Soul Blade, page 24
part #3 of Sword of Light Series
Ice spread through his veins as he stared at the wasted figure of the God of Light, at the ancient spirit standing amidst the nothingness of the void.
No, it can’t be.
But Eric could not deny the truth standing before him. He felt his world turning on end, the story of Darius and his absence cracking the very fabric of his reality.
The God of Light had not abandoned them. He had been trapped, locked away for eternity.
“All this time?” Eric breathed, a sharp pain burning in his chest. “How?”
Darius moved past him, his movements slow, weighed down by his centuries of imprisonment.
“We never expected him to return,” emotion laced his voice, sad and filled with regret. “Five hundred years ago there was a boy who hated us, who hated me because I took his father from him,” he shook his head. “It has been our everlasting shame, that three mortals gave up their lives for us to be born. But we did not expect the hate it would nurture in the boy, the path it would send him down.”
“His name was Archon, son to Nickolas, brother to Artemis – your ancestor. While his brother ultimately accepted his father’s sacrifice, the boy Archon could not do the same. Both wielded powerful magic, but my birth sent them down separate paths. Artemis welcomed the new world, joining us in our efforts to rebuild his nation and bring peace to the Three Nations. But Archon, he spurned us and the future his father had sacrificed himself to build. Instead he turned to the darkness, embracing the power offered by black magic, and used it to slay the priests who had brought us into the world.”
“But you did not kill him,” Eric whispered.
“No,” Darius met his eyes. “We have never used our power to kill. When we caught him, he was banished to the wasteland in the north. And that was the end of it.”
“Except it wasn’t, was it?” Eric’s anger bubbled up again but he pressed it down now. Who was he to judge the mistakes of the Gods?
“We thought we had done the right thing, showing mercy, even to one so steeped in dark magic. We did not expect his hatred to fester, for him to surrender so completely to that darkness. He spent decades in that wasteland, brooding, preparing his revenge. And we forgot,” he paused. “But when he stabbed me in the back, somehow, I knew it was him.”
“How did it happen?”
Darius shook his head, the pain on his face evident. “I took another criminal north, leaving him where he could do no more harm to our people. I did not expect an ambush, certainly not by such a powerful magic. Somehow Archon had discovered where I usually appeared to release the banished, and there he waited for me, concealed by his dark magic. Before I sensed his presence, he drove his foul blade through my back.”
“Then how did we get the Sword?” Eric frowned.
Darius gave a wry smile. “I am the God of Light. Even with my magic pouring into the Soul Blade and the life fleeing my mortal body, I was not going to allow my magic to fall into his hands. I broke free of his dark magic, and we fought – the Light against the darkness. But Archon had grown more powerful than I could possibly have imagined, and I quickly realised it was a battle I could not win.”
“Archon knew it too. He hammered at me with his magic, determined to see me fall. But when I felt his final attack building, I reached back and tore his Soul Blade from my flesh. I held it high, feeling its pull tugging at my spirit. But I had enough strength left for one final effort, and with the last of my power I hurled it into the void, back to Trola and the host of Magickers waiting in the Temple of Light.”
“And they thought you had abandoned them,” Eric croaked.
Darius waved a hand. “I have spent a century listening to the thoughts of the Trolan royalty. I know what they thought, Eric. But I never had the strength to reach them,” his words were filled with sorrow. “So many died, thinking I did not care.”
Eric stared at the God of Light, imagining his desolation as centuries of Sword wielders passed by while he lay trapped within the blade. He could not begin to envision the pain, the despair of such a fate. It would have driven Eric mad. Yet here Darius stood, withered by his entrapment, but alive.
One question still remained though: was it too late to turn the tide of the battle?
“We need your help, Darius. Archon, he’s winning.”
Darius shook his head. “No, Eric. He has won. Even now the Sword’s magic is burning through your body, giving it life, taking control. Soon you and your sister will become the very demons you fought to stop. The Three Nations will fall before your power.”
