Hector's Arc

Chapter 4 of 6

The butterfly flew fast now, and Hector struggled to keep pace. It led him off every road he knew. Grass gave way to red stone. The ground rose into raw mountain, cut by deep canyons. Twice the trail split, and twice Hector guessed wrong and lost the tiny wings in shadow. His heart pounded each time. Lose the butterfly, and he lost the sword. He forced himself to slow down, to watch its silver light, and to follow only where it flew. The butterfly dipped into a narrow gap between two boulders. Hector squeezed through and stopped cold. Below him spread a vast pit carved into the mountain. Forges glowed red across the depths. Orc tents lined the ledges. This was Vulcan, the realm of the orcs, built around a great burning forge. He did not belong here. One shout from a sentry would end him. But the butterfly drifted down toward a heavy fabric tent, where smoke curled from a working forge inside. Hector climbed down and crept behind a stack of rocks near the tent. The butterfly settled on a wooden ledger board by the entrance, then went still. Its light faded to nothing. This was the place. Hector's breath caught. He slipped inside while the smith's back was turned. Tools hung on every frame. Coals glowed on the anvil. Behind a crate, wrapped in old cloth, something gleamed. He pulled the cloth away. A sword of polished gold lay there, its hilt carved with fine work. Arcemis's blade. He had found it. Then voices came near the entrance, and Hector froze. He pressed flat behind the crate. Two figures entered. The first was a huge orc in runed armor, a skull at his belt, a red blade in his fist. The other was slim and pale, in a black coat lined with red, his eyes burning like coals. Hector's chest went tight. He had seen those eyes in his dream. The Demon of Vaphos, the thing that hunted the Light in him. "The crown is nearly yours, King Algar," Vaphos said, smooth and low. "Lumera's throne will fall. I only ask for one boy in return." Algar bared his teeth. "The heir with the glowing hands. Bring me his head, demon, and the deal is struck." Vaphos smiled and offered his hand. The orc gripped it. Hector's hands began to glow. He clamped them under his arms, but the gold light leaked between his fingers. Vaphos's head turned. "That smell," the demon whispered. "He is here." Hector grabbed the golden sword and ran. He burst through the tent's back seam into open canyon. Behind him, Algar roared and horns blew across Vulcan. Hector held the blade tight and climbed toward the gap in the rocks. He had the sword. But now the orc king and the demon both knew his face, and every warrior in the mountain hunted him.