Stormwielder (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 1) (25 page)

Inken nodded and pulled Eric to his feet. They re-joined the others.

Caelin rose and slapped him on the back. “Welcome back to the world of the living, my friend.”

“I’m glad you’re healed,” Michael offered.

Eric returned their greetings, noticing Enala still sat hunched by the fire. Her face was steel and her eyes did not seem to have registered him at all. He moved across to her and held out his hand.

“Hello, Enala. My name is Eric, it’s nice to finally meet you,” he introduced himself.

There was no response. Frowning, he turned to the others.

Antonia answered the unspoken question. “Enala has retreated from the world, from the pain. It will take more than magic to bring her back. But that is a worry for tomorrow.”

Silence fell. Despite his recovery, grief still hung over them. He looked at the miserable band, filled with a chilling anger. He forced it down.

Antonia stood. “I should leave now. The demon must be found and destroyed.”

“Wait! What do we do now?” Michael asked.

“You put your dead to rest. Use the boat, he always liked the idea of a burial at sea.”

Eric climbed to his feet. “Stay, Antonia. You knew Alastair better than anyone. Say your farewells with us. Besides, you’re exhausted.”

Antonia gave a sad smile. “I have already said my goodbyes, Eric. And the demon must be stopped, before it finds more power. But I will leave you each with a farewell gift.”

She raised a hand. Light seeped from her skin. It crept to Caelin first, his burns vanishing at its touch. The rings beneath his eyes faded away. Then the light spread, to Michael, and Inken, and finally Enala. Only the girl did not seem to notice her bruises healing.

They raised their hands in farewell. Antonia vanished into the forest.

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

Alastair’s emerald eyes stared up at him. His skin was grey, devoid of life. Eric could not bear to look at him. His thoughts turned inwards, to remember the man Alastair had been. The man who had laughed with him, who had offered silent comfort against his despair. The man who had told him of his magic and protected him from its darkness. Most of all, he remembered the man who had been his friend.

The wisps of his grey hair and beard blew on the gentle ocean breeze. The wrinkles of his face had receded, restoring his lost youth. He looked to be at peace. Yet Eric’s heart was breaking.

Inken stood beside him, offering her silent comfort. The others ringed the black skiff in which they had placed Alastair’s body. Caelin, who had killed the traitor, and Michael, who had helped Eric save his mentor just a few days ago.

Eric’s eyes burned. He reached down and squeezed Alastair’s cold hand. His heart ached. It was hard to convince himself this was not still some horrible nightmare. Alastair was dead. During the short time they had known each other, the man had carried him through so much. He had bestowed on Eric the gift of knowledge, the ability to control his magic. Not once had he asked for anything in return.

He felt the debt all the same. Alastair had given his life in the fight against Archon. It was up to them to carry on that fight. He would not rest until the Three Nations were safe again.

For now though, it was time to say goodbye.

Eric stepped up to the black skiff. His eyes brimmed as he placed his hands on the hard wood. The tears spilt, running in torrents down his face. Inside he was breaking, but he had a job to do, final words to say.

He looked down at his mentor. “Thank you, Alastair, for all you have given us. Farewell.”

His grief broke free and he began to sob. He started to push all the same, his friends stepping in to help. The skiff crunched on the sand and into the ocean. There the fierce currents took hold. There were no waves tonight, but the water lapped at the sides. It drifted out into the bay.

Inken notched an arrow to her bow and lit it in the fire. Her hands shook, but they steadied as she drew back the bowstring. Firelight sparkled in her damp eyes. She loosed.

The arrow arced out across the waters, a tiny shooting star. It fell, striking Alastair’s final resting place. The wood and tinder they had stacked the boat with blazed into light. Flames reflected off water and heaven.

No one spoke. Eric felt an arm around his waist. He looked to Inken, saw his grief reflected in her eyes. They stood and watched, offering one last silent farewell to the great man.

“What now?” Inken whispered.

“We live.”

