Eclipsing the Darkness (The Dragon Chronicles Book 5)

by Shawn E. Crapo

  Traegus had returned to Southwatch, inviting Maedoc to spend the rest of his days there as his guest. The Druaga, no longer needed in battle, eventually retreated to the caverns below, with only a few remaining topside to work with the wizard in his eccentric experiments.

  Jodocus and Aeli continued their preservation of the land from their cottage near the old banshee’s lair. The two of them traveled the countryside, replanting and restoring the forests that the Devourer’s magic had destroyed.

  Eamon had given the Alvar the forest on the southern shore, to protect the wellspring, and to build their cities. It was not long before the white towers of their dwellings were seen rising above the trees, shining with the divine light of their people. The architecture was admired for miles around, and those who wished to see them up close were welcome. Tenegal had been appointed Lord of New Alvheim, and his rule was just, and respected by all the Lords of Eirenoch.

  And by its king.

  Now, as Eamon looked out over the city of Faerbane, he reflected on all of the events that led to this very moment. He had forged many friendships throughout the world—king and soldier alike—and was respected by all who knew him. He had destroyed the greatest menace the world had ever known, and now his life was that of a simple king. He would, however, remain in the legends of the Earth for eternity. He was the Dragon incarnate, the last remaining member of his bloodline.

  For now.

  It was in his Great Hall that he announced to the Knights of the Dragon his intentions. Lord Tenegal and the Lady Allora were present as well.

  “As King of Eirenoch,” he began, raising his chalice, “It is my duty to keep the line of kings going. It is, therefore, my wish to provide our people with an heir; one who will carry not only the blood of the Dragon, but that of our noble friends, the Alvar.”

  “I knew it,” Brianna said, chuckling.

  “Allora,” he said, turning to her. “You bear the blood of the greatest king I have ever met. Though he is no longer here to celebrate with us, I would hope that somewhere he is watching, and would give his blessing.”

  He then set down his chalice, going to Allora and kneeling before her as she stood. Tenegal and the knights looked on in anticipation.

  “A king must have a queen,” he said. “And I can think of no other that I would have rule at my side until the end of my days. I humbly ask for your hand, and your love, forever.”

  Allora smiled, kneeling down to lift his chin and meet his eyes. “I would be honored to bear the crown with you, my king.”

  They stood together as the room erupted in cheer. Wrothgaar gave Eamon a wink, and Angen bellowed with laughter. Tenegal humbly stood and gave Eamon a stern and approving look. Eamon smiled back at him as he embraced his future queen, happy to see that he had the captain’s blessing. That was just as good as Faeraon’s own, in his eyes.

  The ceremony was held in the city of Faerbane, there on the steps of the palace. All of the kings who had fought together to dispel the Lifegiver’s minions had gathered there with their nobles and finest warriors, and the entire city was filled with those who had come to witness the new queen’s coronation.

  Khalid was given the honor of performing the wedding, at the request of Erenoth, and the rest of the priests stood behind him. At Eamon’s right stood the Knights of the Dragon, dressed in full armor and bearing the standard of the Dragon. Opposite the king stood six of Allora’s handmaidens, dressed in the finest silks, and adorned with the jewels of their Lady.

  Eamon stood nervously as he awaited his queen’s arrival. She would walk down the center of the city on a golden carpet weaved by the finest artisans in the kingdom, lined on either side by her future subjects, and dozens of beautifully arranged wreaths and flowering plants.

  When she finally appeared in the distance, arm in arm with Tenegal, Eamon took a deep breath. He heard Khalid chuckle to himself as the crowd gasped at her appearance. Even from the steps of the palace, Eamon could see that she was the perfect model of beauty. She was regal in appearance; dressed in a pale blue gown lined with sparkling jewels, and adorned with long, silk veils. A long line of Alvar warriors and maidens trailed her, bearing the flags of Alvheim, Faeraon’s house, and the standard of the Dragon.

  As she walked down the aisle, Eamon could not take his eyes off her. She was indeed the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. She was every bit as noble as Siobhan, and he knew that the people of Eirenoch would love her just as much as they loved their former queen.

