Garret looked younger, Eamon noticed, but he was still recognizable. His cold blue eyes, which were turned downward in seeming shame, were still the same as they were when Eamon had lost saw them. His hair, however, was the ruddy blonde of a youth, and his beard was gone; replaced by a youthful patch of scruff on his chin.
Through the choking tightness in his throat, Eamon spoke.
“Garret,” he whispered.
The assassin slowly raised his eyes; his brow softening as he took in the king’s appearance. Eamon saw that he, too, was on the verge of tears, but could see the shame in his mentor’s eyes. Shame that should not be there.
“Eamon,” Garret replied. “I… I am… so sorry.”
Eamon exhaled, knowing that there was nothing that could ever give Garret comfort. His guilt was strong, Eamon knew, and his heart had been heavy for all of this time. He had killed Eamon’s mother. He had killed his lover. He had killed his queen.
“There is nothing to be sorry for,” Eamon said, his sobbing becoming stronger. “It was Igraina’s doing. I know this. You did what my mother asked you to do.”
“And I stuck my dagger in her back,” Garret said.
Eamon shook his head, slowly inching forward.
“I do not deserve forgiveness,” Garret continued.
“There is nothing to forgive,” Eamon replied.
Garret thrust the obsidian blade into the ground, glaring at it. “This is my only redemption,” he said. “This is why the Great Mother allowed me to stay. To destroy the demon.”
“Garret,” Eamon whispered as he came closer. He reached up, placing his hands on Garret’s shoulders. Garret looked up, reaching out to grasp Eamon’s head. The two stared at each other in silence as the rain pelted them mercilessly.
“You have become a great king,” Garret said. “Your grandfather would be proud. Your mother would be, too. I am very proud of the man you have become.”
Eamon leaned in, his forehead touching Garret’s. “I am only the man I am because of you,” he said. “You are the only father I have ever known.”
Garret sulked. “I would have been proud to call you my son,” he said.
“I am your son,” Eamon whispered. “No matter who made me, you are the one who was always there. You are the one who taught me honor, courage, and the skill to defend my people.”
“And you have done so well,” Garret replied. “Better than I ever expected. You are every bit the king that Magnus ever was, if not more.”
Eamon broke down then. He buried his face in Garret’s cloak, and he felt the older man embrace him tightly. He felt safe, as if the shadow of all the evil in the world had been lifted. Not even in the Dragon’s embrace had he felt this way. In his heart he felt that Garret was, indeed, his true father.
“Go now, Eamon,” Garret said. “Your people need you. Your men need your leadership.”
Eamon lifted his head high, knowing Garret was right. Now was not the time for tears. The fate of the world was at stake.
Garret loosened his grasp on him and leaned back. He then lifted his hands, watching as they began to fade. Eamon’s heart raced as he realized Garret was leaving him.
“Don’t go,” he pleaded. “We need you. I need you.”
“I will always be with you, Eamon,” Garret assured him. “Just as your mother is with you.”
Eamon nodded, wiping away his tears. “I will never forget you,” he said. “And I will remember everything you ever taught me.”
Garret became more transparent, quickly fading before Eamon’s eyes. He put his hand over his heart, his eyes sad and sympathetic. “Goodbye, my son,” he whispered, his voice fading into an echo as he disappeared.
“Goodbye, Garret,” Eamon said. “May the Great Mother protect you.”
He crouched in silence as the rain began to let up. The thunder and lightning began to subside, and the sounds of raindrops hitting the sand faded as the storm died down. Eamon looked up into the sky, knowing that somewhere up there, the Universal Powers were watching; waiting.
It was time.
He stood, turning to traverse the slope back up to the desert trail. There, at the peak of the slope, stood a figure silhouetted in the moonlight. He trudged upward; the sand sloshing beneath his boots, approaching what he now knew was Traegus. The wizard stood waiting for him. Eamon wondered how long he had been there.
“Are you alright?” Traegus asked.
Eamon nodded slowly, unsure of the answer himself. “I think so,” he replied.
“Titus has returned,” Traegus said, not mentioning the events that had just occurred.
“What did he see?” Eamon asked.
Traegus turned as Eamon reached him, and the two began the trek back to the fortress. “Strange things,” Traegus replied. “Khem is nearly abandoned.”
“Abandoned?”
Traegus nodded. “Only the Lifegiver and a few minions remain,” he said. “The bulk of the Jindala army is headed here.”
“What of the armies of Kinar?”
“They are currently passing north of the city,” Traegus said. “They are following the Jindala. I do not know where the Firstborn are. Titus does not feel them.”
Eamon nodded. “They are around,” he said. “The Dragon still speaks to me. He knows they are waiting for me, and for him. They will join the battle when the time is right.”
After a few minutes of silence, Traegus spoke again. “The demon was right,” he said. “There is no Hell. None of us really die. We all simply return to our Mother until she sees fit to let us return to the collective. The demon has known only darkness, because his master is darkness. But I now know that the Lifegiver, this Absu, is not what we think he is.”
“I know,” Eamon said. “He is here for a purpose.”
“Interesting,” Traegus remarked. “What do you know of this purpose?”
