Eclipsing the Darkness (The Dragon Chronicles Book 5)

by Shawn E. Crapo

  “With any luck,” Tregar said. “When they are free, they will be good men once again.”

  “Has Cannuck arrived?” Ulrich said, approaching the group. “He owes me a flagon of ale.”

  Tregar laughed. “Cannuck is in the mead hall. I will take you all to him.”

  Ulrich winked at Wrothgaar, who smiled knowingly. “Of course he’s in the mead hall. He knew I was coming.”

  Cannuck sat amongst a group of men around a large fire that raged in the open aired mead hall. He and a few other high-ranking warriors were seated on large kegs that were arranged in a semicircle. All around them, the warriors of the north, and of Thyre, listened to their tales and laughed out loud at their jests.

  It was a pleasant atmosphere of brotherhood and camaraderie that warmed the hearts of the new group of men that entered. All around, men of different lands talked and laughed with each other as if they had been friends their whole lives. It was a sight that gave hope to all who entered.

  “Cannuck!” the King of Thyre shouted.

  Cannuck stood when he saw Tregar return with his new friends.

  Eamon looked upon him for the first time with awe. He was a giant of a man; big as an ox, built like a barrel, and as rough as any man he had ever seen. The stories he had heard of Cannuck, the High Jarl of the Northlands, had done him no justice. He was truly a god amongst men.

  Ulrich approached him first, kneeling in respect as the High Jarl placed his hand on his head.

  “Ulrich, my brother,” Cannuck greeted him. “Stand now, Jarl of my wayward tribe.”

  Ulrich stood, and the two men knocked heads, bursting out into roars of laughter. Wrothgaar followed Eamon, eager to meet Cannuck for the first time as well. He unknowingly began to kneel as his father did, but Cannuck caught him up by grasping his upper arm.

  “Stand up, boy,” Cannuck growled. “The Onyx Dragon is your king now. You disrespect him.”

  Ulrich smacked Wrothgaar on the back of the head, prompting both Jarls to burst into laughter again. Wrothgaar chuckled, red-faced and slightly confused.

  “King Eamon,” Cannuck, grasping Eamon’s hand with a fist that was twice as meaty as his own. “You have the look of your grandfather. A great man he was.”

  “Yes, he was,” Eamon replied. “I wish he were here to join the battle.”

  “I am sorry to hear about your mother,” the Jarl continued. “She was a great Queen from what my men say.”

  “She was my inspiration. I strive to be as good a ruler as she was.”

  “Eamon is a fine king,” Ulrich complimented him. “Just as strong and tenacious as Siobhan ever was.”

  “Well then,” Cannuck said. “Let’s fetch these boys some ale!”

  The allied kings sat together at a large wooden table a short ways away from the roaring fire. A cloth canopy was set up above them, and squires and pages served them ale and freshly cooked meat. The Knights of the Dragon remained among the other warriors, sharing tales of valor and forging new friendships. Of particular interest to the army was Brianna, who spoke as one of them, and whose tales were just as heroic and bloody as the rest. Even the female fighters of the north were eager to make her acquaintance.

  “I see your lady knight is making friends,” Cannuck said. “She is impressive. She is much like the women of my lands.”

  “She is a formidable swordsman,” Eamon replied. “And a renowned archer, as well.”

  “She is from Eirenoch?”

  “The daughter of Lord Galen of the former Southern Kingdom,” Eamon replied.

  “Ah! A noblewoman with a blade and a bow,” Cannuck exclaimed. “Now that is impressive. How did you come to choose her as a knight?”

  Eamon finished chewing a mouthful of meat, then washed it down with a swig of ale. “Her father’s estate was under attack by a force of Jindala that they had lured out of a nearby city. We charged in to help them, and that is when I saw her battle prowess. I was impressed with the savagery she displayed in battle. She was every bit as brutal as any man I had ever seen. I wouldn’t fight her myself.”

  Cannuck chuckled. “That is good,” he said. “She will fit in well with my Valkyries.”

  “You are in command of divine warriors?” Eamon asked.

