Soul Blade, page 8
part #3 of Sword of Light Series
Eric had already attempted to suppress their magic as Laurel had done to his, but without success. Now as he reached out he decided on another course. It seemed an age ago now, but he had watched Alastair work his magic a hundred times. His mentor’s strength had been prodigious, but Eric only needed the gentlest of touches for what he intended.
Drawing the Sword’s power with him, Eric drifted across to where Christopher stood watching Enala’s approach. Lines of power wrapped around the Magicker, some flashing red with the power burning at his core, while others seemed to appear from the air itself. Praying he knew what he was doing, Eric reached out and pressed the white fire of the Sword to the lines of power.
Light flared as the two forces met, then pale fire raced down the line towards Christopher. Eric’s spirit shivered as the power reached the priest. The air popped as they met, but nothing changed, and Christopher stepped forward to knock aside Enala’s next attack.
Frowning, Eric repeated the process sure he must be onto something. The lines had to be connected to some part of the Light – otherwise the Sword’s magic would not be able to interact with them. Some intuition told Eric they must be related to how Alastair’s power had worked.
This time as the white swept along the line, Eric reached out and gripped it with his mind. To his surprise, the surging white froze, its energy tingling beneath the soft touch of his conscious. Then, almost by instinct, Eric drove the energy into Christopher and gave one final, gentle push.
Christopher gave a shout of surprise as his legs whipped out from beneath him, tripped by some invisible force. The flames in this hand died away as his concentration snapped, and Enala leapt in to tap his chest with her practice blade.
Chuckling to himself, Eric retreated into his body and stretched his arms. His chest swelled with pride, that he had managed to replicate the magic of his mentor. Smiling, he stood and sheathed the Sword of Light, then walked across to join the others.
He laughed out loud as he caught Christopher’s glare.
“Made some progress at last I see,” the priest raised an eyebrow.
Eric grinned back. “Slowly but surely.”
“A bit of warning would have been nice,” Christopher shook his head. “But well done. You will need every skill you can muster to face Archon.”
“I thought the scales could use a bit of balancing. Enala looked a little outmatched.”
His sister scowled. “I didn’t need you to cheat for me, Eric.”
Eric raised his hands in surrender, but could not keep the smile from his face. “I just hope I’ll have time to learn the rest. I want to at least try and use the Sword to suppress Archon’s power.”
Christopher sighed. “Would that it could be so easy. Only time will tell I guess.”
“How goes the training?” they all looked up at Angela’s voice.
“Progressing better than I had hoped,” Christopher answered with a thin smile.
Angela nodded. “I have news. Heather and the other Magickers have finished inspecting the Soul Blade. It is as you suspected, Christopher. They are not powerful enough to break the enchantments. Unless we find someone stronger, the Gods will remain trapped in the weapons.”
Eric’s heart sank. He shot a glance at Enala and caught the despair sweep across her face. She masked it quickly, but not before their eyes caught. She looked away before he could say anything.
“There’s still hope, Enala,” Christopher spoke from between them. “By the time you reach Fort Fall, the greatest Magickers of the Three Nations will be there. If anyone can free the Gods, it will be them.”
“That is my other news,” Angela interrupted.
Eric looked up, catching the hint of warning in her voice. “What is it?”
He saw then the weariness in Angela’s eyes, the rings of exhaustion lining her face. She held her shoulders tensed and her fists were clenched tightly around a scrap of paper.
“This just arrived by pigeon,” Angela paused for a breath. “It’s from Fort Fall…” her voiced faded off.
A wave of weariness swept through Eric’s legs. He stumbled a step, struggling to find the strength to keep his feet. “What’s happened?”
“The invasion has begun,” the old councillor’s voice trembled. “Fort Fall is under siege, and the majority of our armies have yet to reach them. With the standing guard and the advance parties from Plorsea and Trola, they only have a thousand men.”
