The three nations box se.., p.15
The Three Nations Box Set, page 15
part #1 of Three Nations Series
Moving faster than thought, Eric left behind the deathly peaks. Below the land turned from arid rock to thriving forests. As he moved beyond the deserts touch, the sickness shrivelled and died, replaced by the warmth of life.
Then the land too gave way, replaced by the dark waters of the ocean. A storm raged around him now, the howling winds driving great waves to batter the rocky coast. Trees on the windswept land bent beneath the hurricanes onslaught, and the air was filled with torn branches and flying leaves. Precious rain poured down on salty seas.
Again, Eric drew on his memories of the night in the desert. The magic had formed hooks and lines to gather the power of the storm. He would do the same.
The black clouds around him glowed blue in the light of his magic. Willing hooks to form, he flung them deep into the storm, and directed the lines of his power to wrap their way around the clouds. Wisps of the storm slipped from his grasp and raced away, but Eric kept on, determined to succeed.
Finally, he summoned the power at his core, and started to pull. With a boom of thunder, the storm began to move. Lightning flashed and the wind howled louder as it struck the land and picked up speed. Leaving behind the ocean that had born it, it raced across the forests of Eastern Plorsea, following Eric’s silent command.
But as the jagged peaks loomed, the storm stalled, and Eric felt an invisible barrier pushing back against him. Gritting his teeth, he drew on more magic and pressed harder. Energy crackled as he poured his strength into the bonds holding the storm, willing it onwards.
A sharp screech echoed from the mountains, and sparks leapt across the sky. Lightning flashed again, and with a dull boom, the storm shot forwards, wheeling onwards towards Chole. Eric sensed something crumbling, as though a barrier had been shattered, but his strength was fading, and he felt the distant pull of his body drawing him back.
For a second he lingered, watching the storm as it continued towards Chole.
Then with a sudden rush, the weight of his body returned. Opening his eyes, he made to sit up, before tendrils of agony wrapped around him. With a groan, he lay back on the bed, embracing the pain.
He had faced the beast, and survived. Nothing was beyond him now.
Sleep beckoned, and he welcomed it with open arms.
“Thank the Gods!”
Eric jerked awake as a voice shouted out, quickly followed by a door slamming. Blinking sleep from his eyes, he looked around and saw Alastair stalking towards him. The old man towered over the bed, his face dark with rage. Reaching down, he grasped Eric by the shirt and hauled him from the bed.
“What did you do?” Alastair yelled.
Eric gaped, fighting for breath as the collar of his shirt bit into his neck. His mind was sluggish with sleep, and he struggled to understand what Alastair was saying. “Wh… what?”
“What? You damn well know what! You summoned your magic!”
A strange calm settled over Eric as he looked up at the old Magicker. He had no idea how Alastair had found out, but he did not regret what he’d done.
“I had to do it, Alastair,” he said softly. “Or the fear would have overwhelmed me. But how did you know?”
Alastair shook his head, his expression grim. Gently, he set Eric back on the bed. “Every Magicker in the city would have sensed what you did. All magic is entwined, Eric, and such a massive expenditure of power sent shockwaves across the city. When I felt it… I thought the worst had happened.”
Eric stared up at the old man, seeing the dark rings beneath his eyes, the hard set of his jaw. Alastair was exhausted, worn down by the last few days, and Eric had only added to his anxiety.
“Sorry,” he said at last.
Silence fell between them then, and Eric heard then the pattering of raindrops from the roof. Looking across at the window, he saw water running down the glass. He grinned as a weight fell from his chest.
“You took a terrible risk, Eric,” Alastair spoke softly. “You have no idea the destruction you could have caused…”
Eric turned to meet Alastair’s gaze. “I know, Alastair. I’ve lived with the fear of what I might do for years.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“Because I had too. What happened in the desert, it unmanned me. I was terrified of what lurked inside me. If I had let that fear fester, it would have destroyed me,” he took a breath. “And I knew I could make a difference here, could do something good for a change.”