  “Kronos gave me their swords when he appeared to us in battle,” Cannuck replied. “I will call upon them when they are needed.”

  Eamon nodded. He looked forward to seeing them, if the need arose. “I hear Kronos has also named you as his son.”

  “Odin,” Cannuck replied. “That is what he called me.”

  “I hadn’t noticed before,” Ulrich said. “But where is your son, Thorgil?”

  “Thorgil fell in battle,” Cannuck said. “He lives in Valhalla now.”

  Ulrich grunted. “No doubt he took many enemies with him.”

  “The worst of them. A creature of darkness that drew the life from everything around it.”

  “Defiler,” Hamal said. “Vile beasts.”

  “Not all of them,” Cannuck said. “My friend Farouk says they are simply a perversion of a gentle species that the Lifegiver enslaved.”

  Eamon was surprised to hear Farouk’s name. Though he knew the druid had traveled north, he did not know that he had met Cannuck. “You met Farouk then?” he asked.

  “I did. He is a great man, and a great druid. He was a needed ally; not only for his help freeing our father, but by his blade and his blood as well.”

  “His blood?” Hamal asked. “Was he wounded?”

  “Yes,” Cannuck said. “But he was healed. I meant for his bloodline, though. He fathered a child with a tribal shaman. A woman named Silka.”

  Eamon furrowed his brow. “Does he know this?”

  Cannuck nodded, but said nothing.

  “Hamal has been named the son of Imbra,” Jadhav added, breaking the silence.

  “That is an honor,” Cannuck said. “What did he call you?”

  “Ardumak,” Hamal replied. “It means redeemer in my language.”

  He stood, pulling Mahaguratu from its scabbard. Cannuck gazed upon it with awe, impressed with its craftsmanship. “That is a fine blade,” he said.

  “The Soul of the Sands,” Hamal replied. “Forged by Imbra himself, at the same time he forged the Sword of Sulemain. They are brothers.”

  “And you slew one of the Enkhatar with that blade?”

  “Yes,” Hamal said. “At the island prison. The other was slain by a mysterious man who appeared from nowhere. He seemed to be helping us liberate the prison, as if someone had sent him for that specific purpose.”

  Eamon froze, knowing that Hamal spoke of Garret. Tregar seemed interested, and he had apparently encountered the man as well.

  “What did this man call himself?” Tregar asked.

  “We did not speak to him,” Hamal said. “But Eamon believes he knows who he is.”

  “Scorpion,” Eamon said.

  Tregar’s eyes widened when he heard the name. “You know him?” he asked.

  Eamon nodded. “He is Garret, my mother’s bodyguard and former assassin for my grandfather. He has been working for the past year in the service of the Great Mother. I would not be surprised if every nobleman among us has encountered him.”

  “No, it couldn’t be the same man,” Tregar said. “This man was much too young to have served your grandfather. He was not much older than I.”

  “Sire!” a shout came from among the warriors. “An army approaches from the south.”

  Tregar stood, beckoning the other kings to follow him as he raced out of the mead hall.

  A group of warriors was gathered on the crest of a south-facing knoll, spears and swords out. Tregar mounted the crest, staring down into the shadowy valley below. Marching forward, chanting in an unknown language was a multitude of dark-skinned men. Those in front were dressed only in loincloths and armed with spears, the others in eclectic armor that had been scavenged from countless battles.

  “Men of Anwar,” Jadhav said. “F
ierce warriors, they are.”

  Eamon watched them grow nearer, becoming more visible as they approached the raging fires. The faces of the men in front were painted like skulls, and their dark bodies bore the scars of many battles, and many years of torture under the enslavement of the Jindala.

  The dark men stopped as a booming voice gave the order to do so. With one stomp, the warriors became as still as statues. From within the lines, a large man appeared, as dark and fearsome as the rest.

  “Tregar of Thyre!” he shouted, his voice deep and commanding.

  Tregar stepped forward, followed by the rest of the kings. “I am here,” he shouted back.

  The dark man started forward, walking with confidence and a regal stride. When he came within a few yards, he unsheathed his great curved sword, placing its blade down into the ground, and stopped.

