Eclipsing the Darkness (The Dragon Chronicles Book 5)

by Shawn E. Crapo

  She was a goddess—his goddess—and he had murdered her.

  Garret closed his eyes as a choking feeling rose in his throat. He clenched his teeth, fighting the urge to let his rage loose. He breathed in and out forcefully, desperately trying to stifle his anger.

  It was not your fault, Garret, the Great Mother spoke. I know this, Eamon knows this, and Siobhan knows this.

  “How can you be sure?” he asked. “There was so much betrayal in her eyes.”

  She was dying, my child. It was not betrayal. It was fear.

  “I failed her.”

  No. She knew at that moment what had happened. She knew that it wasn’t your doing. She knew… you did not murder her.

  Garret wept then, covering his face with his hands in shame.

  Garret, if this pain is too much for you to bear, I will take it away.

  “No!” he shouted. “No! It is my pain. It is mine to bear, and mine to cherish.”

  You needn’t go on this way. You have done all that I have asked. Your mission is over. You may come home now.

  “I am home,” he replied, sitting up. “At least until this is over—until Akharu is dead and the Lifegiver is gone. Then I will be ready to move on. I must make amends.”

  When you are ready, call upon me and I will bring you home. Until then, accept this gift from me. It will aid you in your quest.

  Garret looked down at his boots as a warm feeling spread over his feet. As he watched, the sigil of queen Siobhan—a dove—appeared on the ankles of each boot. It was gray in color, and shone with the faint glow of Earth energy. Garret smiled, standing.

  May this gift speed your way, my child.

  Garret moved forward, standing on the edge of the cliff. Below, the valley stretched eastward toward the sea. Somewhere out there, he knew, the final battle was coming. He would join when the time was right. But now, his first priority was clear.

  He must destroy Akharu.

  Garret gazed out over the landscape below, looking for a good place to land. It was quite a distance, but not too far that he couldn’t see the details in the dim moonlight. Holding his arms out, and closing his eyes, he leaned forward. With a quick breath, he pushed off the cliff, gliding down into the shadows below.

  Maedoc sat hunched over the Dragonstone in his make shift study. Traegus had provided him with a private room in which to commune with the servants of the Dragon, and the seer was now in communication with Khalid. From the expression on the priest’s face, Maedoc could tell his need for counsel was urgent.

  “Has something happened?” he asked.

  Khalid’s face came clearer as he spoke. “There was an assassin at Tel Drakkar earlier this morning,” he said.

  “An assassin?” Maedoc repeated. “From the Brotherhood?”

  “It was a demon. He was apparently after a man who is currently in our care.”

  “Who is this man?” Maedoc asked.

  “He is named Jax,” Khalid replied. “He is an innkeeper whose business was just to the north of Tel Drakkar.”

  “Why was this assassin looking for him?”

  “Jax came to us after an encounter with the same assassin a day earlier. He was wounded with a dark blade; one that left a festering hole. I assume the demon came to finish him off.”

  Maedoc leaned back, contemplating the news. There was already one mysterious assassin lurking the kingdoms. But it was one that had been helping the resistance behind the scenes. He wondered what this new assassin’s purpose was. The fact that Khalid described him as a demon was unsettling.

  “What did this assassin look like?” he asked.

  “He looked like a demon,” Khalid said, shrugging. “He was red, with black hair and glowing red eyes. He was dressed in strange armor that appeared to change shape as he moved.”

  “Did he say his name?” Maedoc asked.

  “He did not. But I got the strange feeling that he is here for reasons other than a simple innkeeper. He is a demon—I know this—and demons do not concern themselves with simple innkeepers without a reason.”

  Maedoc nodded in agreement. “I will commune with what sources I can,” he said. “As you know, the Dragon is currently unavailable, and possibly dead. If I find anything useful, I will contact you.”

  “Thank you, my friend. In the meantime, a small force of soldiers would be appreciated if this demon decides to return with his cohorts.”

  “Very well,” Maedoc replied. “I will dispatch a company of rangers immediately.”

