Firestorm (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 2) (21 page)

A smile twisted its lips as it looked down on its old home. Slowly the winds holding the demon aloft dissipated and it dropped lower in the sky. It had taken some time to gain control of Jurrien’s magic, forcing the demon to travel much of the journey on foot. But when it finally mastered the Storm God’s power, the final hundred miles had flashed by in hours.

The demon had hesitated at Ardath, reaching out to check for the presence of its prey. There was no trace of them, but still it paused to consider the city’s destruction. But it had sensed the power of its comrades, other emissaries of Archon. The demon smiled. They were specks compared to the power it now wielded, but their presence meant Archon had other plans for the city.

There had been no sign of its prey elsewhere either. It listened for word from Archon’s spies, but the trail had gone cold. It seemed the two had vanished.

It did not matter now though. Somewhere below, the Sword of Light waited. It would find the blade and reclaim Thomas’ ancient birth right. They could not hide the Sword; it would tear the city apart brick by brick if necessary. Then, finally, the power Thomas had once wielded would be restored.

The wind roared and its cloak flapped out. Lightning flickered along the blade in its left hand. He grinned.

Before the demon could unleash the power, it felt a familiar magic stir in the city below.

The demon frowned. Now
how did you get here?

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

“This is a bad idea,” Eric whispered.

“A bit late to turn back now,” Laurel hissed back as she relieved the unconscious guards of their swords.

“Thanks, so glad you pointed that out,” he replied in a bland voice.

He hoped Enala knew what game she was playing at, trusting Laurel. But he had little choice but to go along with the plan. It had apparently taken most of the night for Laurel to discover where they were keeping him, and even longer waiting for a chance to slip into his room undetected. Enala and King Jonathan were a long way ahead of them by now.

Eric glanced up and down the corridor, his nerves fraught. The sun was up and the council could send for him any minute now. They must know Enala was missing by now. There was no more time to waste; they needed to get out of the citadel, now.

But first, he needed proper clothes. He winced as Laurel tossed him a pair of pants. These were followed by the guard’s jerkin, cloak and boots. Using the robe to shield himself and keeping a wary eye on Laurel, he began slipping into the clothing.

Laurel laughed when she saw him watching her. “Don’t worry, you’re not my type,” she still didn’t turn away.

Eric flushed but finished pulling on the clothes. They were too large for him, but at least he would have some protection from the cold air outside. Together they pulled the guards into the bedroom and lock the door behind them.

Laurel slipped past him. “This way,” she whispered.

Swallowing, Eric glanced back at the doors.
Too late now
.

Taking a firmer grip of Alastair’s sword, he followed after her, slipping down the silent corridors. Eric glanced through open doors as they moved, surprised by how empty the citadel seemed. They did not encounter a single soul as they made their way through the keep.

Eric shook his head, worry gnawing at him. Despite the early hour, there should have been people, servants and workers moving about to prepare the citadel for the day ahead.

“Where is everybody?” he hissed.

Laurel shrugged. “The place is all but empty. I checked too many rooms to count looking for you – there’s nobody here. It seems the occupants of the citadel have gone elsewhere.”

Eric frowned. Something didn’t add up.
Where have they gone?
The empty corridors offered no answers. Even the guards were sparse, absent.

It took ten minutes for Laurel to lead them back to the courtyard where they’d first arrived. There were no guards in sight now, and Eric guessed they had only been drawn there by the crash of their arrival. In the dawns light he saw a few scraggly trees growing up the walls, but otherwise the lawn was empty.

“This is where your magic comes in, Eric,” Laurel gave a wry smile. “Just don’t drop me.”

Eric shot her a glare. “Don’t tempt me.”

Closing his eyes, he reached for his power. It rose with intent, made bold by its conquest in the wasteland of The Way. But Eric had no patience for its mischief; Enala needed his help and he was not about to let his magic get in the way. He crushed down his doubt and brushed aside the growls of the magic’s wolf.

Wrapping the magic in his command, he reached out and drew the winds too them.