“I won’t let that happen,” Eric stepped towards the God and grabbed his wrist. Before Darius could free himself, Eric pulled him close. “I know what I have to do. Gabriel has already done the same, sacrificed himself to allow Jurrien to be reborn. I can do the same for you.”
Darius tore his arm free. “You do not know what you ask,” he looked around the void, the white nothingness. “I cannot return to the world now, not after all this time. Here… it is peaceful. I can feel the pain, the sorrow coming from beyond the veil. I cannot face that world again.”
“You must!” Eric grabbed the old man by the shoulders and shook him. “The Three Nations need you, they need the God of Light to return to our world. Whether you meant to or not, without your power the world outside has withered, and evil has crept into the void left by the Light. Dark magic has wiped entire lands clean of life, and not even Antonia can restore them. If Archon wins, there will be no more light, no more life. Only darkness.”
Anger flashed in Darius’ eyes. “That is not my fault. I fought this fight, gave my magic to your world. I tried to help you foolish creatures. And how did you repay me?”
Eric refused to retreat before the God’s fury. “And do you not want revenge for that? Don’t you want to show Archon your true power? To cast him down as he did to you?”
“Do not try to bait me, boy. I do not need revenge,” Darius growled. He turned away, then back again. “You won’t stop, will you? You won’t give up?”
“Never.”
Darius sighed, a weary resignation crossing his face. “I guess one way or another, my peace has come to an end then,” he drew in a deep breath and stared down at Eric. “You are sure?”
Eric swallowed, thinking of all he was about to give up. Inken’s face drifted through his thoughts and pain twisted in his chest. She would be alone now, their child left without a father. But he could see no other way to save them, to save them all.
Closing his eyes, he summoned his courage and nodded. “Do it.”
Twenty Four
Inken stood atop the ramparts of the last wall and stared down at the endless ranks of the enemy. It had not taken them long to reform on the killing ground below. They looked up at the defenders now without fear, knowing the end was within sight, that victory would soon be theirs. They filled the space below, knowing the defenders had nothing left to hurl at them. The dragons were dead, their Magickers destroyed – even their stocks of arrows had run dry.
Her stomach clenched with regret. If only we had run, Eric, all that time ago in Lon. We could have been free.
But it was too late now for regrets, for second thoughts. The time had come for the Three Nations to make their last stand, to take their final breaths of freedom. With the arrival of the Plorsean army, the combined might of the Three Nations now stood atop the wall, ready to defy the forces below one final time. The weight of responsibility weighed on all their shoulders. Behind them the land stood open, their friends and families defenceless.
Caelin and May stood to her left while Elton and King Fraser waited on her right. The king had driven his army hard, leaving the stragglers behind in his desperation to reach the fortress. His forced marches had caught them up with Elton’s vanguard, and the bulk of the Plorsean army had arrived together.
Their reunion had been quick, stolen hugs and tears turning quickly to the matter at hand. Inken’s heart soared to see the king again. They had conquered the darkness together, the three of them, and had emerged stronger for it. Now they had one final battle to face together and she was proud to stand alongside them.
Behind them there had been no sign of the Phoenix or dragons or Eric and Enala. Inken drew strength from that, from the thought there might still be hope. It flickered in her chest, its tiny flame keeping her alive.
If Archon had not returned, it could only mean their friends continued to fight.
“Here they come,” Fraser spoke. His voice rose to a boom. “Here they come, boys and girls. Let’s show them what we’re made of!” he drew his sword, the steel flashing in the afternoon sun.
Inken smiled, reaching down to unsheathe her own blade. If she had to die, she was glad to do so with the company around her.
Below the enemy surged forward, their hateful voices rising up to wash across the battlements.
Together the men and women of the Three Nations watched them come.
*************
The sensation began as a tingle in Eric’s arms, a warmth that quickly spread through the rest of him. But the feeling felt strangely detached from him, as though he were perceiving someone else’s body. Then his arms moved, shifting as though by a will of their own, reaching down to push him from the mud. Pain shot through his elbow as something went crack and he made to scream, but his mouth did not respond.