  Khalid bowed his head, smiling. “Excellent!” he said. “Please send Jhayla’s company. I hear she is quite the feisty one. I would love to meet her.”

  Maedoc chuckled. “She’s young enough to be your daughter, Khalid,” he said. “And feisty she is. You would be wise to take care around her or she’ll put you in your place.”

  “She wouldn’t be the first,” Khalid joked.

  “I will speak with Adder as soon as I can,” Maedoc said. “He will no doubt be willing to assist you.”

  “Very well,” Khalid replied. “I will await their arrival. Take care, my friend.”

  Maedoc smiled, covering the Dragonstone with a silk cloth.

  The seer contemplated the situation. The news of the assassin was grave, indeed, and there was definitely the need to send troops to help protect Tel Drakkar. He would need a messenger to do so, however, and messengers were scarce at Southwatch. Perhaps a Druaga, or maybe…

  Titus!

  “Ah, yes!” Maedoc exclaimed. “Fleet of wing and discreet as they come.”

  He left his quarters to find Traegus, whistling as he sought out his friend.

  Gentle night winds caressed Allora’s face as she and Aeli sat cross-legged in the forest nearby. The Alvar’s eyes were closed, and she breathed in the scent of the forest with a content smile. Aeli was glad for her. The mage had spent an eternity on a dead world, and an even longer time trapped in limbo before finally being freed.

  And it was all because of the druids of Eirenoch. For that, Allora was thankful.

  She leaned back, opening her eyes to see Aeli looking up at the stars. She could feel the woman’s spirit; almost as if it was reaching out from her body. This was an amazing thing to feel for the Alvar. It was a characteristic that told her how closely Aeli was connected to the world around her.

  Perhaps she could help Aeli increase this connection somehow.

  “I have met many humans during my travels, Aeli,” she said. “But none so attuned to their world as you and Farouk.”

  Aeli turned to rest her head on her hand, propping herself up on her elbow. “Jodocus the Elder saw my connection with the Earth, and helped me to understand how to use it. But without Farouk’s guidance, I may never have fully realized it.”

  “Farouk is a great druid, somehow in tune with spirits even higher than your Great Mother. You, however, are right at home, as I presume you always have been.”

  Aeli nodded. “I never knew that my inherited abilities were that of a druid,” Aeli explained. “Neither did my mother, or her mother before her.”

  “Surely they must have known something about them was different,” Allora suggested. “After all, your mother and grandmother lived much longer than their peers.”

  “And so have I,” Aeli replied, smiling. “I am much older than Farouk. But the higher powers chose him for some reason.”

  “Because they know you belong here,” Allora said. “You have been selected to protect this land. The spirits themselves chose you to follow in the footsteps of your teacher. They still speak his name, but they speak highly of you as well.”

  Aeli smiled. “And someday, Jodocus will take my place.”

  “Perhaps,” Allora said. “But I have the feeling that he is destined for something else.”

  “Like what?”

  Allora pursed her lips. “Farouk spoke of a great blending of fabrics of time and space,” she began. “But he reasoned that if Theia’s spirit could be used to restore the balance of
both our worlds, then the Great Mother would be able to rest for a time and rebuild her strength naturally.”

  Aeli nodded.

  “But,” Allora continued. “While she sleeps, there must be those who remain awake on this world to help with the restoration. I believe that Farouk, Traegus, Jodocus, and possibly some others we have not met will be those people.”

  “And what of Maedoc?”

  Allora’s eyes saddened. Aeli knew the answer to her own question. Maedoc would grow old and die as any normal man would. He would live longer, however, since he had the Dragon’s blood in his veins, another lifetime, perhaps. But, ultimately, his fate was the same as any man’s.

  “It will be a sad day when he passes,” Aeli said finally.

  “It will. He will be missed by his family.”

  “And what of the people?” Aeli asked. “When the Great Mother sleeps, what will become of them?”

  “I do not know,” Allora said. “When that time comes, I imagine Farouk or Jodocus will have the answer. I am sure you will have some part to play, if the fates allow you to remain for that long.”

  Aeli nodded, accepting that there were no answers for now.

