They all knew the truth. With the last of their Magickers gone, it would not be long before Archon came now. And when he did, there was no one left to protect them from his wrath. They would be helpless before his magic.

  In contrast, the enemy had drawn strength from the sight, and attacked now with renewed fury.

  Bit by bit, the defenders gave ground before the enemy. Inken struggled against the pull, surging forward again and again, drawing the boldest of the defenders with her. But one by one they fell around her, and others no longer stepped up to replace them.

  The enemy numbers swelled, the weight of their bodies forcing her back. Her sword flashed like a living thing, an extension of her own body that lanced out to slay the black tide before her. But now she hardly had space to move, and one step at a time she retreated with Caelin towards the stairs.

  She glanced at her friend and caught the desperation in his eyes. A blade lanced for his throat and she threw up her sword to deflect it. Caelin shook himself and took another step back, nodding his thanks.

  Then they were at the stairs and there was no choice left but to turn and flee. Her sword heavy in her hand, Inken grabbed Caelin’s hand and spun, leaping for the first step. The bigger man came after her, and together they raced after their retreating comrades.

  Ahead of them defenders streamed across the field between the walls, churning the ground to mud beneath their boots. Inken gasped as beasts jumped down from the ramparts overhead, landing without trouble despite the height. Raptors raced after the defenders, leaping high to land on the backs of fleeing men. Their weight drove them to the ground as the razor sharp teeth flashed out to tear chunks from their helpless victims.

  Inken’s heart lurched with fear as they reached the ground and joined the fray.

  “It’s a rout!” Caelin’s voice carried over the screams of the dying.

  All around them their people were being slaughtered as they ran, falling to the claws of the beasts and arrows from the enemy atop the wall they had just lost. And every second more of the enemy reached the ramparts above, adding their weight to the slaughter. A crash came from nearby as a battering ram slammed into the gates.

  Inken could hardly find the will to run. Her eyes scanned the scene, staring at the slaughter as though she were apart from it, as if this were happening to someone else. Another crack came from the gates as the wooden beam holding them shattered. Then a fresh wave of enemies poured into the fight, rushing through the gateway to join the slaughter.

  She looked at the third wall and the scant defenders atop its ramparts – those few who had obeyed their orders and remained at their posts. The gates stood open, just a hundred yards away.

  So close, but so far.

  Even so, they had to try. Steeling herself, Inken charged into the fray, dragging Caelin with her. Her sword licked out, catching the enemy fighters as they stood and hacked at the fallen defenders. Guilt clawed at her soul as they ran past their injured comrades, their desperate screams chasing after them. But there was no time to save them – it was everyone for themselves now.

  Staring ahead, Inken fixed her eyes on the open gates and prayed they could reach them in time. But even as the thought came the wooden doors began to close, swinging in towards them. A cry of despair came from the men around her as others picked up speed, desperate to reach the relative safety of the third wall.

  The strength fled Inken’s legs as she staggered to a stop. The gap between the gates quickly closed, shrinking to a thin sliver through which a few stragglers managed to slip. She stared at the wall, her gaze catching on the eyes of the men above. Caelin drew to a stop beside her, his shoulders slumped, despair carving deep shadows beneath his eyes.

  Side by side, they turned to face the oncoming enemy, swords raised in defiance. The other defenders gathered around them, forming a thin wall in the middle of the field. Shoulder to shoulder, they watched the black tide sweep towards them. Claws shone and fangs flashed in the mouths of the massive felines as the enemy charged.

  Then a boom came from the wall behind them and Inken spun. The gates were opening again and those nearest the gates were throwing themselves to the side. From beyond came the rhythmic thump of hooves on the hard ground.

  Inken’s breath caught in her throat as the first of the horsemen appeared. They rushed through the gateway like a river from a narrow gorge, the red horses of the Plorsean cavalry. At their head rode King Fraser and Elton, a wicked joy on their faces as they charged at the enemy. Lances pointed, they raced past the survivors of the second wall and plunged into the unsuspecting enemy. Caught in the open, beast and man alike fell to their steel-tipped lances.

