“Jhayla would want me to follow my heart,” he said. “I have never left the island. Maybe it’s time I do.”
Ferrin looked at him for a few moments, lost in thought. Though he didn’t want Adder to go, he knew that his son was a man; a good man with honor and a great heart. Like his own youth, Adder’s would be wasted here in Eirenoch. Travel built character. Trials and tribulations built strength and will.
It would be good for him.
Ferrin reached into his cloak, pulling out his dagger. He stared at it for a moment, looking over its jewels and carvings; the black velvet and leather wraps.
“Your grandfather gave this to me when I was a boy,” he said, turning the dagger over in his hands. “He said it would bring me adventures and good fortune.”
“Did it?”
Ferrin chuckled. “Not really,” he said. “But it’s a good blade; small and sturdy. It would serve you well. Perhaps it will work for you.”
He handed the dagger to Adder, who took it with a heavy heart. Ferrin gazed at him as he strapped it onto his belt. He felt great pride in his son. He had grown into a fine man. Somewhere, out there on the mainland, was a town or village that needed him and his skills. He was a master thief, an expert tracker, and a formidable warrior. Perhaps he would even become a legend someday.
“Thank you,” Adder said. “I promise not to lose it.”
Ferrin grinned as Adder did. Without a word, Adder reached up and wrapped his arms around him. Ferrin gripped his son tightly, knowing that this may be the last time he ever saw him. It was not a thought he relished.
“Wherever you decide to go, just remember that the most important thing you can take with you is your honor. Never leave anywhere without it.”
Adder let go of him and stepped back. He was silent, but was visibly thankful. Though he knew his words were redundant, Ferrin knew that Adder at least needed to know that he had retained his honor in his father’s eyes. Perhaps another word of encouragement was in order.
“You did the right thing, son,” he said.
Adder sadly turned back to the edge of the cliff, his head held high this time. Ferrin nodded, turning to go back to his horse.
“Make sure she is not forgotten,” Adder said.
Ferrin pursed his lips, saying nothing. He returned to his horse, mounting and looking back one last time. Though Adder was not visible anymore, he felt some relief in knowing that he was still there, and not lying broken on the ground below. He spurred his horse onward, all the while thinking back to all of the moments he had spent with Adder and Jhayla. He had grown to love the girl as his own daughter, and would grieve as such. As for Adder, his pride would never mask the sorrow he would feel in the young man’s absence.
He would miss him greatly.
“The Dragon is gone,” Erenoth said to Khalid. The two priests had entered the temple after Torak’s confrontation with Allora, and had gathered their acolytes with them. Khalid had been aware of the strange sense absence since they had entered the temple, and he now looked over the twelve priests that eagerly awaited their guidance. He was silent, trying to make some sense of what he was feeling.
“What does this mean for us?” he asked.
Erenoth sat on the top step of the throne’s dais, folding his hands before him. “I am not sure,” he said. “I suppose we continue to perform our duties within the temple, and to offer whatever spiritual needs the people may have.”
“Dael,” Khalid said. “Do you feel the loss, too? What of the rest of you?”
Dael and his brothers all lowered their heads. It was obvious they felt something amiss. The six other priests, forever in their draconian form, only managed a low, sorrowful hiss. That was enough for Khalid. He sat down on the throne, hoping to feel some sign of the Dragon’s presence. There was nothing, only the cold, black stone. He suddenly felt like a child again, sitting alone in the empty house he grew up in, weeping over the murder of his parents. He was only seven then; a mere child.
At this moment, he felt like that child once again.
“The Dragon has left us with a great deal of his power,” Dael reminded him. “And the Great Mother will provide us with what we need to help the people. I, for one, will still do what I can until the day I die. That was my oath to the Dragon, as it was for all of us. We will not abandon our people.”
Erenoth stood, going to Dael and kneeling next to him. Khalid stood and joined them. He looked up behind the throne, where the small statue of the Dragon stood. At that moment, he felt a sense of brotherhood with his fellow priests that was stronger than ever. It was a frightening, yet inspiring feeling; one that brought a tear to Khalid’s eye. At that moment, he knew the true meaning of his vows.