  “I am Mekembe,” he said. “I have assumed kingship of Anwar and have brought my people and our blades to fight at your side.”

  Tregar stepped forward, holding out his hand. Mekembe smiled as he grabbed it.

  “Welcome Mekembe,” Tregar said. “We welcome you all.”

  Mekembe boomed with laughter as the other kings gathered around to greet him. Tregar introduced each of them in turn, and the new king was pleased to be among friends. He turned to his men, who waited patiently for his orders.

  “At ease, men!” he shouted. “Come, meet your new brothers!”

  Chapter Four

  Adder gazed at the metallic dragon curiously as it knelt before him. From a gem between its eyes, an image of Maedoc appeared, floating in midair in front of him. The ranger found it amusing, but stifled the grin that threatened to destroy the seriousness of the situation.

  “Khalid has requested a small detachment of rangers to be present at Tel Drakkar in the upcoming days,” Maedoc said. “There was a strange visitor yesterday whose origins are unknown and there is now a need for increased security to protect the pilgrims of the area.”

  “Do the roads to the temple need guarded?” Adder asked. “Or is there need for more swords at the temple itself?”

  Maedoc furrowed his brow in question. “Good point,” he said. “Your troops are better suited for guarding the roads and the surrounding forests than for outright battle.”

  “We would be happy to do so,” Adder said. “But the Mordumarc are more equipped to handle guarding the temple itself.”

  “The Mordumarc are currently leaderless,” Maedoc said. “With Brynn away, they are on leave. I will ask Faeraon if he could lend some of his troops.”

  Adder nodded. “Tell me of this stranger Khalid mentioned.”

  “It was an assassin,” Maedoc said. “One of demonic origin.”

  Adder scowled. “That is not good,” he said.

  “No doubt,” Maedoc replied. “In the meantime, keep watch. And if you run across this assassin, do not engage him. I have the feeling that he is after someone in particular.”

  “Who?”

  “He claims to have been seeking an innkeeper under Khalid’s care,” Maedoc said. “But I think he has a more significant target in mind.”

  “King Eamon?”

  “That is a possibility,” Maedoc replied. “However, I believe the Lifegiver has sent him for another purpose; to eliminate another assassin who is working with us behind the scenes, so to speak.”

  “Ah yes,” Adder said, remembering the conversation he had with Erenoth. “Our friend tells me he thinks it’s Garret. And from what I’ve heard, the name Scorpion has come up on several occasions. That was Garret’s moniker, was it not?”

  Maedoc chuckled. “Nothing gets past you, does it, Adder?”

  “Not much. Until we know for sure, I will remind the rangers to avoid this assassin and concentrate on any other threats. Faeraon’s troops would be happy to fight anything… divine, I’m quite sure.”

  “Good,” Maedoc replied. “Good luck to you, and stay out of trouble.”

  “Always,” Adder said with a grin.

  With that, Maedoc’s image faded. Titus raised his head, glancing at Adder to ensure that he had gotten the message. Then, with a scraping of metal on metal, the dragon leaped into the sky and flew off to the south to return to its master.

  Adder remained for a moment, letting the words sink in. He would take his own troops to Tel Drakkar, he decided, and instruct Jhayla to keep her company in the north area. They would combine forces if necessary, and defend Tel Drakkar to the last of them.

  Twylla sat on the edge of Jax’s cot, rubbing his forehead with a soft, damp cloth. Her father’s wound was getting worse, and she knew, deep down, that he was going to die. Thankfully, the priests had vowed to protect him and offer him comfort in his last days.

  For that, she was thankful.

  Jax’s eyes fluttered open, and he smiled when he saw his beloved daughter staring down at him. She returned his smile, placing her hand on his cheek and leaning down to kiss his forehead.

  “Is it really you?” he asked.

  “I am here, father,” she replied. “And I will not leave your side.”

  Jax sighed. “I would prefer you not watch me die, Twylla,” he said. “I would rather you remember me the way I was.”

  Twylla shook her head. “Not leavin’ da’,” she protested. “The gods couldn’t pry me away.”

  “It’s not safe here for you,” he warned. “The dark assassin is using us for bait.”