“How far off are the rest of our forces?” Christopher’s forehead creased with worry.
“The last word we had from our army put them a week out from the fortress. The Lonians are likely closer. But with only a thousand men, Fort Fall will be hard-pressed to hold on long enough for reinforcements to arrive.”
“We will leave today,” Eric growled, a desperate idea taking form in his mind.
Angela shook her head. “Even if you leave now, it will take weeks for the ship to traverse the Trolan coastline. It could be all over by then…”
Beside him Enala cursed, but Eric was already shaking his head. “You’re right; there’s no time for that now. We will not go by ship,” he tapped the pommel of the Sword of Light. “We will fly. The Sword can give me the energy I need to make the journey. We could be there in days.”
Christopher shook his head. “Remember what I said, Eric? Using the Sword for such a long period of time… there is no telling what the consequences would be.”
Eric drew in a breath of the icy air. “It doesn’t matter; we have to take the risk. If we don’t we’ll be too late to make a difference anyway.”
“What about the Plorsean army?” Enala interrupted. “Could they be closer?”
“We have heard nothing from King Fraser,” Angela answered. “But even if they marched as soon as Jurrien sent out word, the Lonians would still be closer.”
Eric swallowed. “Then we have no choice.”
“Are you sure?” Angela stared at him. “There will be no second chances here. You know what waits for you up there.”
Eric nodded. “I know. But I doubt I could ever be ready for what is to come – not if I had a decade to prepare. Either way, it doesn’t matter now. Our time is up.”
“He’s right,” Enala added. “Ready or not, we have to do this. Archon will not wait for us.”
Tears in her eyes, Angela stepped forward and drew them both into her arms. “Then good luck, my king, my queen. How I wish you had come to us sooner.”
“May the Gods bless your journey,” Christopher murmured from beside them.
Eight
Inken staggered down the corridor, Gabriel and the priest Lynda at her side. Gabriel had regained some of his colour and now walked unsupported, but the haunted look remained and she still feared for his sanity.
Ahead Caelin, Elton and Fraser strode through the door of the barracks. Swallowing her doubts, Inken moved after them. They were taking a terrible risk, but there was no arguing with Caelin’s logic. Circumstances left them little choice – they needed reinforcements. She just prayed Caelin and Fraser could convince the guards to follow them.
Stepping through the doorway, she reached unconsciously for her sabre and then swore at its absence. Elton had not been able to arm them, and he held their only sword. Not that it mattered; if they were forced to draw their blades now, they had already lost.
Even so, the sight of a dozen men stepping towards them with blades drawn did not give her much confidence in their plan.
Caelin and the others raised their hands and the guards paused, exchanging uncertain looks between themselves. That was all the time they needed.
“Men, you know me,” Fraser spoke now, his voice soft but with a quiet confidence Inken had not expected. “You know my face, beneath the filth. I have fought beside many of you, spilt my blood to defend you. I am Fraser, your king.”
Swords wavered in indecisive hands as the men stared hard at the filthy beggars who had invaded their barracks.
Finally one of the guards stepped forward. “What is going on here?” he growled. “You look like our king, but it cannot be. I was in the throne room not an hour ago. The king was as strong and clean as I have ever seen him. You, you look as though you have not eaten in weeks, imposter.”
Fraser bowed his head, and for a second it looked as though their cause was lost. Then he looked up, and saw the fire in his eyes. “Ay, I have not eaten in weeks, Robin. No, I have been locked in the old dungeons, shut away from the world, starved and kept alive for the Gods only know why. And in my place has sat a demon, or some other cursed creature of Archon.”
The man reeled back before the king’s fury, but others were not so easily cowed. Another man stepped forward and waved a hand. “Yet another traitor named by Caelin?” he shook his head. “No, I will not believe the words from this man’s mouth, not with this murderer standing beside him,” his voice broke. “I will not believe Katya was a traitor.”
