The Path of the Storm (38 page)

Miro had waited until now to activate his sword, but he could wait no longer. "
Shekular
," he named the rune.

Light sped from one end of the blade to the other, searing white light that grew brighter as it approached the tip. Miro felt the sword come alive in his hands, growing lighter and throbbing with energy. He lifted his arms as his enemies came forward, snarling and letting his rage take full hold.

The closest barbarian swung first, but Miro blocked, feeling his arms take the blow and pushing back with all his strength. He saw his opponent's broadsword twist and melt where the enchanted sword clashed against it, and Miro pulled back and swung at the barbarian's face, opening up the skin under his eye to the bone. His opponent made no sound but fell back, and the second revenant came forward. Miro attacked in a flurry of blows, eager to finish the two warriors quickly. His sword sheared through this revenant's broadsword and cut deep into the creature's chest.

Yet both warriors kept going. Miro leapt forward and swung again at the first white-eyed barbarian, once more aiming for the head. The glowing blade bit deep into the revenant's neck and continued, removing his head clean from his shoulders. Miro turned to the last warrior and ducked, slashing through both of his thick legs. The revenant fell to the ground, and Miro hacked downwards to take his head off.

Miro looked around the tent. Everyone in it was dead; there was nothing for him here.

He ran back out and peered through the pouring rain. Nothing. He ran forwards until he saw the dark shapes of more tents. One was much larger than the rest. Miro's feet dug into the sodden earth as he ran towards it.

His blazing sword would draw the enemy to him, and he knew he had little time. He cut a hole in the wall of the long structure and stepped inside.

Moans and screams greeted his entrance. Several hundred prisoners had been corralled inside a pen, fenced with spiked wire on all sides and guarded by revenants. Without time to look for a gate, Miro swung down at the fence with his sword, furiously striking again and again. A revenant came at him and Miro twisted his body, taking the creature's head off with a single blow, before once again returning to the fence.

"Amber!" Miro cried. Where was she?

He finally cut the metal into molten fragments, clearing enough space for the prisoners to exit.

"Get out of here!" he shouted. "All of you, now!"

First one shot out, and then they were moving in a flood. Miro searched every face as he admonished them to run as fast and far away as they could. He couldn't see her.

When he'd scanned every face Miro turned around.

Six revenants charged him. With a roar, Miro came in to meet them.

He despatched the first with a feint and thrust to the throat, following it with a disembowelling blow to the stomach. The second exploded as Miro cut into him with three blows in quick succession. Blood and gore flew into the air, covering Miro with red. The rain made the sword slippery in his hands but he held on tightly, aware that without it he was dead.

Dancing between the snarling barbarians, he concentrated on the neck and head, slicing through a man's skull and taking another revenant's head from his shoulders. Miro's training at Blademaster Rogan's hands and the experience gained from the war gave him lightning reflexes, and his rage gave him strength.

There were only two facing him now, and he charged them both, smashing into one with his shoulder and lashing out with his sword at the second. He rolled on the ground and spun on his heel as he stood up, cutting a revenant in two. Another blow saw the final warrior go down.

Breathing heavily, Miro let his arm fall down by his side. He suddenly felt exhausted, but he couldn't stop now, not when he was so close.

"Amber!" Miro cried again, heedless now of the noise he caused.

He shielded his eyes from the rain. There, ahead — it was another of the long structures. There would be more prisoners there.

Miro ran, feeling splashes and puddles now beneath his boots. He reached his destination in moments and this time the entrance was ahead of him, two revenants standing side by side at the door.

He tore through them without thinking, letting his muscles control the sword of their own accord. Panting, he looked down, seeing two headless bodies at his feet.

"Amber!" he cried.

Miro saw another pen filled with wailing prisoners. His arms felt like lead but he smashed at the fence time and again, the enchanted blade making swift work of the steel. The prisoners ran out and Miro slumped as weariness took him, his chest heaving as he desperately tried to search the crowd, calling out her name.

He sensed motion behind him and spun, the sword coming forward.

"Miro, it's me!"

