Brynn shot first, as his target was the first to stop. The arrow disappeared into the night, and Eamon turned his attention to the guard. As he watched Brynn’s target, he heard the twang of Daryth’s bow. Then, Brynn’s arrow met its mark, dropping the Jindala guard like a sack of stones. Eamon smiled, turning to Daryth’s target, who also dropped without even a groan.
“Excellent shots,” Mekembe whispered. “Your knights are skilled archers.”
“Those two, especially,” Eamon grinned. “Brynn and Daryth were both trained well. I am not so good.”
“A king need not be a good archer,” Mekembe said. “That’s what knights are for.”
Eamon grinned again. “Gather your men, Mekembe. It’s time to open those gates.”
Daryth and Azim led their group of ten men down the slope, taking care to stay in the shadows. Fortunately the landscape was dotted with boulders that had tumbled down the cliff, affording them many hiding places to make the distance in short sprints from one rock to the next.
Along the way, they all took notice of how many archers were atop the walls. The side they approached had twelve; evenly spaced among the battlements. None of them were particularly attentive, it seemed.
Daryth raised his hand to halt the men, pulling Azim close to speak.
“One for each of us,” he said. “But I am not sure about the other walls. There may be archers placed close enough on either side to draw attention if we kill the ones near the corners.”
Azim nodded. “That is a good point,” he replied. “But our focus is to eliminate those on this side to give our army time enough to close in before the alarm is raised. We need only get the gates open by the time they charge down the hill.”
“Right,” Daryth said. “But we need to find a way in. I’m assuming the gate mechanism is just inside.”
“Leave that to us,” one of Hamal’s men said. “We can tell them to open the gates for us. They would think we were Jindala soldiers.”
“Good,” Azim said. “We will be close behind. Kill any guards immediately inside the gates, then we will fire on the archers.”
Hamal’s soldier and one companion rose and began making their way toward the gates. They both covered their faces with their turbans, untucking several scarves in their clothing to match the colors of the guards they had seen. Apparently, these two had come prepared for mimicry.
“Impressive,” Azim said.
The two men approached the gates confidently, making no attempt to conceal themselves. To anyone else, they appeared as two Jindala hunters returning to base after an evening of scouting. Despite Daryth and Azim’s doubts, they managed to make it without raising any suspicion.
Azim craned his head to hear their shouts as they announced themselves to the guard posted above the gate. After a short exchange, the guard shouted to his companions inside the gate and the massive wooden doors creaked opened. One of Hamal’s men looked back, indicated with a nod that they were ready.
“Now!” Azim whispered.
The remaining men raised and drew their bows, loosing with lightning speed. Every arrow hit its mark, clearing the wall of all archers. Azim immediately turned and summoned a fire arrow, shooting it in a low arc toward the cliff face.
“Go!” Mekembe shouted, seeing the signal arrow burst against the rocks.
Two hundred men scuttled down the slope, racing toward the open gates. Eamon, Mekembe, Cannuck, and Hamal led the charge, with Ulrich and Jadhav leading their own men to flank the city in case the Jindala decided to flee.
As the small force passed, Daryth and Azim joined them. The remaining men blended in with the charge, and their shouts rose in a slow crescendo as they neared the gates.
Inside, Hamal’s men guarded the gate mechanism. They were immediately surrounded by swordsmen, and targeted by the archers that lined the remaining walls. They moved about quickly, avoiding the arrows that streaked down toward them, fending off the swordsmen until their allies finally began to flow through the gates.
Daryth and Azim immediately fired up into the crowds of archers that began to gather on the inner walls. Arrows flew upward and downward in a dizzying cloud of death, prompting those who bore shields to stand guard near the allied archers.
“Up the stairs!” Hamal shouted to his men. “Take down the archers on the wall.”
As the rebels of Khem ascended the stairs, the archers fled to the far battlements, replaced by swordsmen who flowed from the corner towers. Hamal’s men tore through them quickly, driving them back and over the walls. The fleeing archers were taken down as well, caught in the cloud of arrows that ascended from the outside.