  Khalid stepped forward as she and Tenegal reached the foot of the stairs. “Who gives this noble lady to the king?” he asked.

  Tenegal led Allora up the first step, bowing his head. “It is I, Tenegal, Lord of the Alvar, who gives her freely, and with the blessing of her people.”

  “Then let the Lady step forth and be joined.”

  Khalid stepped to the side, taking Allora’s hand, and led her up the stairs to stand opposite of the king. He took Eamon’s hand and joined it with hers, taking his place behind them.

  “On this great day,” he began, “we join these two souls in eternal union under the watchful eye of the Great Mother. Here, by the witness of all who have gathered, I hereby oversee this union, and offer the blessings of the Dragon and his servants. King Eamon of Eirenoch, do you take this woman, Lady Allora of the Alvar, as your queen? To share your kingdom, your riches, and your soul, as long as your head bears the crown?”

  “I do,” Eamon replied.

  “And you, Lady Allora of the Alvar. Do you take Eamon, the Onyx Dragon, and King of Eirenoch as your king? To rule at his side and give your love to him, and the people you serve, as long as your head bears the crown?”

  “I do,” she replied, blushing.

  “Then, as High Priest of Tel Drakkar, I hereby join your souls together. May nothing ever tear them asunder. People of Eirenoch, I give you your King and Queen. May they rule forever and ever.”

  The crowd cheered as Eamon embraced his queen. He felt the comfort of her soul as their bodies touched, and he knew that he would love her until the end of his days. She would give him a love like no other, and would fill the emptiness that had plagued him since his mother’s death.

  As the two turned to face their subjects, they were showered with rose petals and other festive things. The endless cheering was nearly deafening, and Eamon could only close his eyes to mask his expression of joy. It was then that he heard his mother’s voice; singing the song that she always sang to him as a child. It tugged at his heart, bringing tears to his eyes. When he opened them, he saw her in the distance, behind the cheering crowd.

  She walked gracefully, smiling as she always did when looking upon him. Her face told him that she approved of his choice; she approved of her successor. He smiled, knowing that she would always watch over them, and would be there in spirit to give them strength.

  As she faded away, Eamon sighed. Though he now knew he would never see her again, not even in his dreams, he knew that meant only one thing.

  The battle was over, and he could now live in peace. He and his queen.

  Until the end of their days.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  The Great Pyramid was silent. Farouk stood in the golden chamber, looking out over the Pool of Eternity that had formed with the Lifegiver’s destruction. It shimmered and rippled, reflecting the golden hue of the surrounding walls and ceiling. Within its depths, Farouk knew, were all of the secrets of the Universe. All that was needed was for him to learn them.

  Here, he would gather the sages, wizards, seers, and shamans of the Earth that they may prepare for the Great Sleep; when Gaia would rest to regain her strength. The world would slowly fade thereafter, until the day she awakened again. Then, the next age of man would begin.

  He knew, however, that it was not quite that simple.

  The lands would reform, the oceans would rise and fall, and the ice that came from the north would change the face of the Earth forever. Nothing would be the same.
There would be no Eirenoch, no Khem, no Anwar, no Pashir; nothing. There would only be the memories of those once great kingdoms, and the heroes that led them. It would be up to Farouk and the others to rebuild, and to reeducate mankind.

  All of that knowledge was here, underneath this very chamber, in the vault. There, it would be safe for all time, until the day came when it would be needed again. But it would be used sparingly. Too much knowledge and humankind would destroy itself. Too little, and it would slowly fade. It was he, the Grand Druid and Keeper of the Earth, that would guard this knowledge until the end of time.

  “You have done well, Farouk,” the Keeper said from within the pool. “And mankind performed admirably. The world was united as one, coming together for a common purpose. You have shown me that there is hope for your species yet.”

  “Hope for what?” Farouk asked. “More pain? More suffering?”