  “I know,” she said. “For a man that is dead.”

  Jax shook his head. “Scorpion is alive,” he said. “I have seen him. He is different now, somehow, but I recognized his mannerisms. He does not remember me, though, nor Hargis.”

  “How could he be alive?” Twylla asked. “The thieves say he died at Faerbane over a year ago.”

  Jax chuckled as best he could, and reached up to stroke his daughter’s face. “The Great Mother works in mysterious ways,” he said. “But that is why this dark assassin is here; to find him and destroy him.”

  “He has his work cut out for him, then,” Twylla said.

  Khalid appeared in the doorway. His arms were folded over his chest, and his face was crumpled up in worry. “He is powerful,” Khalid said. “I only bested him because of the sun. His power would be much stronger at night.”

  “Garret could kill him,” Twylla said. “I know it.”

  “If Garret is indeed alive,” Khalid said. “Then I have no doubt that the Dragon, or the Great Mother herself had something to do with it. In which case, you may be right.”

  Twylla stood, moving toward Khalid as her father drifted off to sleep. She leaned in close, whispering into the priest’s ear.

  “I want to know where Garret is,” she said. “I will help him defeat this assassin, even if I have to use myself as bait.”

  “I have the feeling this killer is far away now,” Khalid said. “If Garret is the noble assassin that he seems to be, he would do his best to draw this demon away from here.”

  “Then I will seek him out.”

  Khalid stared into the young woman’s eyes. She was a strong one, he had to admit, but naive. She wouldn’t stand a chance against a demon like this assassin, whatever his name was, and would only end up endangering all that she loved.

  “Take Hargis and go to Morduin,” Khalid said. “I will care for your father.”

  Twylla sighed. “How long does he have?”

  Khalid put his hands on Twylla’s shoulders. “I am afraid the darkness has taken most of what he had left in strength. He will pass soon. But I promise to make him as comfortable as I can.”

  Twylla swallowed, tears welling up in her eyes. “This is all my fault,” she sobbed. “The demon is after me.”

  “No,” Khalid said. “He is after Garret. And Garret will not allow you to be harmed; you, Hargis, or your father.”

  “Then I shall go to Morduin, to draw him away. If he cannot find me, then he cannot use me to get to Garret.”

  Khalid nodded. “Good. I will arrange fo
r your transportation as soon as possible. And remember, this is what your father would want.”

  “I will say goodbye, then,” Twylla said. “Thank you, Khalid.”

  Khalid remained in the doorway, his heart sinking with the thought of the poor woman not being able to remain with her father. But, it was probably better this way. He knew that Jax was a good man, a loving father who always took care of his daughter, and he would want her to remember him as he was before; a strong man with a noble heart.

  If only there were some way Khalid could save him.

  Azim awoke in the early afternoon, lying among the scattered bodies of the other warriors who had fallen asleep on their furs and cushions. As he grumbled at the sunlight that shone into the roofless longhouse, his eyes fluttered open to find a welcome sight.

  “Farouk,” he said, smiling as he saw his brother’s face.

  The druid sat down next to him, patting him on the forehead.

  “Don’t get up, brother,” he said. “I just came by to see how you were doing. I have some news for the king.”

  “Ah,” Azim exclaimed. “It’s always business with you, isn’t it?”

  Farouk chuckled at his brother’s accusations. “Now is that any way to talk to your own brother?”

  Azim grinned, sitting up and rubbing his head. “I have developed a love for ale that our father would not approve of.”

  “No worries,” Farouk said. “Father was a lover of mead himself. I found him quite a few times passed out from his honey wine. He begged me not to tell mother.”

  The two laughed as they remembered their mother’s strict ways, and the way their father often protected them from her “wrath.” They were pleasant memories that warmed their hearts and made them smile.

  “What news have you, then?” Azim asked.

  “If you must hear, then come. Let us find Eamon and the others.”

  “As you know,” Farouk explained to the assembled kings and the Knights of the Dragon. “Gaia holds many secrets. The Dragon and Khalid journeyed to a place deep within the Earth to uncover one of these secrets; a second Mother spirit.”