Alastair closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. Eric waited for him to argue, but the old man only shook his head, and smiled. Reaching out, he placed a hand on Eric’s shoulder. “You did well, Eric. The people of Chole will celebrate this day for years to come. I only hope it lasts. Jurrien tried to do the same thing a century ago, and failed. But perhaps Archon’s curse has weakened with time.”
“I felt something, when the storm crossed the mountains. Like something shattering.”
Standing, Alastair moved to the window and looked out into the street. “I’m glad you succeeded, Eric. I’m glad you mastered your fear. But this is just the beginning. Your magic is a fickle beast, and it will never stop trying to take control. Please, please, refrain from using it without me,” he paused. “How are you feeling now?”
Eric slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. His arms ached with the movement, and he could feel a cramp beginning in his calf. “Not the best.”
“You probably emptied your pool of magic, maybe even used some of your own lifeforce. You need to be careful with what you attempt – even magic has its limits, Eric.”
Nodding, Eric put a tentative foot on the ground and stood. He winced as agony shot up his leg. Stumbling forward, he clutched at the desk for support. Closing his eyes, he sucked in a breath and then looked at Alastair. “I might need a bit more sleep.”
Alastair chuckled. “You need to restore your strength,” he glanced out the window at the gathering darkness. “We should probably shift to a new inn, after the beacon you just sent out to the other Magickers in the city.”
Eric groaned and Alastair laughed again. “But you’re in no condition to go anywhere. We’ll have to risk it. If anyone wished us ill-will, they would probably have arrived before me. I was on the other side of the city when I sensed you.”
“What were you doing?” Eric asked without thinking, his curiosity getting the better of him.
“Speaking with Elynbrigge.”
Eric’s heart clenched. “He told you where to find the family you’re searching for?”
“Yes,” Alastair smiled. “I will go to them tomorrow.”
“Then take me with you,” Eric insisted.
Alastair frowned. “Why?”
“Because I want to help,” Eric said carefully. “You’ve done so much for me, Alastair. I want to help make it up to you.”
Alastair fell silent, and Eric waited, his breath held, expecting the old man to refuse. But finally Alastair nodded. “Okay. But you will need to obey me without question. I do not expect trouble, but if anything happens, I need to know you will do as I say.”
Eric nodded as Alastair’s emerald eyes fixed on him. “I will, Alastair.”
“Excellent, then let’s get something to eat. You will need your strength tomorrow.”
A low growl came from Eric’s stomach, and he nodded grimly. Grinning, Alastair took the lead, moving out into the corridor and down the stairs to the inn below. Eric stumbled after him, using the walls and railings on the stairs as support. His whole body throbbed with each beat of his heart, as though he had spent the afternoon in a meat grinder, rather than lying on his bed. Halfway down he almost gave up, but then the rich scent of meat wafted up to him, and somehow he found the strength to make it the rest of the way.
A boisterous clamour of sound washed over them as they entered the inn. Eric stumbled to a sudden stop in the doorway, unable to believe what he was seeing.
In the far corner of the room, a band was playing. Two guitars, a cello and a set of drums filled the room with vibrant, joyous music. Someone had pushed the tables up against the walls, making way for the city’s revellers. People packed the room, dancing and hugging and laughing as water dripped from their soaking clothes. Pints of beer and glasses of wine were raised high as people spun to and fro in rapturous ecstasy.
Alastair took the lead, threading his way through the crowd to where a few empty tables remained near the far wall. Eric sighed with relief as he slid onto the bench, and watched as Alastair disappeared back into the throng. He prayed the old man had gone for food. Sitting back, he stared at the chaotic dance floor, struggling to comprehend the scene. The reserved people of Chole had been transformed by the rain. Eric couldn’t help but grin at the sight.