Jadhav’s men had come through, clearing the southern wall of any threats.
On the ground, Eamon and his knights led the charge down the center of the fortress. They were met by a wall of spears of shields, wielded by the elite, golden-robed immortals. The knights clashed with the front lines with a deafening crunch, sending the shield bearers sprawling. The immortals dropped their spears, drawing their swords.
Mekembe’s hammer went into action, smashing the skulls of the immortals that got too close. With every swing, the southlander king splattered a cloud of blood and brains on the warriors around him. Apparently, Mekembe had battled the immortals before.
As the knights and their allies pressed forward, the elite soldiers backed away, overwhelmed by the screaming horde of invaders. Eamon’s sword came to life with the blood of his enemies, and the king grew stronger with the power that was gathered.
Mekembe laughed over the chaos as he watched his new friend unleash the fury of the Dragon. He cleaved his way through the sea of combatants to Eamon’s side, proudly smashing a mutual path of destruction through the hapless Jindala. Never before had he felt such exhilaration during battle, and the feeling of invincibility came over him. Beside such allies, he was invulnerable.
Loud crashes were heard on either side of the fortress as the gates were smashed open. Jadhav and Ulrich’s troops charged in, bearing down on the enemy flanks. The two forces crashed into them, packing them closer together. Behind them, the stone walls of the main fortress stood as a barricade. The Jindala were surrounded.
But, as Eamon feared, the enemies froze as their supernatural weapon appeared.
A massive defiler rose from among the ranks of Jindala. As the allied army stared upward in terror, the enemies backed away to allow the creature room to unleash its dark power. Eamon looked for Brynn among the soldiers, seeing him pushing his friends and allies out of the way. But the defiler had raised its claws and was already beginning its attack. Its black robes swirled around it like a flock of macabre crows, signaling its gathering of power.
Brynn would never make it in time.
Eamon turned to charge into the fray, stumbling forward as the crowd suddenly parted to make room for Azim. The knight had drawn his bow and shouted to the soldiers to clear a path. He loosed his arrow, immediately knocking and releasing another before the first was barely away. The two fiery missiles shot straight for the creature, stopping it in its tracks. It reeled back in pain, flailing its arms around to extinguish the flames.
Finally, the dark form of Brynn sailed toward the creature in a high arc, his mysterious blade poised to strike the killing blow. The allied soldiers watched the young knight vanquish the beast, and cheered as its ghostly head toppled from its body.
But the gathered magic did not dissipate. From out of the shadows, the impossibly tall figures of two more defilers seemed to melt from right out of the stone. Eamon raised the Serpent’s Tongue in the air, shouting for the men to flee.
“Get out of there!” he called over the deafening roar of the defilers’ magic.
Eamon backed away, desperately searching for Brynn, who had disappeared into the crowd. The defilers released their magic, snatching the fleeing soldiers back into their horrifying grip. Men disintegrated and shriveled into nothingness before Eamon’s very eyes. He shouted at the top of his lungs, calling
on the power of the Dragon to protect him. He would have to make the charge alone, and strike at the nearest creature before its devastation turned his army into dust.
He started forward, feeling as if he was running through water. The defilers’ magic changed the air around him, making it nearly impossible for him to approach. Nevertheless, he howled into the deafening wind, forcing himself forward.
Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw the familiar form of Farouk appear from nowhere. The druid waved his hand at Eamon, pushing him back, strengthening the magical hold that had slowed him. Farouk pointed his staff at the creatures, blasting them with a bolt of white lightning that illuminated the courtyard like a thousand suns.
“Stay back, Eamon!” Farouk shouted.
The king slowed his pace, collapsing to his knees as his strength finally gave out. Breathless, he watched the druid cast swirling streaks of energy around the defilers, enveloping them in some kind of strange spell. They froze in place, their dark robes flying apart and burning to ash as the ethereal magic ripped them away. Then, the creatures themselves began to stretch and deform as they were drawn toward the druid’s staff. Like the life force they fed upon, they swirled like clouds of pure spirit, slowly drawn into Farouk’s green gem.