A groan rattled up from his chest, but he felt a curious disconnect from the movement, as though it had been someone else’s groan.
Relax, Eric. This is no longer your fight. Sit back and watch, Darius’ voice whispered through his mind.
Eric’s eyelids fluttered and opened, revealing a world torn by chaos. Dark clouds raced across the sky, the sun streaming through gaps to light the world below. The earth beneath him was blacked and broken, while a few yards away the body of a dragon lay dead.
Sadness clenched his chest as his eyes lingered on Enduran, then drifted up to the man sitting atop the dragon’s head.
Archon looked back, his eyes shining with hate.
A hand settled on his shoulder. He looked up and warmth blossomed in his chest, a love far stronger than any mortal emotion.
“Antonia,” the word slipped from his mouth.
The face of Enala stared back, but changed, her eyes now a brilliant violet and filled with the ancient wisdom of the Goddess. A tear spilt from her eyes as she reached out to touch his cheek.
“Darius, brother, how is this possible?”
“A long story, my dear sister,” Darius sighed as heat spread from her fingers.
He nodded his thanks as the warmth spread and the broken parts within him knitted themselves back together. Within seconds he found himself whole, and stood. Together they turned to face Archon. A boom of thunder shook the sky, followed by the crackling of lightning. Then Jurrien stood on his other side, his face dark with anger.
“Brother,” he nodded at Darius. “Glad to see you again. I’m about ready to be done with this pitiful excuse of a mortal.”
Archon laughed as he climbed to his feet, but Darius saw the hesitation on his face. He could not have expected this. The man had no empathy; he had never been able to understand how his father could have given his life to create a better world for his children. For Gabriel, Enala and Eric all to have made the same decision was beyond Archon’s comprehension.
“I am hardly mortal,” Archon hissed, his breath misting on the cold air. He dropped from the dragon, landing lightly on the blackened ground.
Darius closed his eyes, joying in the breath of wind running across his skin, in the scent of mud and the feel of the earth beneath his feet. Memory of such sensations had long since faded in the void of his imprisonment, and he experienced them now with renewed wonder. Truly, Eric had given him a gift beyond measure.
“You were born of my Earth, Archon. Now we shall return you to it,” his sister’s voice was laced with anger.
Reaching across, Darius grasped her hand. “Careful, little sis,” she scowled at him for using his nickname for her. “Even with the three of us, he is still dangerous.”
Pain flashed across Antonia’s face. “Believe me, Darius, we know that all too well.”
Darius nodded, regret at his absence eating into him.
“Let’s end this,” Jurrien growled.
*************
Caelin screamed as a blade swept past his guard and slashed across his ribs. He staggered backwards, an awkward swing of his sword knocking aside a second attack. Inken stepped past him, her blade flashing out to crush the helmet of his attacker. Then Elton was at his side, steadying him, and he nodded his thanks.
Swallowing his pain, Caelin hurled himself back into the fray. Blood ran from his arm but it did not slow him. An axeman charged him and the wicked blade came around in a wild swing. Ducking back, he charged in as the axe swept past. The man’s eyes widened as he buried his sword in his chest.
Stepping sideways, Caelin spun as footsteps crunched behind him. Elton shouted and flung himself backwards, and Caelin managed to pull back the blow before it landed.
Elton nodded at him and raised an eyebrow. “A little jumpy there, Caelin. Try not to do the enemy any favours would you?”
Caelin laughed, the blood surging in his veins. Grinning, he shoved Elton aside as another man charged them, parrying a blow and then slamming his elbow into the man’s face. As he prepared to finish him, Elton swept past and stabbed the man in the chest.
Panting, Caelin shook his head. “Thief.”
Elton only laughed, already moving on to his next opponent.
A low growl came from behind and Caelin spun to see Inken engaging with a feline. Elton stepped up beside him and together they charged to their friend’s aid.