Eric held out his hand to Laurel as the winds gathered. She took it, and an instant later they lifted ponderously off the snowy grass. He grinned at the pale fear on Laurel’s face as the ground fell away beneath them. They soared up into the heavens, far higher than necessary.

The city of Kalgan stretched out beneath them, slate rooftops shining in the morning sun. The domed towers of two temples shone golden at either end of the city, while the citadel towered on a hill at the centre. On the coast, docks stretched out into the harbour. Ships rocked at their berths, the rare westerly wind driving waves straight in from the ocean. Witchcliffe island loomed in the distance.

As he reached again for his magic, he sensed a tremor of disturbance in the sky. Another power tingled at the back of his neck, racing closer. It felt hauntingly familiar.

God magic,
Eric realised, an instant before the demon rose into view.

The scrape of the wooden keel on gravel jolted Enala from her dreams. She looked around, eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness staining the world, and glimpsed the vague outline of the king as he leapt from the stern. Stones crunched again as Jonathan dragged the dingy further up the beach.

Enala toyed with the silver bracelets cuffed around her wrists. The emeralds embedded in the precious metal seemed to glow with a light of their own, and in the pale moonlight she caught the glint of strange symbols etched along their length. Jonathan had given them to her as protection from the magic that had been cast over the island. Their spells would kill anyone who stepped foot there without permission.

She just hoped the bracelets worked.

“Come on, quickly,” Jonathan shouted above the crashing waves.

Enala struggled over the wooden benches and leapt down to the beach. The stones sank beneath her feet as she landed, and a wave rushed up to drench her boots. She swore, stumbling further up the dunes and away from the ocean. The bracelets burned hot for half a second and then cooled once more.

She turned to watch Jonathan tie the boat to a post in the beach. He still carried his duffle bag, clutching it close as though his life depending on it. On the journey here she had watched the king, her first impressions of him quickly changing. Jonathan was not the confident man he had appeared back in the citadel. He spent most of his time casting nervous glances behind them, and jumping as water lapped over the sides of the row boat.

Enala shook her head. She could already see why the people might have lost confidence in this king. His nervous ticks made him seem weak, but perhaps she was not giving him enough credit. He had defied the council and spirited her out of Kalgan – that had to count for something.

Swallowing her worries, Enala decided to do her best to ignore his behaviour. She just hoped he knew what he was doing.

Together they trekked up the beach, the stones giving way to soft sand. Overhead the red cliffs of Witchcliffe island loomed as shadows against the dark sky. The wind whistled through the wiry branches of the trees dangling from the sheer walls. A faint glow lit the distant horizon, signalling the approach of dawn.

Jonathan led her off the beach and up a trail through the long grass growing on the sand dunes. Without a torch they relied on the moonlight to guide them. Enala soon found herself tripping on the thin grass roots criss-crossing the trail, and cursed Jonathan’s lack of foresight. Insects buzzed around her head and flew at her face, the vicious flies biting wherever they discovered flesh. Enala swore and swatted them away as best she could.

It did not take long to reach the first fork in the trail. A left turn continued along the beach, while the right led to the base of the cliffs where Enala glimpsed a narrow staircase carved into the rock. As they drew closer, Enala saw that wind and rain had worn the stairs smooth. Someone had strung a rope through hoops hammered into the cliff-face, but there was little else to prevent them plummeting to their deaths.

At least it’s something
, she thought, fighting down her nerves.

Jonathan paused when they reached the bottom and turned back. His face was pale and sweat beaded his forehead.

“These steps are treacherous, so be careful. Halfway up we will encounter the second protection spell. It will not be visible until we are right in front of it, but it encases the top of the island in a dome of magic. Only those who carry the correct keys can enter.”

“Your bracelets are spelled to let you pass through the dome unharmed. Inside is a third protection, a maze which we must navigate together. The magic there is strange, ever changing to stop any threat powerful enough to bypass the first two traps. The bracelets may not protect you from everything,” he pulled down his shirt to reveal a gold and emerald necklace. “Nor will my amulet. We will have to work together to survive. Are you ready?”

Enala ran her fingers over one of the bracelets, feeling the small indentations the emeralds made. She nodded. “Let’s go.”