Eamon felt hands around him that pulled him away gently, helping him to his feet. He leaned against his rescuer, keeping his eyes on the druid as he absorbed and captured the defilers. Slowly, the chaos died down. The dark energy was consumed by Farouk’s magic, and the shouts and cries of the men quieted.
All was silent.
Farouk turned, standing among the remains of the fallen soldiers. He looked down at them in sorrow, knowing that their murderers had only done so out of fear for their own existence. He held his staff close to his heart, seeming to weep as he spoke softly into his gem.
Eamon turned to thank the person who had helped him up, locking eyes with a familiar—and hated—face.
“Eogan!” Eamon shouted, raising his sword to strike down his cousin once again.
“Eamon, no!” Farouk shouted.
The king turned back to Eogan, seeing the young man’s smile. He was wearing light blue robes, similar to the robes that Traegus wore. Behind him, a strange figure stood, taller than Eamon himself, and divine in appearance. At his side, another, smaller figure stood, wrapped in a cloak with its face hidden.
“It is I, Traegus,” the boy who looked like Eogan said. “I apologize for startling you. But I had to get you away from Farouk’s spell.”
“Traegus?” Eamon repeated. “But… how?”
“I am a wizard, Eamon,” Traegus replied, looking around at the approaching soldiers with a smile. “I do strange things sometimes. I hope you don’t mind that I took Eogan’s body. If you are upset, I understand.”
Eamon shook his head, scanning the crowd for his knights. “Well,” he said. “Eogan wasn’t using it anymore.”
Farouk approached him, his face grave. “I am sorry, Eamon,” he said. “We can no longer destroy the defilers. I promised them that I would free them.”
“We had no choice, Farouk,” Eamon replied. “One of them had to be destroyed.”
Farouk nodded. “Yes, and I am glad everyone is safe. But we must remember that these creatures can help us. We need to preserve as many of them as we can for use against the Lifegiver, and for the future.”
Eamon nodded. “I understand,” he said. “Let us make camp here and discuss it further after a short rest.”
Ulrich blew his horn into the air, signaling to the rest of the massive army that the battle had been won.
“Well done, men!” he shouted. “Time for a night’s rest.”
As the men cheered, Eamon turned back to Traegus, glancing briefly at the strange duo who had accompanied him.
“We shall take residence in the fortress,” he said. “And plan our route there.”
“King Eamon!” a soldier shouted, approaching with a terrified look on his face. “It’s Brynn. I fear he has fallen.”
Chapter Eight
Khalid watched the impressive line of Alvar soldiers approach from the north. They formed a perfect line, were spaced as evenly as possible, and were dressed in beautifully engraved suits of gleaming steel armor. They were the most beautiful people the priest had ever seen; tall, fair, and golden-haired.
At their lead, a grim-faced figure in darker, more elaborately engraved plate marched forward, keeping his eyes on Khalid. The priest stepped toward them as they entered the edge of the temple grounds, bowing low in respect and admiration. The leader shouted the order to stop, and his troops obeyed like clockwork; stomping their feet on the ground and snapping to attention.
“I welcome you,” Khalid said.
The leader stepped forward, removing his gloves and holding out his hand. Khalid took it gladly, nodding his approval.
“I am Tenegal,” the leader said, in a smooth, calm voice. “Captain of these troops. We are here at the request of our king, Faeraon. Command us as you will.”
“I am most honored to meet you, Tenegal, and have your assistance. I am Khalid, High Priest of Tel Drakkar.”
Tenegal bowed in respect, turning to his troops. “You will obey Khalid’s commands as if they were my own,” he said. “Should I fall in battle, he will become your captain.”
“Tell me,” Khalid said. “Have you seen the rangers that were sent? Did you cross paths with them at all?”