“Nasty looking one,” Elton commented as Inken retreated from the beast.
Inken laughed. “How can you tell?”
Caelin stared at the approaching beast, its long fur bristling as it crouched low. The golden eyes studied them with a frightening intelligence. Though fewer in number, the felines had proved just as deadly as the Raptors, and he had no wish to underestimate this one.
As it slunk towards them they spread out, splitting the cat’s attention as much as they could on the narrow ramparts. Blood ran from the beast’s jaws, matting in the fur beneath its chin. Its claws were extended, scraping on the stones beneath it.
“Now!” Caelin screamed as the thick muscles of the cat’s back bunched.
The beast sprang towards them, its paws raised to smash them from their feet. Inken threw herself sideways, her sword sweeping up to deflect its blow. Caelin leapt forwards, the jagged claws coming within an inch of his face, and lashed out with his sword. A judder ran up his arm as the blow struck bone and was turned aside.
Then the momentum of the beast’s charge carried it past. They turned and watched it come again, waiting for an opportunity to strike. The cat moved with unbelievable speed, giving them only a second to react before it charged.
This time Caelin was not fast enough. The air exploded from his lungs as the massive paws smashed into his chest, sending him bouncing back to the stone. He heard a scream from somewhere overhead and a cry, then he rolled. The scrape of claw on stone grated in his ears as the beast’s paws smashed the ground where he had fallen.
Wheezing hard, Caelin climbed to his knees, watching as Elton and Inken drew the feline’s attention. It stalked towards them, the sergeant forgotten behind it, and he smiled. Lifting his sword, he finally caught his winded breath and stood.
Before he could strike, the beast charged the others, its wild roar echoing across the wall. Inken stumbled back, slipping on the slick stone, and the feline leapt. Caelin cried out as it smashed Inken from her feet and sent her crashing to the stone. Its jaws opened, revealing the massive fangs.
Caelin acted without thought, hurling himself forward to land on the back of the feline. Driving his sword deep into the beast’s back, he held on for dear life. Beneath him, the cat threw back its head and screeched. It twisted and leapt, desperate to throw him off.
With a final shake, Caelin’s fingers slipped from its fur and he bounced across the stone, his blade still embedded in the beast’s back. Before he could move, it bounded forward and sank its jaws into the flesh of his leg.
A scream slipped from Caelin’s throat as its fangs tore into his flesh. He scrambled backwards but found himself trapped, the iron jaws refusing to release him. He looked into the yellow eyes of the creature, almost imagining it smiling. With a shake of its massive head, it hurled him across the ramparts.
Then Inken was there, charging at the beast with a short sword in each hand. Before it could turn to face her, she drove the twin blades deep into the feline’s chest.
Inken danced back out of range as its claws swiped at her. But this time the blades had found their mark. The strength went from it in a rush and the beast collapsed to the ground.
Caelin groaned, pulling himself to a sitting position and leaning his head back against the ramparts. Pain washed through his body and without looking he knew he was done. His last stand was over. Blood gushed from his leg, spreading across the stone with frightening speed.
Inken strode across and crouched beside him, tearing the jerkin from her shoulders. Caelin sucked in a breath, biting back a scream as Inken wound the jacket around his wound. Tying it off, she looked around, and he saw the desperate fear in her eyes.
“It’s okay, Inken,” he coughed. “Leave me.”
Inken shook her head. “Why did you do that, Caelin?”
Caelin shrugged, fighting back the pain. “Couldn’t let the future mother go off and get herself killed.”
“Fraser told you?” Inken swore. “That man needs to learn how to keep his mouth shut.”
Smiling, Caelin shook his head. “Eric, actually. He asked me to look out for you. I didn’t want to let him down.”
“In that case, I’ll be giving him a piece of my mind when he gets back.”
“I’m sure that will terrify him,” Caelin gave a weak laugh. He stared at the blood now soaking Inken’s jerkin. “There’s too much, Inken. I don’t think I’m going to survive this one.”