They made their way up, step by cautious step. Loose stones littered the stairs, rattling as their stray feet kicked them from the edge. After a few minutes of climbing, they were too high to hear the thud as they struck the ground below.

They continued up, clambering over branches where the scraggly trees overgrew the path. Small thorns crisscrossed the trunks and pointy leaves sliced at their skin as they squeezed between the branches.

It did not take long for Enala’s legs to start burning from the upwards march. After half an hour still the steep incline offered no pause. Enala’s lungs stung, but she pressed on. She panted along behind Jonathan, surprised by the large man’s stamina. The dim light offered no sign of the beach below, but by now it must be far beneath them.

It took another half hour before Jonathan finally came to a stop.

“This is it,” he announced.

Enala leaned against to the cliff, panting for breath as she peered over his shoulder. Her eyes widened. Ahead a transparent bubble enveloped the path. Colours swirled across its surface, while beyond the path continued, winding its way up through the ghastly trees. The bubble stretched outwards in all directions, disappearing into the sky far above.

“How high does it go?” Enala asked.

“As I said, it forms a dome around the top of the island, to ensure none can pass unchallenged,” Jonathan answered. “When we enter, you must stop on the other side. We will need to take our bearings before continuing into the maze. Even with the keys, it is designed to confuse the mind. And there are dark creatures lurking there.”

Enala stared at the barrier. “What maze? I can see the path on the other side.”

“You’ll see,” was Jonathan’s only answer before he stepped into the bubble.

Enala watched, expecting him to continue walking along the path on the other side. Instead, he vanished. Staring into the barrier, Enala bit the side of her cheek, wondering where the magic led.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped after Jonathan.

The bubble bent inwards as she entered, it’s cool surface pressing to her skin. Then a screech ran through her ears and the world spun. The barrier snapped closed and a strange wetness enveloped her body. Fighting down panic, Enala held her breath and took another step. The ground still felt solid, even as her eyes watched the world continue to spin.

Lungs screaming, Enala pressed on, unsure whether she could breathe in the strange material. Her stomach twisted and her chest strained with the desire for air, but her feet did not betray her. A heartbeat later the spinning ceased and she stepped from the wetness into the maze.

The air howled, tearing at her clothes and threatening to push her from the path. Sand or something like it whipped at her face as she tried to make sense of what she saw. Shadows spread out through a world tinted blue, some just beginning to form as others faded into the misty ether. Ahead the path splintered out in a dozen different directions, each trailing away into the ghostly landscape.

One path called to her, and without thinking she made to step towards it.

A firm hand grasped her by the shoulder. “Stop,” Jonathan whispered in her ear. “Wait. We must stick together if we are to survive. The maze is alive, and it lies. If it draws you in, you will never see the real world again. Do not trust what your senses tell you.”

Enala felt a fog enveloping her mind, slowing her thoughts. After a time, Jonathan’s words seeped into her consciousness. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “Then which path do we take?”

Jonathan raised a finger to his lips. He pointed at the shadows. They continued to shift, some growing while others shrank, but bit by bit the maze grew clearer. Through the apparitions she saw ceilings and stairwells which seemed to fold back on one another, and in places the trails led straight up walls. Her stomach twisted at the impossibilities of the maze before her.

The bracelets burned at her wrists, and some of the queerness faded away. One pathway grew clearer, though the others criss-crossed it like tangled wool.

“Do you see it?” Jonathan whispered.

“I think so,” Enala nodded.

“Good. We must take care. The magic of our keys might not last the trip. If it runs out, we will have to rely on our own cunning to escape,” he paused. “Whatever you do, do not touch the shadows that surround us. They are death. And keep quiet, we are not alone here. Dark creatures roam these corridors. It would be best if we avoided them.”

Jonathan swallowed. “Follow me,” he stepped onto the path.

Enala could not miss the fear in Jonathan’s eyes. Biting her lip, she braced herself against the wind and followed in his footsteps. She prayed his courage would hold. Whatever lurked in these shadows, she did not wish to face it alone. But she had a feeling Jonathan’s hands were not the safest in which to place one’s life.