Inken sensed the sorrow behind the man’s words and guessed the councillor had meant more to him than most.
“I am sorry, truly, Antony. I know you two were close,” Caelin drew in a breath. “And I fear you are right, we were tricked. I now believe Katya truly was innocent, that the creature sitting on the throne manipulated us into believing she was the one wielding the dark magic against us.”
“But the truth stands before you now. This man is your king, filthy and withered from starvation as he may be. If you wish for me to suffer, let it come later. For now, believe the truth of your own eyes, the whispers of your conscious. You know the king has not been himself, and he has not. A traitor sits on our throne, one who means to see our nation fall before the might of Archon. We cannot let that happen.”
Antony’s eyes swept the room, lingering on each of them in turn. He settled on the priest standing beside her and raised an eyebrow.
“What’s your place in all this, priest?”
Lynda bowed her head. “I was sent from Lon to verify their story,” she waved at Caelin. “Everything he has says is true. The thing on the throne had me locked up before I could confirm their story to the council. Elton freed me, and together we found where they had been imprisoned. We were as surprised as you to find the true king locked away with them.”
As her words spread around the room, Antony’s shoulders slumped. Inken held her breath, hand twitching with anticipation. If Antony denied Lynda’s words, it would come to bloodshed. She could see the anger in his eyes, his desire to revenge the fallen councillor.
Air hissed between Antony’s lips and he bowed his head. “Okay,” when he looked back up, the rage had faded. “But this is not the end of this discussion, Caelin,” he turned to Fraser then. “Your majesty, please, forgive us. We should have seen through the creature’s deception long ago. Things have been… wrong… for weeks.”
The others in the room nodded, and Inken breathed a sigh of relief as swords were returned to their sheaths.
Fraser waved a hand, dismissing the soldiers’ guilt. “The fault is not yours, but Archon’s.”
“Well that’s a relief,” Lynda smiled beside Inken as the soldiers gathered around Fraser and began to discuss their next move.
Inken nodded, the tension fleeing her shoulders. “That’s half the battle won.”
“The easy half, I imagine,” Gabriel’s voice was thick with self-loathing.
Inken glared at him. He turned away, unable to meet her eyes. “If we can convince the guards in the throne room the same way, there won’t be a battle at all.”
Gabriel nodded, his eyes to the floor. Inken reached out and grasped his chin, forcing him to look at her.
“We will make this right, Gabriel,” she stared into his eyes, refusing to flinch at the darkness she saw there. “You understand?”
“How?” he croaked.
“By banishing this evil, by sending that creature screaming into the void,” she paused, taking a breath. “But it will take everything we have to do it, Gabriel. We cannot afford to hesitate. We need you, Gabriel, all of you. So, are you with us?”
Inken glimpsed a spark of light in the young man’s eyes and smiled as Gabriel nodded.
Before she could respond a roar went through the room, and then the soldiers were sweeping past her, Fraser in the lead. Caelin tossed her a sheathed sword and she reached up to catch it, nodding her thanks. She glanced at Lynda and raised an eyebrow in question.
The priest shook her head. “I have my magic. It will be enough. Shall we join them?”
Inken smiled. “Let’s go to war.”
*************
Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing his fear as he followed the others from the barracks. The whispers came in a constant stream now, the shadow of the demon hovering always just out of sight. He pushed them down. He needed to concentrate, to find the strength to fight. His friends needed him.
At least day had finally broken, the light of dawn streaming in through the windows of the corridors. The sun’s warmth offered him comfort, banishing the icy chill clenched around his soul.
Ahead, Caelin, Fraser and Elton led the group of guards. They had been armed from the stockpile of weapons in the barracks, though the sword Gabriel now carried felt heavy in his hand. His stomach rumbled and he wished they’d eaten more than the scraps they’d pilfered from the kitchens earlier. Even with the food he felt exhausted, his muscles starved of energy.