  A cheer rose up from the men atop the third wall as the Plorsean cavalry turned and charged again, crushing the enemy as they tried to reform beneath the shelter of the second wall. Pressed in on themselves with the stone to their back, they died by the hundreds.

  Beside her Caelin gave a whoop of joy, raising a fist in triumph. “They made it!” he turned and lifted Inken off her feet. Swinging her around, he shouted again. “They made it!”

  Inken joined his laughter, but reason quickly returned as he lowered her back to the ground. They had lost the second wall, and the Plorsean cavalry could not change that. Their turn of fortunes would not last long. Already the enemy was forming up again, gathering atop the wall. Arrows rose up from the ramparts to fall on the Plorseans and several horses crumpled in the deadly rain.

  “Come on,” she shouted back. “Let’s go.”

  Together they stumbled towards the open gates.

  *************

  Archon strode across the burning ground, the flames dying at his touch. The body of the dragon lay nearby, its last pitiful gasps echoing from the walls of the fortress behind him. He ignored it; its death was of little concern. He had eyes only for his ancestors now. Jurrien had vanished, but he would deal with the wily God soon enough. For now, he was preoccupied with his magic, with the dark threads of power he had wrapped around the two Magickers, binding their souls to their broken bodies.

  They lay beside each other on the icy ground, their arms outstretched, almost touching. Their legs and arms lay at awful angles, their bones shattered by the impact. In normal circumstances their hearts would have already given out, but Archon refused to give them the satisfaction of death. His magic washed over them, holding them to life.

  The Sword of Light lay nearby. Smiling, he reached down and lifted it from the ground. Light flashed from the blade and then died away. Shaking his head, he moved to Eric’s side.

  “Such a curse,” he whispered, staring at the blade. “If only I had known.”

  Leaning down, he placed it in the boy’s hand. The light flashed again and a groan rattled up from Eric’s broken chest.

  Archon smiled, sensing the flow of God magic streaming from the Sword into Eric’s undefended body. It would not take long to take hold, to crush the feeble resistance of his soul and gain dominion over his body.

  Moving away again, he recovered the Soul Blade Enala had wielded.

  “My sweet daughter, please, accept my gift,” his voice was hard as he reached down and placed the blade in Enala’s hand.

  “No,” the groan came from the girl’s torn lips, but his magic kept her unconscious.

  Her back arched as green light flooded from the Soul Blade. He grinned, watching as it took hold, burning through her veins to cast off the feeble remains of her magic.

  Turning away, he walked to the dragon and sat on its broken head.

  Smiling, he waited for his Gods to be born.

  Twenty Three

  Enala groaned as sensation came rushing back. To her surprise she felt no pain, but even so the sudden return to reality was overwhelming, her whole body throbbing with the shock of her return. Biting her lips, she forced herself to open her eyes.

  “What?” she whispered, unable to comprehend the sight that greeted her.

  There was nothing. No burning sky or broken dragons, no Fort Fall, no Archon. Only empty white, stretching out to eternity without so much as a shadow to break the nothingness. She lay amidst that emptiness, alone in oblivion.

  Standing, Enala looked around, mouth wide as she struggled to come to terms with her surroundings. She shuddered, knowing she could only be dead, that her soul had been sent to the otherworld. Her breath caught in her throat as she thought of spending eternity in this place, alone but for the memories of the world she’d left behind. She would surely go mad.

  “Where am I?” she breathed, tears burning in her eyes. This could not be happening, could not be the end.

  Her words echoed out across the void and returned to mock her. She groaned, reaching up to cover her ears, her eyes, anything to deny the reality around her.

  “You are in the spirit realm,” Enala jumped as a girl’s voice spoke.

  Heart pounding hard in her chest, Enala spun, the hackles on her neck rising in warning. She gasped as her eyes found the girl behind her, and if anything, her heart beat faster.