Tenegal smiled. “We passed them earlier as they took positions in the surrounding forest. They are very skilled at their craft. You may not see them, but they are here.”
Khalid chuckled knowingly. “Yes,” he said. “They are very skilled, indeed. Come then, my friend. Make yourselves comfortable in the temple. The Dragon welcomes you.”
“Thank you, friend,” Tenegal said. Then, to his troops, “Fall out!”
The Alvar captain joined Khalid as he returned to the temple complex. Tenegal’s troops followed loosely behind, admiring the architecture of the tower and the surrounding city.
“Tell me of this Dragon of yours,” Tenegal said.
Khalid sighed. “He is no more. But his spirit will live on. He is one of the Firstborn of this world, born after Leviathan, but before Kronos and Imbra.”
Tenegal nodded. Khalid continued.
“He is currently on his way to the center of the Earth to sever the connection between the Lifegiver and our Mother, Gaia. We hope he is successful.”
“Yes,” Tenegal said. “Severing that tie would be effective. Unfortunately, our Firstborn were too late to save our mother spirit, and they died with her.”
“I’m sorry,” Khalid said. “But your people are welcome here. Tell me, who were your Firstborn?”
“I was never very knowledgeable about such things,” Tenegal admitted. “My focus was always on protecting my people. But I followed the teachings of our land’s divine power, Ghaelioth. He was a wise warrior who helped our people defeat the Ougret clans.”
“Ougret?”
“There were a primitive reptilian species that existed on our world in the past,” Tenegal explained. “They were very destructive, hostile, and bred very quickly. We wiped them out many thousands of years ago.”
“Reptilians, eh?” Khalid said. “Interesting.”
“When the darkness came, it resurrected many of them, and we had to fight them once again. Though they were defeated, our world was far beyond repair. Our Mother had been drained of her power, the Firstborn had died, and our people began to fade.”
“And that is when Allora began her quest?”
Tenegal nodded. “Around that time, yes,” he said. “She sought out a Mother spirit that resided here in this realm. And, if I understand correctly, it is you and the Dragon who found it?”
“It was,” Khalid said. “And I have the feeling the Dragon knew it was there all along.”
“The Firstborn of all worlds are rather stubborn when it comes to knowledge,” Tenegal said, chuckling. “That
is their nature everywhere.”
Khalid chuckled, as well, thinking back at how Dagda had spoken in riddles and withheld much information. He had always felt it was for a reason, though, and did not blame the Dragon for doing so.
“I suppose they only share information that one needs to know at the moment.”
Tenegal smiled. “That seems to be so.”
The two reached the southern edge of the temple complex, looking out over the valley and out to the shore. The moorcat was there, patiently keeping watch. Tenegal could already feel the presence of darkness nearby, and to Khalid, his disdain was obvious. Though the Alvar captain had never faced, nor heard of, the enemy that would appear soon, Khalid was very familiar.
In a matter of hours, perhaps a day or so, the Enkhatar and their darkling would arrive.
The priest was glad to have such a formidable force on his side.
Near the southern shore, Sulemain stood on the rocky sea floor facing the wreckage of the massive black vessel that had been sunk by Jadhav’s men. The vessel had brought not only the Prophet and the Enkhatar to the island over a year ago, but also a host of undead foes. Though the lower decks and hull had been utterly destroyed by the Devourer’s entry into this realm, Sulemain knew that the upper decks would still contain those wights that had not escaped when the ship went down.
They would be useful, as their undead nature would not allow them to drown. In fact, their anger at being trapped underwater for so long would only serve to fuel their ferocity, and allow Sulemain and his troops to lay waste to Tel Drakkar.
He strode forward, unaffected by the darkness and crushing pressure of the sea, and stood before the massive hole in the ship’s hull. Even in the water, he could hear the moans and cries of the trapped undead, begging to be released. They had felt the Enkhatar lord’s dark presence as he neared, and their struggles to free themselves began anew.
Eclipsing the Darkness (The Dragon Chronicles Book 5) Page 6