Hopefully we won’t need to fight, he thought to himself. Twelve guards had joined them in the barracks, yet he wondered whether they would have the courage for such a fight. If they could not sway those protecting the false king, they would be forced to kill their own comrades. Such a decision was not to be taken lightly.
They encountered few people on the short march to the throne room. Those who spotted them were easily fooled though – after all, it was clear the guards were escorting a group of prisoners to the king for judgement. Fortunately, no one bothered to give them a closer inspection. If they had, they would have noticed Gabriel and the other prisoners were armed.
Gabriel kept his sword low and tucked out of sight beneath his old coat. The muck from the dungeons still clung to him, leaving his skin itchy and raw. Still, at least they had left the darkness behind. Though the light hurt his eyes, it also gave him hope, and the strength to push back the voice.
The guards in front reached the great double doors of the throne room and thrust them open. The gold-embossed doors swung open without so much as a creak, the hinges obviously well-oiled by whichever servant was in charge of maintaining the throne room. Gabriel held his breath as the company raced inside, and waited for the shouts to start.
It was not a long wait. As he strode after his friends the first cry of rage came from the dais. The false king stood on the dais, towering over the room from his position at the head of the council table. His eyes swept the room, anger burning in their depths – though it quickly turned to shock as he found Fraser in their midst.
“What is the meaning of this?” the false king shouted. “Guards, why have you bought these beggars before me?”
Fraser stepped forward and pointed at the false king. “I am no beggar, foul creature. I am Fraser, the true king of Plorsea. You are naught but some foul beast of Archon, sent here to betray our land.”
Shouts raced around the room as councillors leapt to their feet. The guards surrounding the dais wavered, looking from the false king to Fraser and his circle of men. He saw the indecision on their faces. But it seemed clear to Gabriel which king they would pick. Fraser still wore the ruined clothes of his imprisonment, while the false king stood atop the dais in all his finery, the picture of royalty.
If they chose the false king, it did not bode well for their chances. The guards in the throne room outnumbered them two to one.
Fraser turned to the ring of guards, his eyes filled with fire. “You know me; you know who I am. Do you truly believe that thing on my throne is your king? You know the truth; you’ve seen it each day with your own eyes. That is not the king; that is not me.”
The words swept through the ranks of men and Gabriel saw the doubt in their eyes. Then a slow clap carried through the hall, echoing down from the false king. As the eyes of every man and woman turned to him, he reached down and drew his sword.
“You know your true king, men. And it is not this traitorous beast. Let us put an end to the lies of this foul imposter.”
With a roar the false king leapt from the dais. Gabriel’s heart sank as the guards fanned out around him. They had lost the war of words; it would come to blades now. Outnumbered and drained by starvation, Gabriel feared he and his companions would not fare well.
“Stop!” Lynda’s voice cracked through the room. She moved through the soldiers until she stood beside Fraser. “Stop,” she repeated. “And listen.”
“No,” the false king growled. “We will hear no more of your lies,” with a roar, he leapt towards them.
Lynda smiled and raised a hand. A howling whistle filled the room as wind rushed through the open windows. With a nod from the priest, the wind struck the false king and his men, forcing them backwards.
“You will listen,” Lynda snapped. She waved at Caelin and the others. “Caelin and Fraser speak the truth. It is here for all of you to see. Why would a creature of Archon come before you as a beggar? Why would your fellow soldiers join him, if not for the truth of his claim?”
“Who are you?” Gabriel looked up to see a councillor still standing atop the dais.
“I am Lynda, the Lonian priest you sent for to verify the story of Caelin and his companions.”
“Where have you been?” the councillor moved closer to the edge of the dais.
“That thing had me locked away,” Lynda nodded to the false king.
The councillor stood silent, staring down at them with a strange look on his face. Gabriel held his breath, praying this might be the turning point they needed. The councillor’s red robes rustled in the breeze still whipping about the room. Then the man crossed his arms and smiled.