“The Dragon was not meant to be here forever,” he said. “He was meant not to be a figure of worship; but one of inspiration. He led by example, as should we. As long as we follow in his footsteps, and offer our guidance to those who would be messengers of peace, he will be with us forever. It is our duty to make sure the people of the world know this; that we must strive to be brothers. Only then can we end this madness to conquer and destroy.”
The others were silent, but Khalid knew that they were considering his words. As they remained kneeling before the throne, they could all feel the strength within them grow. Their bond would be forever, and they would live out the rest of their lives in the service of the Dragon.
The Firstborn who gave his life to save the Great Mother.
“Khalid,” Erenoth said, finally. “I am proud to call you my brother.”
“Likewise, my friend,” Khalid said. “All of you.”
The priests all stood in unison, forming a circle with locked arms. They bowed their heads, each one reflecting on their life of service to the Dragon. Though Khalid and his priests were relatively new, they were all dedicated to their purpose, and their experience in defending the Dragon’s ways was just as valid in the eyes of the others.
Nothing would ever take away the bond the priests shared, and nothing would ever stand between them and their life’s mission. They would remain dedicated to the Dragon, and never let the people of Eirenoch live without him. To the people, the Dragon would be eternal, and they would never forget his sacrifice.
Chapter Twenty Four
Thick smoke greeted the small group as they emerged from Traegus’ portal. To the east, the city of Khem, with its stone walls, parapets, and obelisks was engulfed in flame. Everything that could burn was burning, and even the sky, despite the lack of the Lifegiver’s dark fog, was almost completely obscured from view.
They stood quite far from the city gates; at least an hour’s trek. It was as close as Traegus could get without alerting the Lifegiver to their presence; although the wizard had the feeling he was aware nonetheless. Despite this, he closed his portal, and the group gazed at their destination with a mix of fear and determination.
“It was once a beautiful city,” Hamal said, “with sandstone towers that reached to the sky. It is almost obscene now.”
“It is on fire,” Traegus reminded him. “And the Lifegiver’s wrath has destroyed it.”
Eamon stepped forward, pausing for a moment before turning to face his friends. “Hamal,” he said. “Faeraon says you are the only one who can get us in through the gates.”
Hamal drew his blade; the divine weapon Mahaguratu, given to him by Imbra himself. “I believe this is the key,” he said, “if Faeraon is right.”
Traegus held his hand out toward Khem, closing his eyes and focusing for a moment. “Yes,” he said. “There is a strange barrier we cannot cross, but through the gates. And it seems those gates are guarded by magic.”
Hamal sheathed his blade. “Then we go,” he said. “I still do not know what part I will play in the battle, but I am eager to find out.”
The group started forward wordlessly, each focused on their tasks. Traegus, with his strange Druaga device, would open a portal to the void; or limbo as Aeli had called it. Eamon would
release the spell given to him to transform the Lifegiver into a physical being. And Faeraon would join Eamon in the actual battle. Hamal’s purpose was, as yet, unknown, other than gaining them entry into the city itself. Perhaps he was there simply to claim his throne once the Lifegiver was destroyed.
Anything was possible.
With the appearance of the Firstborn, the two armies had become separated. The Jindala had regrouped in a tight formation, facing the allied troops from the east. They had managed to flee, and the allies had let them, in order to give the men time to reform into an organized regiment. Now, as the two prepared to charge again, the Firstborn took the lead.
Kronos was the first to charge, holding his hammer high and howling into the wind. The Northmen followed directly behind him, crying out his name. The Knights of the Dragon charged down the center, followed by the Alvar, who fired a cloud of arrows into the sky. Imbra and Yin-Kai charged together, with the Sun King’s army, the janni, and the army of Anwar behind them.
Kronos smashed into the terrified ranks, swinging his hammer in a wide arc that threw the bodies of the enemy into the air. The Northmen poured into the gap, pushing the Jindala back even further. Imbra spun and slashed with his many swords, becoming a deadly wall of blades that was accentuated by the fiery djinn that followed.