  The surface of the pool rippled with the Keeper’s frustration. “Hope for them to transcend this body-soul imprisonment. To free their spirits and return to the Uncreated.”

  Farouk turned away, sitting on the edge of the pool, and looked at the thousands of tiny runes on the walls. “Why not just let them now?” he asked. “Why the endless trials? Why the darkness… the games?”

  “One must accept that the creator of this thing called the Prima is not the one true god,” the Keeper said. “One must learn that the many universes were created against the One’s wishes, and that all of this matter that they are made of, what the Universe itself is made of, is naught but pure evil. Only then can a spirit be freed. It is up to you to teach them this wisdom. You will be their light bringer, their savior.”

  “And what of the evil that still exists within the Earth?” Farouk said, thinking specifically of Kingu, who still lived trapped within the massive cavern below. “Will you destroy it? Will you destroy… him?”

  “No,” the Keeper said. “The struggle cannot be won for them. They must prove their divinity by resisting the evils that tempt them. They will worship what they will, for better or for worse. I will allow Kingu to remain, to test mankind again and again, until transcendence is achieved.”

  “What does the Uncreated say about this?”

  “You know as well as I do that He cannot interfere,” the Keeper answered. “He is unable to enter this realm. That is why I am here.”

  Farouk turned back, glaring down into the pool, his teeth gritted in anger. “Then do what you were meant to do!” he hissed. “Bring them back to Him. Set them free.”

  “It is not time, Farouk. They are not yet strong enough to survive the transition. Only those pure of spirit may return to the Uncreated. That is His nature. He is pure. Matter is impure. The two cannot exist together.”

  Farouk nodded, resigned to the explanation. It was not the Keeper who was at fault. It was the creator himself—the imperfect being who brought to life an imperfect creation. The spirits, once pure and existing in peace, had been enslaved within shells of impurity existing in an impure plane; many of them, all connected together in a great cosmic wheel.

  “I understand, master,” Farouk said. “I will learn all that I can to bring them out of this prison.”

  “Good,” the Keeper said. “You have shown me your strength, Farouk. You are the only human in the world so far who has not disappointed me. Even those that I created were at fault, as I, too, am an imperfect being.”

  “What will you have me do?”

  “Do as you had planned,” the Keeper advised. “Rebuild the Eye of Ptah. Invite all of the sages, seers, wizards, and druids of the world to share in this knowledge to which I have given you access. Bring Jodocus, Aeli, Traegus, your own son, Tyr. Bring them all, and make them the keepers of the Earth, that they may keep all sacred knowledge safe during the upcoming tribulations.”

  Farouk sighed. “I will do so,” he said. “But I ask of you one thing.”

  “I will grant you whatever you ask, my friend, if it is within my power.”

  “Grant me power over the one whom I banished,” Farouk said. “She who lies trapped on the sea floor.”

  “Igraina?” the Keeper asked.

  “Yes. Allow me to keep her imprisoned, lest she upset all hope of transcendence.”

  The Keeper was silent, contemplating Farouk’s request. After several minutes, the pool rippled again. “She will remain where she is until the end of this age, and the age afterward. That is all I can do. If your species has not transcended by the end of the second age, then she will rise again to bring them temptation. For now, until then, she will be but a memory.”

  “I will do all that I can to awaken humanity before that time.”

  “I have faith in you, Farouk,” the Keeper said. “But I warn you. Do not presume to destroy her. She is needed, as she always has been. If the need arises, sway the masses against her. Lead them away from her path, but do not hinder the Great Plan.”

  Farouk turned, walking to the wall where a single rune had caught his attention. It was an upturned crescent moon, shining above the deep sea. He knew it was prophetic. He knew it was her future. She would rise again, determined to destroy the human race, and damn them to an eternity of pain and suffering. All because of her own imprisonment. All because of Farouk’s wish.

  “I will be waiting,” he said. “And I will save humanity. I promise you this.”

  “Fare thee well, Farouk,” the Keeper said. “My Morning Star.”