It took a quarter of an hour for Alastair to return, a plate of steaming food held in each hand. He placed them on the table and disappeared again, returning a few minutes later with two flagons of ale. The music was too loud for conversation, so together they dug into the food. Eric wolfed down the roast pork and potatoes, only pausing every few bites to wash the food down with ale.
When his plate was empty, Eric sat back and belched. “Thanks, Alastair, I needed that,” he shouted over the din.
Alastair chuckled as he wiped gravy from his beard. “My pleasure.”
Before Eric could respond, the door to the street swung open with a bang. Rain spilled into the room, whipped about by the swirling wind. People laughed as they stumbled back from the door, allowing two men to move inside. Lightning flashed as the door swung shut behind them, catching on the steel hilts of the swords they wore on their belts. Their eyes swept the crowd, and settled on the table Eric and Alastair were sitting at. They moved across the room with purpose, parting the crowd before them.
Alastair rose as the two approached. The two drew to a stop in front of them, their expressions unreadable, though neither made to draw their swords.
“Was it you, Alastair?” the older of the two asked.
He wore the purple robe of a war Magicker. Beneath his collar, Eric glimpsed the faint gleam of chainmail. His bald head shone in the light of the torches, and a wiry moustache hung beneath his long nose. He regarded Alastair with a cool stare, seemingly unaware of Eric’s presence.
Alastair ignored the question. “Who are you?”
The man who had spoken turned out his hands. “Forgive me. My name is Balistor. I am a Magicker of the Plorsean army. We have met once before, though I doubt you would remember.”
“And you?” Alastair addressed the other man.
Straightening his shoulders, the man offered Alastair a salute. He was not a large man, but his arms were finely muscled, and he moved with the subtle confidence of a warrior. He too wore chainmail, its links clearly visible beneath his scarlet tunic. The faintest trace of stubble marked his chin, but otherwise he was well-kept, his brown hair cropped short.
“Sergeant Caelin, at your service. It’s an honour to meet you, sir.” He offered his hand to Alastair.
Eric was impressed. Sergeant was a remarkable rank for someone who looked not much older than twenty. Though what had brought two men of the Plorsean army to the little inn still confused him.
Caelin’s tawny green eyes flickered to Eric and he held out his hand. “And who are you?”
Eric stood hesitantly. “I’m Eric, Alastair’s apprentice.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Caelin replied.
“So, was it you, Alastair?” Balistor interrupted their exchange.
“The rain, you mean?” Alastair smiled. “No, that was Eric.”
Now both men turned to stare at Eric, and he suddenly found himself wishing he had never left the room. Dropping his eyes, he studied the tabletop, doing his best to ignore the shock in their eyes.
“Was there something you needed, gentlemen?” Alastair said after a moment.
“Quite the opposite,” Balistor smiled. “We are here to help you.”
“What makes you think I need your help?” Alastair said blankly.
“King Fraser sent us,” Caelin spoke over Balistor. “He told me who you are searching for, said Antonia came to him in a dream. I was sent to offer my aid, along with Balistor here. When Balistor sensed the magic earlier, we guessed it might be you…” Caelin trailed off as he noticed the look on Alastair’s face.
“That little Goddess needs to learn when to keep her meddling to herself,” he cursed, then shook his head. “So, why do I need the two of you?”
Eric glanced between Alastair and the two soldiers. What was so important about this family, that the king of Plorsea had decided to get involved?
Caelin bowed his head. “All I can offer is my sword, Alastair. I have served the king for many years, and put my life on the line for this nation. I will do the same for you.”
Balistor snorted. “Which of course counts for little when you’re surrounded by Magickers. King Fraser chose me for my magic, Alastair. I am a master of fire,” he spoke with a pride bordering on arrogance.
Eric watched the two closely, wondering at their story. Why would King Fraser only send two men to help Alastair, if his quest was so important?
Alastair questioned the men for some time, somehow making himself heard over the music and the crowd. Eventually Eric slumped back in his seat and laid his head on the table, too exhausted to pay further attention. He had heard their story – it was up to Alastair to judge the truth behind it. After all, he was the one with all the answers.