  Antonia stood before her, her violet eyes pinched with sadness. She wore the same lime green dress as in the vision Archon had shown, and her auburn hair hung limp about her shoulders. A pale glow seeped out around her, staining the whiteness of the void an emerald green. Enala stared into the ancient wisdom hiding in the depths of her eyes, unable to find the words to speak.

  “Hello, Enala,” Antonia gave a sad smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  “I… I… How are you here?”

  Antonia reached out, drawing Enala into her arms. “You put up a brave fight, Enala.”

  Enala shuddered and sank to her knees, the comfort of the Goddess doing little to warm her despair. “We lost,” she whispered.

  “You did better than any of us could have ever imagined,” she squeezed Enala tight and drew back. “I’m sorry...”

  Enala looked away. “I thought we had him there, at the end.”

  “You almost did. I wish I could have given you the strength to finish him, but Eric’s soul was not strong enough to cope with the God magic pouring into his body. It burned him, body and mind, until he could hold on no longer. Our magic was never meant to be used by mortals.”

  “What will happen now?” Enala could not keep the despair from her voice. “To the others, to Inken and Caelin and May, all those soldiers in Fort Fall?”

  “You will kill them all,” Antonia murmured.

  A shiver ran down Enala’s spine. “What?”

  “Archon has done as he promised. He is holding your body to life and has put the Soul Blade in your hands. That is why I am able to come to you. But even as we speak, my power is flooding your body, taking it for its own. This time you will not have the strength to take it back, Enala.”

  “No, no, no,” Enala wrapped her arms around her chest. “I have to wake up.”

  Reaching up, she twined her fingers through her hair and pulled. The fragile strands tore from her scalp, sending pain shooting through her head, but it did nothing to change the void around them.

  “There is no fighting it, Enala,” tears watered in Antonia’s eyes. “Your body is broken. Were you to wake, even for a second, the pain would drive you insane and the God magic would take you anyway.”

  “Then what?” Enala leapt to her feet. “Do we just sit here and watch? Watch as I slaughter every man and woman in that fortress? Watch as the light fades from the eyes of my friends?”

  Enala stalked across to the tiny Goddess, rage burning away her despair. She wanted to kick and scream and fight, anything but sit here as helpless witness. She could not bear it, could not sit back as the God power destroyed everything she had fought for. There had to be something they could do.

  Antonia bowed her head, refusing to look her in the eye. “There is something,” she murmured.

  “What?” Desperation made Enala bold. Reaching out, she grabbed the Goddess by her dress, dragging her close, forcing Antonia to meet her gaze. “What can we do?”

  Tears spilt from Antonia’s eyes. “I promised I would never ask again,” she tore herself loose of Enala’s grasp and turned to stare out into the empty whiteness. “Not after last time. I cannot do it.”

  Enala hesitated, shocked by Antonia’s grief. She approached slowly, placing a hand on her shoulder. “What is it, Antonia?”

  Antonia turned, misery in her violet eyes. “To ask someone to make the ultimate sacrifice. To ask you to give me your body and allow me to be reborn.”

  Enala staggered back as the dreadful truth of Antonia’s words rang in her ears.

  “No,” she breathed, staring at the Goddess. “You can’t ask that; you can’t make me.”

  Antonia shook her head. “I would never. It is your choice, Enala, yours alone.”

  Groaning, Enala spun, searching the void for some escape. But there was only the emptiness, the relentless nothing of the spirit plain. Despair clung to her soul, and she wrapped her arms around herself again, desperate for comfort. She longed for one last moment in reality, to breathe in the scents of the forest, to ride on a dragon’s back one final time, to find comfort in the arms of the man she loved.

  Gabriel.

  Enala closed her eyes, feeling again the pain as she realised his sacrifice. Now Antonia had asked her to make the same choice, to give away her life so the rest of the Three Nations might survive.