Amber looked fragile and weak, but she was alive, and she was unharmed. She held Miro's wrist, and he realised he still had the sword raised. He lowered his arm.

"I'm taking you out of here," he said.

"Look," Amber said. She held up her hand.

Miro stared at the flask she held in confusion.

"It's the cure. I have it. We can go!"

Miro grabbed Amber's hand in his left, his right hand holding the blazing sword. He took her out into the empty space between the tents, wondering which way to go.

A bright light erupted from above, blinding them.

In an instant Miro could see as clearly as daylight.

A man in black clothing stood before them. He held his hand upturned in front of him, runes glowing on his palm, and high above, an orb of pure light rose higher into the air. When he closed his palm, the ball of light stopped moving, and now was still.

Sentar Scythran regarded Miro with amusement.

He looked at the glowing sword in Miro's hand. "You're not from around here, are you?"

Amber shrunk behind Miro as he moved to stand in front of her.

"I'd like to find out what you're doing here, so far from home," Sentar Scythran said.

A necromancer in a silver robe walked up to stand beside his master.

"Renrik," Sentar said. "Instruct our minions to round up those who've fled."

"Yes, Master," said Renrik, bowing and moving away.

"Drop your weapon and come forward," Sentar said to Miro.

"No," said Miro.

Sentar raised an eyebrow. He pointed his finger and words came from his lips.

Miro pushed Amber away, diving to the side as lightning filled the space where they'd stood. He rolled on the ground and a blast hit the earth behind him, tearing a steaming chunk out of the sodden dirt. He twisted and weaved, rolling and ducking, each movement bringing him closer to the Lord of the Night.

Miro screamed as his sword came up and he prepared to lunge, his every being burning with the desire to end this man's life.

Sentar leaped away and pointed again with both hands, this time away from Miro.

Bolts of twisting lightning poured from his fingertips.

Miro's eyes followed the stream of blue energy as it bathed Amber in its destructive power.

She screamed, the most terrible sound Miro had ever heard. Writhing in pain, still on her feet, she twitched and shook and her clothes began to smoke. As Amber's hair caught fire Miro cried out and held his arms out, lowering his sword.

Sentar dropped his hands. The lightning vanished.

"Enough?" he said, looking at Miro.

Miro watched as Amber crumpled to the ground. Her legs trembled, quivering, the only sign she was still alive, and the blessed rain soon ended the flames in her hair.

Miro threw down his sword and fell to his knees. He looked again at Amber. "No more," he said, though his mind was filled with hate. "Don't hurt her."

The Lord of the Night walked towards him. Miro looked up into the ice-blue eyes, and then without warning the man's clenched fist came forward, snapping Miro's head back. Indescribable pain rocked him to his core; the blow was inhuman in its strength. Blood poured from Miro's nose and mouth as he spat out a tooth.

"Yes," said Sentar Scythran. "I thought so. You're as weak as all your kind."

Miro fell down to the ground, his face landing in a pool of water and the blood from his face mingling with the mud. Looking up, he saw men in grey robes come forward.

"Take him, bind him. Destroy the sword. And also… ensure the woman is the next one raised. Choose one of the more painful ways for her to die, and when she is brought back, send her to me. I'd like to see the expression on this man's face when his mate is made to kill him."

"Please…" Miro gasped.

Sentar bent down until his face was close to Miro's. "What are you doing so far from home, little human? We'll soon find out, won't we?"

36

T
HE
I
SLE
of Ana was a long strip of rock in the Tingaran Sea, five days sailing from the coast. It lacked a deep harbour, and the only means of approach was a tiny cove with a crumbling jetty, providing meagre protection from the buffeting waves. With few resources and little importance the island was rarely visited.

The late Emperor Xenovere found a purpose for the Isle of Ana, deciding to send convicts from Tingara. The men and women who were taken to the island never saw home again.