Finally Alastair seemed to accept their story. He sent them away to restock their supplies and together Eric and Alastair returned to their room. Eric fell onto his bed before the door had even closed, his eyes already drooping. Sleep weighed heavy on his mind, but he rolled onto his side and flashed one last glance through the window.
Outside, the rain continued to pour down on the Dying City.
Gabriel stared at the ancient walls. Rain bucketed down around him, running over his face, washing the tears from his eyes. Holding out his hands, he watched the water wash the blood from his fingers.
Shivering, he looked down at the body. The guard lay sprawled at his feet, Gabriel’s dagger embedded in his throat. Blood still pumped from the wound, staining the ground red, but slowing already. Glassy eyes stared up at him, unblinking. A final tremor went through the man, and then he lay still.
Gabriel could not tear his eyes away from the man’s face. Just a few seconds ago, he had been a living and breathing person. Now he was a corpse, his soul fled, his life extinguished.
What have I done?
He was in your way, the wolf growled.
Gabriel shivered. In my way? He was only doing his job.
He looked at his hands again. The blood was gone, but the guilt could not be washed away so easily.
He was a murderer.
What have I become?
What you must. Now come, before we are seen, the wolf padded ahead, disappearing into the tunnel through the wall.
Straightening, Gabriel followed the beast, the guard forgotten. His purpose came crashing back, the image of an old man flickering across his thoughts.
They must die. They must suffer for... for...
He paused midstride. “What did they do to me?” he whispered into the night.
It doesn’t matter. The old man must die.
Gabriel nodded. His wolf was right.
The old man must die.
16
Eric shivered as the rain poured down around him. Water gushed from the rooftops in an endless torrent as they moved through the streets of Chole. He was thankful for the cloak Alastair had given him, though even the thick oilskin was not enough to keep the damp from seeping through.
Alastair took the lead, threading his way through the crowds of revellers dancing in the streets. The arrival of morning had not deterred them. Soaked to the skin, they continued to dance into the new day.
Eric smiled as he watched them, taking pleasure in their ecstasy. Ahead, Alastair strode confidently through the flooded streets. At each corner he would glance back, checking Eric was keeping up, before moving on. Eric did his best to keep up with the pace the old man set, though his legs ached like he’d just run ten miles.
It took half an hour in the rain soaked streets to reach their destination. From outside, the house looked like any other. Thin cracks spread through the white-washed walls, and water ran from the tiled roof down into the long-dead garden. Its walls pressed up against the neighbouring buildings, leaving no passage through to the rear, while a thick steel door barred the front.
Alastair stopped at the door and banged on the knocker to announce their presence. Then they waited, huddling beneath the tiny eaves to escape the rain. After a minute, Alastair knocked again, but it was clear from the silence inside that no one was home.
Frowning, Alastair leaned across to peer through the barred window.
“Maybe they’re out?” Eric ventured.
Alastair shook his head and continued to stare through the glass. Eric shifted on his feet, glancing back at the street, feeling suddenly exposed out in the open.
Then Alastair took a step back from the door and raised his arm. Eric’s ears popped as he felt something sweep past, and then a shrill shriek came from the metal door. He spun to face it, and watched as the steel buckled and flew backwards off its hinges. Eric stared as Alastair strode forward through the hole it had left, his sword now in hand.
He shook himself awake as Alastair disappeared inside and glanced around, but no one seemed to have noticed the disturbance. Then he quickly moved after his mentor. Stepping over the twisted remains of the door, he peered into the dark corridor, his heart beating in his ears.
A crash came from farther inside, and he stilled, listening for Alastair’s voice. After a moment he pressed on, his hands balled into fists.
He sensed movement from the door at the end of the corridor, and moved towards it. Another crash came, and slowly he drew the dagger from his belt, unsure what waited in the room beyond. Taking a breath, he stepped around the corner…