Mekembe’s tribal warriors skewered their foes with hundreds of spears and arrows, while his armored soldiers leaped over them to strike with hammers and blades. Tregar’s men took the right, pressing the flank inward to pack them more tightly. His own blade took down man after man as he cried out with the fury of battle.
Wrothgaar’s mind was clouded as he reached the front lines. His ax sang with the glory of Kruum, but in his head, he could only picture his father. He could only see Ulrich’s face, could only feel rage, and could only hear the last cries of battle that the Jarl had made before he fell. Every swing of his axe was a kill of vengeance, and every shout was a call to his father. His brothers sensed his rage, having gathered around him to ensure he was not attacked from behind. Angen was at his side, as usual, and he could hear the older man’s taunts as he made short work of the Jindala around him.
“Where is Eamon?” he heard Brianna cry out.
Azim spun to slash at an attacker as Brianna ducked out of the way. “He has gone to Khem,” he replied.
“Ahhhh!” Daryth cursed. “I wanted to see the pyramid!”
“So did I!” said Angen. “What about you, Azim?”
“I’ve seen it!” he replied, taking out a swordsman who came too close.
Brynn chuckled loudly, and passed by Wrothgaar. The Northmen pushed forward, lightly pushing Brynn away and chopping into an enemy’s shoulder. Brynn spun, finishing off the man with a thrust through the gut.
“Thank you, brother,” he shouted.
Wrothgaar grinned. “We will see the pyramid when this is over,” the Northman said. “Watch your back, Brynn!”
Before Brynn could react, his armor flared to life, covering him in thick plates of dragon scale. An attacker’s blade glanced off, and Brynn spun to slash across the man’s throat. “That was close!”
Wrothgaar blocked a spinning attack with his gauntlet, punching with his axe hand. His target was thrown back and disappeared into the melee. The Northman rammed his way through to find him, and finished him off with a crushing chop of his axe. As he was pulling it free, a tribesman of Anwar ran across his back, thrusting his spear into a Jindala soldier who came from behind. The diminutive warrior cackled with delight, spearing another enemy through the back and slipping into the crowd.
“Ha!” Wrothgaar howled.
“Nasty little blokes, aren’t they?” Daryth said, prompting a grin from the Northman.
Angen appeared in front of them then. “We’re almost to the rear ranks!” he shouted. “Let’s keep going!”
Clapping Daryth on the shoulder, Wrothgaar howled into the air and charged.
Four spears impaled the Sun King at once. He gasped in horror, dropping his blade into the sand. Tatsumi cried out as he watched his father collapse as the spears were withdrawn. Enraged, he spun into the air, beheading one of the attackers with one slash, and gutting another as he landed. Two swift alternating swipes finished off the other two, just as another swordsman struck off Tsosobu’s head. Tatsumi charged, advancing with a wall of blades as his father’s killer back away…
…right into Yin-Kai’s path.
Tatsumi froze as the man turned and looked up at the giant Firstborn. Yin-Kai ran him through with his blade, lifting the man into the air and flinging him several yards away, screaming. Tatsumi fell to his knees in grief, planting his blades into the ground beside him. He felt the rumbling of Yin-Kai’s boots, and looked up to see him standing above him.
Suddenly, the Firstborn collapsed into dust. The swirling mass of energy that remained reached out for the prince, wrapping its smoky tendrils around him. Tatsumi stood—or was made to stand—feeling the influx of power come over his body. He felt stronger, faster, and more alive than ever.
He looked around him at the samurai that had gathered. They stood in awe as their new king received the blessing of Yin-Kai. Tatsumi reached down to retrieve his blades, growling into the air with rage. The samurai returned the call, and Tatsumi took command.
The new Sun King had been crowned.
