe’s mistake. He thought we could only find peace by bringing back the Gods. But it was quite the opposite.”
“But the Gods–” Quinn began.
“Were parasites,” the Tsar interrupted, “using their powers to manipulate us, to rule us. They were no different from any other Magicker who has sought to rule us throughout the centuries. No, there is only one way to buy peace—by wiping every last trace of magic from our world. I knew I could do it, if only I could recreate the Sword of Light. So when the God of Light possessed Calybe, I was ready. Darius barely had a chance to breathe fresh air, before I plunged my sword between his shoulders, and used the spells I had perfected through the years to send his foul spirit screaming into the blade.”
“Then…that truly is…the Sword of Light?”
“Yes.” The Tsar smiled faintly. “But though I have spent decades studying its power, still I have failed to achieve my goal.”
His shoulders slumped, and he sank to the bottom step with a soft thud. In that moment, Quinn had never seen the Tsar look so mortal. His knees beginning to ache, he sat up slowly, sensing there was more behind the man’s words. When he spoke, he picked his words carefully, still half-afraid of incurring his ruler’s wrath.
“But…?”
The Tsar did not respond. Then he started to laugh, softly at first but quickly growing louder, until it seemed the walls themselves were trembling. Quinn shrank back as the Tsar stood suddenly.
“My children have abandoned me, betrayed everything I stand for. I can no longer ignore their transgressions. For years I searched for another way. With Eric, perhaps it would have been possible. But now I am left with no choice.” He looked at Quinn, his eyes aglow. “Bring me my children, Stalker. They are the key to all this. Willingly or not, they will serve me in my final purpose.”
For a second, Quinn hesitated, thinking of the girl he’d helped raise, who he’d taught and trained and spent long nights entwined with. Then he remembered how she’d used her magic against him, how she had betrayed him again and again. And he knew that he too could no longer ignore the truth. The Alana he yearned for was lost to him.
He bowed his head. “It shall be as you command, sir.”
The adventure continues with ‘Dawn of War’ – due late 2018. Signup below and be the first to read the epic conclusion…
www.aaronhodges.co.nz/legend-of-the-gods-book-three/
Note from the Author
Wow, okay, that was…the hardest story I’ve written yet. Between the demon possession and Alana’s split personality, I always knew it was going to be a challenge, but I’ve really poured far more time into this book than I was expecting. Still, I hope the result was worth it, and you managed to understand everything that was going on! If you did have any questions, remember you can always email me at author@aaronhodges.co.nz. But hopefully you understood everything.
Oh, and if you were interested in some of the influences that went into this book, during its construction I travelled through much of Eastern Europe – including Prague and Budapest – all the way to the amazing land that is today known as Turkey (but which was once the Ottoman and Persian Empires!). If you look hard enough, you’re bound to see inspirations from many of these wonderful places 😉
By the way, you can read on below for a free excerpt from my bestselling Sword of Light Trilogy.
FOLLOW AARON HODGES:
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Also by Aaron Hodges
Legend of the Gods
Book 1: Oathbreaker
Book 2: Shield of Winter
Book 3: Dawn of War
The Sword of Light Trilogy
Book 1: Stormwielder
Book 2: Firestorm
Book 3: Soul Blade
The Praegressus Project
Book 1: Rebirth
Book 2: Renegades
Book 3: Retaliation
Book 4: Rebellion
Book 5: Retribution
Read on for free samples from my other works…
STORMWIELDER
If you’ve enjoyed this book, you might also like
my original novel:
Stormwielder
When Eric was young a terrible power woke within him. Horrified by the devastation he had unleashed, Eric fled his village, and has spent the last two years wandering the wilderness alone. Now, desperate to end his isolation, he seeks a new life in the town of Oaksville. But the power of the Gods is fading, and in their absence, dark things have come creeping back to the Three Nations. Civilisation is no longer the safe haven he once knew, and Eric will soon learn he is not the only one with power…
Prologue
Alastair sat alone in the darkness, staring into the flickering fire. Holding out his arms, he let its heat wash through his rain sodden cloak. The autumn storm had caught him in the open, drenching him to the skin before he could guide his horse to the shelter of the nearby trees.
A rumble of distant thunder echoed through the trees, and shivering, Alastair shifted closer to the flames. He stifled a groan as his old joints cracked with the movement.
Adding a fresh stick to the blaze, Alastair watched the greedy tongues of flame lick up its length. Wind rustled in the dark branches overhead and the fire flickered, its feeble light casting long shadows across the tiny clearing.
A head appeared in the nearby trees, its long face stretching out towards him. Alastair’s heart clenched and he reached for his sword, before he realised it was only his horse. Snickering, his mount shook its head and retreated into the shadows.
Shivering, Alastair released his sword hilt and cursed himself for a fool. He knew all too well the dangers of the night, the creatures that stalked the shadows of the Three Nations. Once he had been one to stand against such things. Now though…
He shook his head, forcing away the morbid thoughts. He was still a warrior; his name was feared by the beasts of the dark.
But he could not dismiss the whispers of his own doubt. It had been decades since he’d last fought the good fight, and the long years between had stripped him of his strength. The old man shivering at autumn shadows was a spectre, a ghost of the Alastair that had once battled the demons of winter.
And now the demons had returned.