Eamon thought for a moment as the equations became clear to him; those equations he had received when he had completed the Knights of the Dragon. “Absu is not just darkness,” he said. “He is part of the Universe itself; part of the Creator. He is part of a game; one that is played at our expense. It is a test of sorts.”
Traegus nodded, smiling. “You see,” he said. “You understand much more than you think. You are ready to face him and prove to the Creator that we are worthy of surviving and ascending… eventually.”
“I am ready,” Eamon said. “What do we do now?”
“You and I must go to Khem,” Traegus said. “Once the battle is underway, we will fight until we are summoned to the Great Pyramid. I am sure the Dragon will tell you when the time is right, and we will go.”
“You will face him, too?” Eamon asked.
Traegus looked at him, as if not understanding why he had asked. “Well, of course,” he said. “And, I think Faeraon will go, as well.”
“What of Farouk?”
“I have the feeling Farouk was not meant to join us; only to guide you. He has another purpose, I suppose. I think he will help to ease the balance, and pave the way for the future world. I, however, will not leave you. We are in this together.”
“Why is Farouk not meant to take any further part?” Eamon asked.
“The balance,” Traegus said. “Farouk is more than just a druid now. He has ascended to a level higher than any living druid in history. He just doesn’t know it yet. When he releases the spirit of Theia into Alvheim, his true purpose will be revealed. I have the feeling his existence is essential in preventing Earth from changing too much. His destiny lies in the Great Pyramid; once the Lifegiver is gone, that is.”
“What destiny is that?”
Traegus shook his head, smiling. “Only time will tell,” he replied. “For now, we have our own part to play.”
Eamon stopped, turning to Traegus and gazing at his boyish face. “Then it is settled. We go together.”
The wizard smiled. “I’m with you, my friend,” he said. “Always.”
Chapter Fifteen
No one spoke, though all of them knew it would make no difference. They simply stood in silence as the shadows lengthened, and the sounds of wildlife died down. There was a curious lack of nocturnal life; no crickets, no owls, nothing. Only the sounds of the trees swaying in the gentle breeze could be heard.
Overhead, clouds churned as they brewed up a storm. They would let loose within the hour, making the darkness even more impenetrable and the battle that much more difficult. Jodocus, who stood atop the tower, made attempts to calm the weather. But it seemed that even his magic was not enough to counteract the coming storm. The battle would be fought in the rain, and it was a rain that seemed to have been summoned by unknown forces.
As Khalid stood among his friends, he contemplated Farouk’s words earlier that day. The druid had told him of the return of Tyrus; a surprising and confusing revelation, to say the least. Like most people of Khem, Khalid had grown to fear the sorcerer. Now that he was back, Khalid felt apprehensive and skeptical as to his purpose. Though Farouk had told him that Tyrus had returned to fulfill his true destiny, a small part of Khalid remained untrusting of the mysterious man—or whatever he was. After learning of Tyrus’ true age, his hand in tormenting Allora, and his part in bringing the Lifegiver to Earth, there was little reason to trust him.
But Khalid trusted Farouk. He had to.
“I still can’t believe he is back,” Khalid said.
Farouk turned to look at him, seeing the fear in the priest’s eyes. “Jodocus has spoken to him,” Farouk said. “And so has the moorcat. They both trust him.”
“Have you spoken to him?” Khalid asked.
Farouk shook his head. “No,” he said. “Though I believe we are peers, I have no reason to speak to him as of yet.”
Khalid looked at Farouk skeptically. “You don’t trust him, either.”
Farouk pursed his lips. “I do,” he said. “But, like you, I am apprehensive. I remember him as he was. And what I learned of him and Allora was very disturbing to me.”
“Who is this Tyrus?” Tenegal asked.
Neither Farouk nor Khalid had realized that Tenegal was listening. “Our former leader,” Farouk explained. “He was responsible for bringing the Lifegiver into this realm.”
“Directly from Alvheim?” Tenegal guessed. Farouk nodded.
“He has returned,” Khalid said. “But has been returned by those from higher planes.”
“For what purpose?” the Alvar captain asked.
“As for why,” Farouk said, “we are uncertain.”
Tenegal accepted the explanation, turning his attention back to the tree line. Once again, the silence dominated, interrupted only by the gentle winds that made the trees dance against the cloudy sky.
As Jodocus watched the forest, he could detect the presence of the rangers scattered among the trees. He could also see the collective glowing of the spell that the shaman had cast over them. They would be more effective in battle against the dead, Jodocus thought, as the spell lent their weapons a minor enchantment; just enough to make them into magical weapons. It was a thoughtful gift on the shaman’s part, and the young druid knew that it came from the heart.
He briefly looked toward Torak’s new abode, seeing the faint outline of the tower against the sky. From this distance, it was all he could see. He knew that somewhere in there, the newly anointed wizard—or whatever he was now—was preparing to join them. Jodocus only hoped that the others would accept him as he did.
Feeling a strange disturbance, the druid turned his attention back to the distant shore. Above the tree line, a cloud of tiny dots began to swarm, gathering numbers and emanating a strange cacophony of energy. It was like each tiny dot was comprised of a number of smaller life forms; mashed together in some macabre construct. It was a disturbing feeling.