Still, he was the only guide she had. They made their way deeper into the maze, shadows pressing in on them. Enala kept her arms close to her sides, mindful of Jonathan’s warning. Her fingers brushed across the bracelets, drawing scant comfort from the warmth of their touch.

Her thoughts turned to Eric, and whether Laurel had found him. It did not feel right to continue without him, not after they had been through so much. She had watched him die – and somehow come back to life. She thought was dreaming as Eric stumble towards her, his clothes brown with dust and lightning leaping from his fingers to join her flames. She would feel better with him at her side.

But he was not here. It was up to her to find the Sword, to bring it back to Kalgan.

Time stretched on as they passed through the strange realm. Bit by bit the wind died away, leaving silence in its wake. Not even their boots made a sound as they trod the dark path. The fog slowly returned to her mind, turning her thoughts to porridge. She kneaded her forehead and tried to focus on the true path. Jonathan walked ahead of her, his stride becoming hesitant.

With the maze all around, they did not stop for food or rest. The path led inexorably upwards, staircases and steep tracks carrying them further into the ghostly sky. The shadows drifted like clouds, moving across the path to slow their passage. Somewhere outside, Enala guessed they must be nearing the summit of the island. But the maze stretched on, endless.

“Almost there,” Jonathan whispered after what seemed like hours.

Enala grunted, too exhausted to reply. Her body ached and she had come to the end of her strength. The Magicker’s may have healed her body, but they had not restored her completely. Her stamina was gone.

A chill wind blew from behind them. The hackles on Enala’s neck stood as she smelt the stench of rotting carrion. Enala’s stomach swirled and she slowed, turning to search for the source of the deathly tang.

Behind, a beast stood on the path, its hungry red eyes following their path. Saliva dripped from its gapping maw and rows of dagger-like teeth glinted in the shadow light. Long arms reached for them, claws stretched wide. It crouched, the knotted muscles taut and ready to spring. A broad tail flicked out behind it. Jet-black scales covered its body from head to foot.

Enala knew enough of the dark tales told in Chole to recognise a Raptor. She could not fathom how one had come to be here, so far from the desert, but there was no mistaking the greed in its eyes. Moving carefully, she edged her way backwards up the path.

A shout came from behind her. She glanced back in time to see the colour flee the king’s face. Terror overtook him as he screamed again. He turned and bolted, leaving Enala for dead.

Enala swore and raced after him. Behind, the Raptor roared, turning her stomach to ice. Jonathan’s long legs quickly outpaced her, while Enala felt her strength fading with each step. Before she could catch him, Jonathan disappeared around a corner in the maze. Another roar came, right behind her now.

Goosebumps prickled on Enala’s neck and instinct shrieked for her to move. She dove, the ground rising up to meet her as a shape whistled past. Claws caught in her cloak, almost tearing it from her neck. Then the fabric ripped and the creature’s momentum carried it past.

Springing to her feet, Enala searched the shadows for a weapon. Jonathan wore a sword, but that would do her little good now. The cowardly king was long gone. Her search came up empty – this world held nothing but shadows.

And the Raptor. It had regained its feet and now stalked towards her, head bent low and outstretched, teeth glistening. Its slitted nostrils widened as it scented her. A low rumble came from its throat.

Enala backed away, fear making her heart thump painfully in her chest. She could not flee this thing, that much was clear. Nor could she fight it with her bare hands. That left only one option – magic.

Staring at the beast, Enala sought to summon her fear, her rage; anything that might bring the magic forth. The fear was easy, bubbling beneath the surface, threatening to steal away the last vestiges of her strength.

The rage followed, festering at the king’s cowardice. With his sword they might have stood a chance, might have overcome the beast. Instead, he had fled, leaving her there to die

Enala growled, anger stirring as she stepped towards the beast. It burned through her body, searing away her fears. The creature stilled, staring at her, the hunger in its eyes turning to doubt. She felt the power rising within her and made no attempt to control it. She needed it now and did not care if it wreaked havoc in this phantom realm.