“If only,” he whispered to the cold night. The words carried with them the weight of regret, the sorrow of wasted decades.
If only he had known.
If only he had prepared himself.
Instead, the great Alastair had settled down and put the dark days behind him. And in his absence, the dark things had come creeping back. Now their shadow stretched across the Three Nations, threatening to shatter the fragile peace he had worked his whole life to create.
It was only when Antonia came to him that he had realised his folly. Her reappearance shattered the peaceful world he’d built for himself, and dragged him back to a life he’d thought long buried.
“Find them,” she’d ordered, and he had obeyed.
Yet things never were simple when she was involved. For two years now he had searched, seeking out the family he had helped to hide so long ago. But the trail was ancient, and his quarry had long since perfected the skills he’d taught them.
He had tracked them as far as Peakill before the line vanished. For all he knew, they were all gone. He prayed to Ansonia it was not so.
The wind died away and the chirp of crickets rose above the whisper of the trees. The fire popped as a log collapsed, scattering sparks across the ground. He watched them slowly dwindle to nothing and then looked up at the dark canopy. Through the branches, he glimpsed the brilliance of the full moon.
Alastair gritted his teeth. She would come tonight. His hands shook as a sick dread rose in his throat. The world would feel the consequences of his failure.
“Not yet, there is still time,” the soft whisper of a girl’s voice came from the shadows.
Antonia walked from the trees. A veil of mist clung to her small frame, obscuring her features. But her violet eyes shone through the darkness, the firelight pale by comparison. Those eyes held such power, such resolve, that Alastair shrank before them. The scent of roses filled the grove, cleansing the smoky air as she strode towards him.
“It doesn’t matter. They’re gone, and I’m not strong enough to continue. Find someone else to fight this battle, I’m done!” He lowered his gaze, unable to meet her eyes.
“There is no one else. You were there at the beginning – now you must see things through to the end,” her voice shook with anger. “Look at me, and tell me you would abandon everything we have worked for!”
Alastair glanced up. “I abandoned my family for your cause,” he ground out the words. “I have sacrificed everything for you, what more do you want? It’s over, they’re gone.”
He stared at Antonia, expecting anger, scorn, disappointment. She smiled. “It’s not over, Alastair. There is still hope. Elynbrigge has found them.”
The breath caught in Alastair’s throat as he stared at the Goddess. “Where?” he choked.
Antonia laughed, the sound like raindrops dancing on water. “The trail was old, but they are alive and well in Chole. You will find them there. He will watch over them until you arrive.”
Alastair jumped to his feet, scattering firewood into the flames. The blaze roared, leaping to devour the fresh meal. He ignored it. The fire be damned, they were alive!
“Wait,” Antonia’s tone gave him pause. “First, you must go to Oaksville. There is someone there who needs you. When you find him, take him with you. Be quick; Archon won’t be far behind.”
“Who is in Oaksville?” The town was close, but the detour would cost precious time.
“Eric.”
Before he could question her further, she was gone.
For a long time Alastair stood staring at the space where she had stood. Her words trickled through his thoughts, banishing his guilt, his anguish. In their place, a fragile spark of hope lit the darkness.
He didn’t sleep that night. Instead, he mounted his horse and rode through the darkness, into the dawn. As the sun rose into the sky and drifted towards noon, he topped the rise over Oaksville and looked down on the town.
Below, Oaksville lay nestled in the crook of a valley. Sickly pillars of smoke curled up from behind its walls, obscuring the rooftops.
Alastair kicked Elcano into a gallop.
Chapter 1
A pillar of smoke rose from the burning house. Flames roared and heat scorched his eyes, but he could not look away. The blaze lit the night, chasing the stars from the sky.
Amidst the fire, the silhouette of a boy appeared. He stumbled from the wreckage, clothes falling to ash around him. Sparks of lightning leapt from his fingertips, leaving scorch marks on the tiled street. Soot covered his slim face, marred only by a trail of tears running down his cheeks. The wind caught his mop of dark brown hair, revealing the deep blue glow of his eyes.
He wore an expression of absolute terror.
“Help me!”
Eric screamed as he tore himself from the dream. Gasping, he fumbled for his knife, fear rising to swamp his thoughts. The blade slid clear of his belt, and then tumbled through his hands. Diving forward, he caught it by the hilt and rolled to his feet.
A wall of vegetation rose around him, sealing him in. The dark fingers of branches clawed at his clothing as he spun, scanning the clearing. But there was no one there.
He was alone.
His shoulders slumped as the last traces of the dream fell from him. He sucked in a breath, his heart still thudding hard in his chest. Returning the blade to his belt, he cast another glance around at his surroundings.
The clearing was unchanged from the night before. The trees still stood in a silent ring, their leaves speckled with the red and gold of early autumn. Where the canopy thinned overhead he could make out touches of the blue sky, but below the dark of night still clung to the undergrowth.
Eric shivered as goosebumps prickled his skin. Rubbing his arms, he wished for the thousandth time he possessed more than a holey blanket and worn leather jacket to fend off the cold.
Reaching down, he stuffed the blanket into his bag with the rest of his measly possessions – dried meat, a waterskin, and a holey change of clothes. He wore the steel bracelet his parents had given to him as a child around his wrist. The familiar dream clung to him as he moved, the boy’s face lurking in the shadows. He knew that face. It was his own.