  “What will it be like?” she asked at last, her voice no more than a whisper.

  “You will feel no pain,” Antonia’s words were laced with grief. “For a time… your soul would remain, bound with mine. But eventually…” her voice broke, “eventually it would succumb. Your being would be enveloped by me, become a part of me, and you would be no more.”

  Enala took a deep, shuddering breath, summoning the last dredges of her courage. Looking up, she found the violet glow of the Goddess’ eyes.

  “Do it.”

  *************

  Light. Brilliant, shining light, everywhere Eric looked. He spun, searching for a break, a single flaw or contrast to offer some hint of reality. But there was nothing – only the never-ending nothingness.

  Finally, he abandoned the search. Releasing his breath, he sank to the ground, still struggling to come to terms with the reality around him.

  “What is this place?” he breathed.

  What had happened, there at the end? They had been so close, so close to destroying Archon’s darkness. If only he could have held on a few moments more, if only he’d had the strength. But the white fire had swept through his body, flooding every crevice of his mind. It burned at his soul, tearing at his every thought, his every memory. Even now he struggled to put the pieces of the battle together.

  Jurrien’s voice had been whispering in his mind, images flashing through his thoughts, leading him into the depths of the Sword of Light’s power. He had seen then what he had to do, how to use the magic of the Light to bind Archon’s power.

  And it had almost worked. Deprived of his dark magic, the Phoenix had lost its form and been trapped within the tempest of Jurrien’s magic.

  But the power of the Sword had been too much, and Eric’s soul had finally given way before its all-consuming flame. He’d found himself falling, his magic crumbling to dust as the Light overwhelmed him.

  Perhaps that was why he found himself here in this empty domain.

  Eric looked up as a distant thud echoed through the void, the sound like a rock dropped on a tiled floor.

  Or the thud of heavy boots.

  Another thud followed, and another, coming close. A tingle spread down his spine as he spun to search the void anew. Heart pounding in his chest, Eric pulled himself back to his feet. He stared into the white, searching for the first hint of danger, half-expecting Archon to appear from some hidden crevice.

  Instead he was met by the image of an old man. Lines of age streaked his face and his skin hung from his cheeks in paled bags. Thin white hair grew down to his knees, its wiry lengths fading into the emptiness around them. He wore grey robes of rough fabric, but came unarmed, his empty hands trembling as he walked. A faint glow came from the man and his white eyes were filled with sadness.

  “Eric,” the man rasped, his voice as soft as falling snow. “It is nice to finally meet the man beyond the veil.”

  A tingle of recognition ran through Eric and for a second he thought of his mentor, Alastair. Sadness filled him, but he knew this was not his tutor. This man was far older, his age beyond counting.

  “Who are you?” he asked, a creeping suspicion rising in his throat.

  The old man sighed, sadness sweeping across his face. “I am Darius.”

  The name tolled in Eric’s mind, ringing like a bell through his memories as he looked on the face of the God of Light. He recognised him now, though the man seemed to have aged far faster than his siblings.

  A sickness curled through Eric, a violent anger at the spirit standing before him now. The God of Light had abandoned the Three Nations centuries ago, and in his absence the power of Archon had grown to fill the vacuum.

  “Where have you been?” Eric hissed, unable to control his rage. “What are you doing here, now, after a thousand lives have been lost, when the war is all but done? Why?” he all but shouted the last word.

  Darius closed his eyes, the wrinkles on his forehead knotting with pain. “You do not understand,” his eyes opened again, catching Eric in their ancient depths. “I have been here, Eric. I have been here all along.”

  Eric found himself frozen in the God’s gaze. “What do you mean?” he growled. “Where are we?”

  “We are in the spirit realm, in a portion of it twisted by Archon and trapped within his Soul Blade,” Darius paused. “His very first Soul Blade. I believe you call it the Sword of Light.”

  “No,” Eric staggered back, his heart freezing in his chest, unable to believe the words. He shook his head. “No…”

 

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