The Northmen had followed Kronos into the depths of the battle. The Firstborn led the way, clearing a wide path with his mighty hammer. Those that were close to him could feel his power, and were energized and healed as they fought beside him. Cannuck and Ceor kept their eyes on him, and the other Jarls, as they rallied their men behind him. For the second time, the High Jarl of the Northlands fought at his Lord’s side, and there was nothing in the world that could ever give him a greater sense of pride. Even if the battle was lost, or the tribes were forced to flee, this moment would live on in the legends of the north forever and ever.
Now, as the Northmen pushed on with greater ferocity, the Firstborn stopped. Cannuck urged his men forward, directing them to continue their onslaught. They charged forth, each of them raising their weapons into the air as they passed the Firstborn.
Kronos turned to him, standing stoically amidst the chaos. He looked at Cannuck with sad, wistful eyes, tilting his head to the side as a smile came across his face. The High Jarl could only gaze back, his weapon arm resting in a sign of respect. Then, Kronos approached him, rumbling the ground with each step. The Firstborn towered over him, forcing Cannuck to look up into his eyes. Kronos reached out, placing his hand on Cannuck helmet; the very helmet that Kronos had given him. Once again, he smiled. It was a sad, yet proud smile that a father would give to his own son. It filled Cannuck with peace, as if the very expression had imparted some serene energy to him.
It was simply Kronos’ love for his children.
“Odin,” Kronos said; his voice deep and booming, yet somehow gentle. “Be your peoples’ father, and their king. My blessing will be with you forever.”
It was the first time Canuck had heard him speak more than the name “Odin.” He felt honored that his Lord had chosen to address him, and to acknowledge him as his successor. Cannuck reached up to grasp Kronos’ massive hand, gripping it tightly as he stared into his father’s eyes. He felt an unbreakable bond then; one that could never be severed, regardless of the outcome of the battle.
Suddenly, Kronos collapsed into dust. Cannuck was overwhelmed with the energy that surged into his body, stumbling back as the wisps of blue penetrated his flesh. He knelt, his face toward the ground, and his hand gripping his hammer—Kronos’ hammer, tightly.
Then, he stood. Gripping the hammer tightly with both hands, he raised it high into the air, shouting the call of the north. He smashed the hammer into the ground, breaking through the rock and sand with a clap of thunder that shook the ground around him. The Northmen cheered, renewed by the power of Kronos. They charged forward, healed and invincible.
Imbra felt his brothers
fade. His sadness was great, but he knew that the time had come for all of them to pass on their power to their children. Hamal would be his choice, and would need his blessing to play his destined part in this battle. He would defeat an enemy of unknown origin; one that awaited him at Khem. It was not Absu himself, Imbra knew, but something that had been brought to life by the Lifegiver’s power.
It was a darkness that existed before the coming of man.
Imbra raised his blades, calling to the janni who fought nearby. They heard his cry, and rose up above the battle to greet him. Imbra looked upon with the eyes of a father, proud to see them fighting alongside the children of Earth. Though he had given them free will, they had all chosen to preserve life, and not destroy it. He smiled. They were good children. They were his greatest creation.
They would live on in legend.
Imbra roared into the air, raising all six of his arms high above him. The janni surged around him as he imparted a small part of his power to each of them. The shed their rags and dried flesh, becoming whole once again as Imbra’s greatness filled them with life once again.
Renewed and reborn, the janni returned to the battle. Imbra watched them go, leading their allies against the forces of darkness as they were meant to do. He smiled again.
Then, he collapsed into the Earth.
His energy coalesced into a great vortex that rose into the air high above the heads of his children. It spread among them, healing them and bringing them courage and determination. They fought with greater morale, and greater skill; energized with the power of Imbra.
Then, with a burst of blinding light, the bluish mass shot off to the east, seeking its new host.
There, at the gates of Khem, Ardumak would be born.
Smoke billowed over the wall of Khem in tall, black columns that choked out the sky. The smell of oil and burning wood hung in the air, bringing a suffocating feeling to the four friends who approached. The city gates were intact, rising high above them; monolithic slabs with riveted iron plates and carved with odd figures that seemed vile and perverse.
Eclipsing the Darkness (The Dragon Chronicles Book 5) Page 21