  “Tell me something, Aeli,” Allora said, changing the subject. “This Onyx Dragon, King Eamon. Tell me about him. What kind of man is he?”

  “He is a great king,” Aeli replied. “He is very much like his grandfather, who was also known as the Onyx Dragon. Eamon inherited his honor, and his bravery.”

  “Maedoc told me how much he loved the queen, and the man who helped to raise him.”

  “That was Garret,” Aeli said. “The former king’s assassin and protector of Siobhan herself.”

  Allora sighed. “And he also told me of the tragedy of Siobhan’s death.”

  “Yes, a tragedy indeed. Eamon has taken it very well, though I know he is torn apart on the inside.”

  “His strength is great, then,” Allora said. “If he can still lead this battle with such a heavy heart, then he is a great king. I shall like to meet him.”

  Aeli smiled. “You will,” she said. “For now, we should return to Southwatch. The night brings unsavory characters.”

  The shaman watched the two women from a distance. His heart was laden with guilt and grief as he did so, seeing the two lovely creatures laugh and smile. It was a beautiful sound; one that he missed greatly. If only the guilt would go away, he could enjoy their laughter more.

  Allora, he saw, was still just as beautiful as she was thousands of years ago when the shaman first saw her. It was her beauty that had driven him mad, and weakened his will enough to allow the Lifegiver to take his soul. Under his influence, the shaman did terrible things to her. Things he was now ashamed of, and that would haunt him for the rest of his existence.

  He must make amends… if he could.

  But, he knew, she would never forgive him, or even give him a chance to atone for what he had done. He would spend eternity regretting the harm he had caused such a beautiful creature and her people.

  He sighed, knowing in his heart that he would never be able to face her. But he would make amends in a different way. He would atone for his sins without her knowledge. He would help their cause—her cause—until his end. Perhaps then she would forgive him. Perhaps then she would look upon him as a good man, and not the beast he was born.

  With a heavy heart, Torak wept into the night.

  Chapter Three

  “Land!” the lookout shouted.

  Eamon peered into the night, seeing the multitude of campfires that were crowding the shore of Thyre. He smiled as he counted them, seeing hundreds—if not thousands—of tiny fires in the distance. There were armies camped there, lying in wait for the sons of the Firstborn to lead them to victory.

  “Full sails!” he shouted as the knights gathered around him. He looked to either side of his ship, seeing that Ulrich and Hamal were both at the bows of their own vessels. Hamal raised his sword as he looked back, and Eamon nodded his head. Ulrich stood motionless, chewing on an apple, tugging on his beard.

  The time was near.

  “There must be a thousand fires there,” Brianna exclaimed.

  “I was not expecting so many to be assembled already,” Eamon replied.

  “Do you think Cannuck is there?” Wrothgaar asked.

  Eamon nodded. “I know he is,” he said. “He is now the son of Kronos. I can feel his presence.”

  Wrothgaar grinned in anticipation of meeting the High Jarl for the first time. Angen patted him on the back, but that smiled never left his face.

  “I’ll prepare the men to disembark,” Angen said, staring after Wrothgaar as he walked away.

  “I wish Fergis were here,” Brynn said. “He would be happy to see such a force assembled in the name of freedom and honor.”

  “He would,” Eamon agreed. “And Kuros, as well,” he added, looking at Daryth.

  Daryth smiled. “Yes, he would,” he said.

  “We should announce our arrival,” Azim said, holding up his bow. “Shall I do so?”

  “Make our presence known,” Eamon said.

  Azim pulled back his bow, aiming it to the sky. He released a flaming arrow into the clouds. It burst into a blazing storm of fireballs that lit the sea with its beautiful orange glow. Far off to the shore, others fired flaming arrows into the sky in welcome.

  “Come, my friends,” Eamon said. “Let us man the boats.”

  Tregar and his men stood along the shore, watching as the ships approached in the darkness. He had seen their signal and ordered his men to return the greeting, and now awaited their arrival. Aboard the countless ships, he could see their torches bobbing up and down as they crested the waves. There looked to be fifty or more vessels, and who knows how many men aboard.