He got the sense that the battle would soon begin, and the enemy would be far more numerous than expected. He had to warn the others.
He raised his staff into the air, summoning a burst of light to get Farouk’s attention. The druid turned to look up at him, and Jodocus nodded. Farouk returned the gesture, relaying the warning to his peers.
Jodocus crouched, his heart pounding in anticipation of the coming battle. He was afraid, he knew, and that fear disturbed him. There was no reason for it.
Or perhaps there was.
“It is time,” Farouk said.
Tenegal spoke to the Alvar behind him, relaying the message to them in their own language. The troops readied their weapons, and the tension grew as they began to hear shuffling from the forest beyond. Faint howls and screeches were heard in the distance as the attackers met with the hidden rangers, and the wildlife of the forest charged out in panic.
“Get out of the way!” Khalid shouted as several deer bounded by, nearly trampling his priests. The Alvar parted as the animals bounded through, closing their ranks again when the last of them had passed.
The moorcat herded the other animals out of harm’s way, signaling his allies when they were clear. He crouched menacingly in preparation; awaiting the onslaught that they all knew would be close behind. Khalid gripped his swords tightly, nervously anticipating the battle. Beside him, Farouk stood ready, his staff and sword poised.
“Are you ready, my friend?” the druid said.
Khalid swallowed. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Behind him, he heard Tenegal slowly and confidently drawing his blade.
“I have been ready for this for thousands of years,” the Alvar captain said. “As have my soldiers. We are with you, Khalid.”
Khalid turned to look at the captain, who stood tall and stern. His gaze was unwavering and fearless. Surely this was a warrior who had seen many battles throughout his thousands of years of life. Compared to him, Khalid was a child; as was every human who stood to defend Tel Drakkar.
And possibly die doing so.
“Let some of them pass!” Adder shouted, chopping the head from a lunging wight. “The priests will finish them off.”
The rangers had swarmed the undead creatures after an ineffective barrage of arrows. Though they had riddled them with countless missiles, they still came; oblivious to the simple wooden shafts that stuck out from their rotting bodies. Now, the rangers attempted to cut them down as they passed, thinning them out as much as possible before they finally burst through the tree line.
Jhayla passed by, smacking Adder on the arm. As he turned, a wight charged through two crooked trees and stumbled into her. She spun, double slashing its abdomen with her blades. Adder ran it through, finishing it off and kicking it away.
“Hey now!” she scolded. “Get your own.”
Adder grinned, turning to face two wights that clawed their way through the thick brush. He thrust his sword into the dirt and drew his bow, quickly dispatching one with an arrow to the forehead. He then pulled his sword from the ground with his free hand and struck the other creature at knee level. As it fell to the ground, Jhayla impaled it through the heart. She winked and spun away.
“They’re still coming!” another ranger shouted.
Adder dodged a sweeping claw, striking it off with his sword and thrusting his blade upward into the attacker’s gut. “There must be hundreds of them,” he said, withdrawing his blade from the squirming creature. “Spread out and start moving toward the temple!”
As his subordinate nodded, a sudden screech came from the darkness. The rangers froze, allowing the scrambling wights to pass.
“What was that!?” Jhayla shouted from her position a few yards away.
Adder peered into
the shadows, ignoring the sounds of his rangers chopping away. His heart raced in anticipation; he had never heard anything so shrill. Surely, that was not a noise that the Enkhatar would make. It was more… insect-like; almost like a thousand cicadas singing in a crescendo that rose to a deafening and frightening level.
“Not good,” he muttered.
“Loose!” Tenegal commanded.
Khalid felt the wind of passing arrows. He ducked, seeing Farouk and the other priests freeze. The emerging wights were riddled with arrows as they burst through the tree line. The missiles landed true, dropping the undead like flies. Khalid raised his swords into the air.
“Dael!” he shouted. “Back to the line!”
Behind him, Khalid heard the Alvar draw their swords. His priests returned, readying their weapons as the wights raced up the hill toward them. The moorcat roared with blood-curdling ferocity, swiping his massive claws at the creatures as they passed.
“Farouk,” Khalid said to his friend. “Show these vile things the sun!”
The druid nodded, raising his staff into the air. A burst of light erupted from his gem, illuminating the shadows with a brilliance that burned like fire. The wights squealed in pain as the magical light pierced their eyes. But still they came, crawling and clawing their way up the gentle slope.
“For the Dragon!” Khalid shouted.
The assembly charged, rushing down the hill toward the undead. Khalid spun his scimitars before him as he met with the dark creatures, taking down two of them immediately. Behind him, he heard Alvar steel slicing the rotting flesh to bits, and the raging shouts of Tenegal. He spun around, thrusting his swords behind him at a lunging wight, seeing the Alvar captain decapitate two creatures in a row. Khalid laughed maniacally as he turned around again to face the onslaught.
The moorcat crossed his path, pouncing on a wight and tearing it apart with its fangs. Khalid laughed as the moorcat reared back and spit the foul-tasting flesh into the air.
Eclipsing the Darkness (The Dragon Chronicles Book 5) Page 12