Antonia yawned, her eyelids beginning to droop. She shook her head, fighting the fatigue. She walked on with hands outstretched to brush against the vegetation as she passed. The trees leaned towards her, branches and vines reaching out like arms to embrace her. The thick tree trunks groaned. Their voices whispered in her head, told her their story, of the demon’s passage. It would not escape.

Her pace slowed as the chase stretched on. The day had taken its toll and all she wanted now was to rest. The call of sleep beckoned. The thought scared her; she had not needed to sleep in decades. She could not afford to now.

Antonia pressed deeper into the forest. Feeling her weakness, the trees offered their own strength. She took a drop, but with winter coming, she knew they had little to spare.

The demon had not stopped to recover from its battle. She had already covered miles and her prey still showed no sign of stopping. The forest was broken and battered from its passing. The trees whispered of the demons pain. The dragon had hurt it badly. That would make her task easier.

Her bare feet caught on a rock, sending her tumbling to the ground. Cursing, Antonia sat up. This method of travel was far too time consuming for her liking.
If only I could rest!
She closed her eyes, just for a moment, gathering her strength. Her spirit was weary, her limbs lethargic.

Her thoughts turned to her brother, Jurrien. She wondered how he was coping after their ordeal. He possessed a greater stamina than her own, though he had borne the brunt of Archon’s initial assault.

She let out a long breath, bracing herself to push on. Yet sleep still beckoned, so tempting, so needed. She relaxed again, wriggling sideways so her back was against a tree. She would rest for an hour and push on when she woke. The demon would not get far.

Her breathing slowed and her thoughts began to drift. She slept.

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

The demon watched from the shadows. He wondered how long the Goddess had been sleeping. It had taken him most of the night to circle back and morning was fast approaching. He had to act quickly.

He slipped forward, smiling in anticipation. Archon’s plan had worked better than they could ever have imagined. The Goddess herself had come after him, and she was exhausted in both mind and magic. The battles of the last few days were too much, even for her. She should have rested before giving chase. The mistake would cost her dearly.

Silent as death, the demon slid between the trees. Antonia slept on. He pulled one of the
Soul Blades
from its sheath and drew closer.

The Goddess’s chest rose and fell in steady succession. Her magic had shrunk to a dim spark, fluttering with each breath. The
Soul Blade
would pierce both easily. Smiling, he raised the sword.

Antonia’s eyes flickered open. Her mouth opened in shock. The blade flashed down. It met a second’s resistance as the God magic rose to defend her, but the black magic sliced through like butter. The blade slid home.

Antonia screamed, stiffening against the cold steel. Her eyes widened, her fingers clawing at the
Soul Blade
, cutting on the sharp edges. Her legs thrashed, unable to reach him. Her body fought to heal itself, but with the sword in place the magic could not save her. Light flashed from her body, burning his eyes. Each flash quickly died, sucked into the dark depths of the
Soul Blade
.

The Goddess’ struggles began to weaken. Her hands were bloody from their fight with the sword, her dress turned red. She screamed again, as though the sound itself could move him. The demon drunk her pain, savouring the taste, the sweet essence of her fear. 

Slowly her magic began to fail. Powerful as she was, the God magic could not sustain her mortal body forever. Her struggles grew feeble, her fingers slipping from the blade. Her emerald eyes stared into his, her chest heaving with tiny gasps. He could feel her magic raging against the swords power, fighting him with every inch of her will. He held on.

At last, her eyelids slid closed. A final breath hissed between her teeth and the Goddess of Plorsea gave herself over to death.

Her spirit went screaming into the
Soul Blade.

HERE ENDS BOOK ONE

OF

THE SWORD OF LIGHT

TRILOGY

Authors Note:

Thank you so much for reading my first novel Stormwielder, I hope you enjoyed it! If you have the time, please feel free to leave your opinion of the book in the review section of
Amazon.com
.

For news about my adventures and my progress on the next book in the trilogy, be sure to subscribe to my blog at:

www.TheSwordofLight.Wordpress.com