A deep chasm divided the Isle of Ana roughly into northern and southern halves. The southern half was the larger section and possessed the pier, as well as several clusters of rude huts. The convicts lived here, entirely unsupervised, making the best of their situation. Vegetable gardens scattered the landscape and a few goats rollicked on the craggy hills, seemingly unaware of the precipitous drop to the ocean below. Most of the convicts were old men, their crimes long forgotten by the society they'd left behind. Escape was impossible.

Once, a bridge had crossed the chasm, connecting the northern and southern halves of the island, but it had been intentionally destroyed, more than twenty years ago. Before the Emperor's men had done so, they'd built a house of wood and stone on the northern tip, resting against the side of a hill on a small plateau with an unparalleled view of the sea. They then carried tools, building materials, some animals, seeds, and provisions to the newly built house. Their prisoner and those of her retinue who had volunteered to join her crossed the bridge. Only then was it destroyed, leaving the northern section of the Isle of Ana completely isolated, from land as well as sea.

Lady Alise was now over fifty years old. She had lived on the northern end of the Isle of Ana for nearly half of her life. Two gravestones marked where her gardener and his wife were buried, and only Marlow, her manservant, and Tara, her maid, remained. There were two other smaller houses a few minutes walk from Alise's own house, but only one was occupied. Tara and Marlow weren't married, but they had lived together for the last three years.

Alise stared out to sea, thinking back to the events that had brought her here, as she often did. The wind blew strong in her face, so that her brown dress clung to her slim form and her long dark hair twisted in the ocean breeze, only occasionally flashing a thread of grey.

She knew she would never have survived without those who had volunteered to join her in exile, but even so she'd begged them not to come. They had begged her in return, and in the end Alise couldn't say no. She'd been convicted of treason. They knew a dark fate may await her them at the hands of her brother, back in Seranthia.

More than anything, Alise thought about the son who had been taken from her. He would be a man now, perhaps a farmer or a craftsman — if he'd managed to stay clear of Xenovere's clutches. She didn't expect to ever leave the Isle of Ana, but she would give anything to know about him. Killian had been just a babe when they'd taken him from her, and she had no illusions that he would remember his mother. His infant features had been rounded and immature but Alise knew he would have his father's red hair and penetrating blue eyes. After the death of her husband she had loved the babe more than anything in this life. Now she would never know about the man he'd become.

Alise jumped when she felt a touch at her elbow. Turning, she saw it was Marlow, her manservant. He was old now, and eventually it would be his turn to join the others under the gravestones, far from home, but his eyes were still sharp and he hunched only a little. Alise loved him dearly, and dreaded the day when he would be gone.

"M'lady, my apologies, I didn't mean to startle you."

Alise turned and smiled. "You don't need to apologise. My mind was elsewhere."

"There's a ship."

Alise's eyebrows went up in surprise. "Are you sure?"

"Look." Marlow pointed, and then Alise could see it. It was only a speck on the horizon, but the white triangular shape of a sail was clear, and it grew closer as they watched.

"Four years it's been," Alise said, "and the convicts haven't had a single newcomer. I was beginning to think they'd forgotten about us."

"Who knows what's transpired in the Empire?" Marlow said.

"Not that we'll ever hear anything of it. There's much I would give for some news. Still, it's probably for the best. Better that we forget about them."

Marlow shaded his eyes as he peered at the ship. "I'm not so sure about that, M'lady. Something tells me this isn't another load of prisoners."

~

M
ARSHAL
Beorn scratched at his beard as he saw the craggy Isle of Ana loom larger in his vision. From his approach he could see the chasm that split the island into two halves.

"What a terrible place to live," he muttered.

Beorn sensed movement nearby, as a man dressed in Tingaran purple joined him at the rail. "Murderers, thieves, and rapists, all of them, Marshal," said Lieutenant Trask, the man who led Beorn's escort.

"I'll wager there's more than a few political dissidents. Why didn't anyone tell us about this place?" Beorn asked.

"You didn't ask."

Beorn scowled at the Tingaran lieutenant. "That's not good enough."

Trask shrugged. "They're self-sufficient, and they've been put here for life. Better they spend their days here than fill our jails and take up the time of our courts."