Firestorm (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 2) Read Online Free

man was going to bite off more than he could chew sooner or later,” he spoke the words with venom. “But I never thought he’d bring Antonia down with him.”
    Eric struggled to his feet. “Alastair had nothing to do with this, whatever this is!” he argued. “The demon was your responsibility, yours as well as Antonia’s. It should never have stepped foot in Plorsea in the first place.”
    The Storm God stepped forward until only an inch separated them. He towered over Eric, his muscular stature no less intimidating for his silver hair. Eric looked into his eyes and saw the depth of power and wisdom there. He found himself remembering his first encounter with Antonia, the light hearted Goddess of the Earth. The fight went from him as he realised the meaning behind Jurrien’s words.
    “Are you saying she’s gone?”
    The God’s eyes softened. His shoulders slumped. “I don’t know. This has never happened before. I can always sense her, even those rare times when we sleep. But now – nothing. I need to find out what has happened,” he waved a hand as he spoke.
    The wind ceased with a sharp snap. The sails slumped and the rocking of the ship slowed, released from the violent grasp of the waves. The crackle of lightning around Jurrien died away, until he seemed to be just an ordinary man. A man weighed down by worry, one teetering on the brink of defeat. The last God standing.
    Eric prayed it was not so. “She was with us last at Malevolent Cove. She headed into Dragon Country on the trail of the demon.”
    Jurrien nodded. “Okay. I will follow her path. I just hope I am wrong,” he turned and walked to the railings. With a grunt he levered himself over the side. A gust of wind caught him as he fell, propelling him into the sky.
    Eric released his breath and looked around the ship. Jurrien’s appearance had left the wooden boards at the prow of the ship burnt and blackened, and a part of the sail had torn loose in the wind. The rigging hung in a tattered mess. Crates and supplies lay strewn across the deck, broken free by the raging waves and wind. Several barrels bobbed in the ocean around them, slowly drifting away. The creak of straining wood came from the mast.
    His companions stood nearby, their clothes wet, faces bedraggled. They stared at him in shock, but one by one they moved to stand with him. Inken placed a reassuring arm around his waist, while Caelin grasped his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Michael only nodded. There was no sign of Enala. Together they looked across the deck to where Captain Loris stood amongst his spoiled supplies.
    Slowly the crew gathered around Loris, voices whispering as they glanced in his direction. Eric recognised the look on their faces all too well – the mixture of terror and rage. Blame would soon follow, and – if they did not put the mutinous glances to rest – violence. He sought out the young sailor he had spoken to earlier. His heart sank when he found the man and saw the hate in his eyes.
    But for once his magic had not been responsible for the havoc, and he did not intend to suffer the consequences.
    Eric took a step forward. The captain opened his mouth to stop him, a purple vein popping on his forehead. Eric spoke over the top of him. “Well, I hope you all enjoyed your first meeting with Jurrien, the God of Lonia. He’s not much for introductions, apparently.”
    His words had the desired effect. A shiver went through the crew and the captain’s words died in his throat. These were Lonian sailors after all, which made Jurrien their God. Eric had never been to Lonia, so he was not sure how the people generally regarded the Storm God, but he doubted they were likely to argue with someone on speaking terms with him. Even if his conversation with Jurrien had largely revolved around dire threats on the God’s part.
    At last the captain drew in a breath and bellowed. “Okay, back to work everyone. I want this ship ready to sail within the hour,” he