  What a formidable force they will make.

  “Mael,” Tregar commanded. “Prepare for their arrival. Send word to Cannuck that King Eamon has come.”

  Mael bowed, disappearing into the throng of gathered warriors. In the distance, boats were lowered into the water as the ships made anchor. Behind, a fleet of transports sailed through them. They would make landfall and let their occupants off directly onto the shore.

  “The Lifegiver will be shaking in his boots,” a soldier said, prompting laughter from Tregar’s troops.

  “If he even has boots,” another said.

  As the boats came into view, Tregar unsheathed his sword and held it in the air. His army did the same, and the collective shouts of the men were heard echoing across the water. Then, with a surge of froth and roiling sea, the strangest vessel Tregar had ever seen suddenly surfaced.

  The ship looked like a giant lobster with a row of jagged spikes along its dorsal edge. As it bobbed on the surface of the water, Tregar and his men stood wide-eyed and frozen. A portal opened at its top, and a dark-skinned, smiling man poked his head through. He was dressed in silk clothes; brightly colored and embroidered with intricate designs. He wore a round turban of golden silk, with a ruby centered on its crown. His face, friendly and wise, was adorned with a long beard, and a mustache that was curled at the tips. Both were impeccably trimmed.

  “Well met,” he said, waving his right hand.

  Tregar returned the gesture, still frozen as the ship walked its way up the shore to settle into the sand.

  “Am I seeing things?” he asked a soldier near him.

  “If you are, sire, then I am too,” the man replied. “In which case, I would suggest more ale.”

  “King Tregar, I assume,” the dark man said as he vaulted down to the sand. He was followed by five other men who disembarked in the same fashion. “I am Jadhav, the Raja of Pashir; the rightful one, of course.”

  Tregar held out his hand in greeting. “I am Tregar. It is a pleasure to meet you, Jadhav.”

  Tregar’s men gathered around Jadhav’s vessel, examining it and pounding on its surface. Jadhav chuckled as he watched. “This is my ship, the Videsh. One of them anyway.”

  �
�Quite a remarkable vessel,” Tregar said. “I have never seen anything like it.”

  “Indeed. Come, let us greet King Eamon and Prince Hamal.”

  Wrothgaar and Angen jumped into the water to tug the small boat onto shore as it reached a shallow enough depth. They were greeted by hundreds of soldiers that had gathered to witness their landing, and the eager men crowded the surf to assist in beaching the boats. Jadhav immediately appeared, accompanied by a well-dressed, but brutish-looking man of the west.

  “Eamon,” Jadhav began the introductions. “This is King Tr—“

  “Tregar!” Wrothgaar shouted, grabbing the man by the shoulders. Tregar returned the gesture with a wide smile.

  “Wrothgaar, my friend!” he said. “It is good to see you again. You made it off the island, I see.”

  “Ah yes,” Wrothgaar replied. “No thanks to you.”

  The two men chuckled, turning to Eamon.

  “King Eamon,” Tregar said, extending his hand in friendship. “It is an honor to meet the Onyx Dragon. It is you who inspired all of us to fight.”

  “Thank you,” Eamon said. “I am glad I could be an inspiration. There is someone else I want you to meet. Hamal!”

  The prince made his way through the crowd of men to the small group of nobles. Eamon beckoned him to join them, introducing him to Tregar.

  “This is Hamal of Khem,” he said. “The rightful heir to the throne. Hamal, this is King Tregar of Thyre.”

  Hamal and Tregar shook hands, acknowledging each other with a slight bow of their heads.

  “I heard of your mission to liberate the island prison,” Tregar said. “Very impressive. I had wanted to liberate that island for years, but for my father…”

  “It was Imbra’s wish,” Hamal said. “And the rewards were great. There were many good men imprisoned there.”

  Tregar nodded. “Yes, there were. Thank you for your bravery. You are a credit to your people.”

  Hamal smiled. “I thank you for your words,” he said. “And I thank you for not condemning my countrymen for the actions of an insane demon.”