  Epilogue

  King Faeraon the Younger knelt before the tomb of the last Onyx Dragon. He wept in silence, torn apart by the loss of his beloved father and mentor. It had been only a year since his passing, and Faeraon had come to visit him every day, kneeling before the ornate sarcophagus to lament he who had ruled Eirenoch for a thousand years.

  Around him, in tombs of their own, were the Knights of the Dragon. Faeraon had grieved their passing as well, and that of the Priests of Drakkar, who were buried beneath the city of Faerbane. But here, in the impenetrable orb of magical iron constructed by the great wizard Traegus, were the long line of kings and queens. Even his grandmother, Siobhan, and his Uncle, Maedoc, were buried here. They would be protected for eternity, sealed within this divine tomb through which nothing but magic could penetrate.

  “It is time, my son,” his mother said from the shadows. “The people are gathered and await you.”

  Faeraon stood, wiping his eyes, and gazed upon the ornately carved lid of black onyx. King Eamon’s likeness was there, his hands held out in a grasping gesture. The hands were empty, only to be filled when the people of Alvheim were prepared to return to their world.

  That day was now.

  Faeraon drew the Serpent’s Tongue from its scabbard, admiring the carvings along the blade. He had held it since his coronation as king, but it was now time to return it to the Dragon. He moved behind the sarcophagus, placing the tip of the sword into the grasping fist, and slid it in place. The hands moved, closing around the hilt, where they would remain forever.

  Faeraon stared into the shadows where his mother stood. She stepped out into the dim light, coming closer to him to offer her embrace. He stood still as she wrapped her arms around him, stroking his long golden hair with her fingertips.

  “You will be a great king,” she said. “You will rule as justly and fairly as your father. Within you lies the bond between my people, and the people of this world. They will both love you as their king, and their hope for redemption. Someday, your descendants will return, and they will bear with them the blood of Alvheim. Our blood. It will grace this world once more.”

  Faeraon leaned away from her, grasping her by the shoulders and looking into her eyes. “The kingdom of Eirenoch will rise again,” he said. “And the Dragon will rule as he was meant to. I will pass this legacy on to my own son, so he shall never forget his bloodline.”

  Allora smiled, caressing Faeraon’s face. “I know, my son,” she whispered. “It has all been foreseen.”

  “Come then,” Faeraon s
aid. “The rift is closing.”

  Jodocus scratched at his beard, tugging at it furiously in an effort to stifle the itching. It had been one hundred years since he had decided to grow it, and he was still unsure whether he would keep it or not. On the one hand, with exception of Traegus all of the members of the Eye of Ptah had beards—the men, at least. On the other hand, it was damn itchy.

  “Will you stop scratching?” Traegus whispered to him.

  “I will when it stops itching,” Jodocus replied.

  “Just cut it off. You look ridiculous anyway.”

  “I will cut it off when you finally allow your body to age, you corpse snatcher.”

  Traegus turned to him with a wild look. “That wasn’t very—“

  “Gentlemen!” Farouk scolded them. “This is a time of passing. It is not a time for jokes or hostility, genuine or in jest. Traegus, you should know better.”

  Torak shot both of them a crooked grin.

  “They have arrived,” Farouk said. “Behave yourselves.”

  The four of them knelt as the king and his procession appeared from the snowy mist. He was dressed in his black armor, his golden hair blowing in the harsh breeze. Allora was at his side, her flowing red gown trailing behind her. There were two thousand of them in all, both human and Alvar alike, all prepared to travel through the rift to the world of Alvheim.

  From the other direction, a mass of commoners had also arrived. They, too, would travel to Alvheim, welcomed to do so by the king himself. Together, the Alvar and their human guests would repopulate their world, living in peace, until the time came for humankind to return.

  “I will miss them all,” Jodocus lamented.

  “As will I,” Farouk said, putting his arm around him. “But our place is here among the remainder of humanity; to guide and protect them from extinction.”

  Jodocus nodded, knowing that Farouk was right. They would be needed in the coming millennia as the Great Mother slept and her protective power waned. Still, some part of him wished that he could accompany his friend on his journey.