"You will know. You will know when it is time. As Jodocus has said, the Dragon has his reasons for the things he does."
Eamon chuckled. "Yes he does," he said. "And I'm sure he has his reasons for telling me not to go to Gaellos or Southwatch."
"You are needed in Argan," Farouk said. "Ulrich is strong enough to defeat the approaching army, and Traegus is not expecting you as of yet. That is why he sent the construct; the machine."
"What of Jadhav?" Eamon asked. "What can you tell me of the Radja?"
"The Radja are warriors of righteousness," Farouk explained. "They defend people of all cultures and beliefs from the yoke of oppression. They have, in the past, fought against the evils that threaten the world. They have stood beside anyone in need and never judged them for their beliefs or what gods they worshipped."
"And Jadhav?"
"He was royalty," Farouk answered. "I have known of him for most of my life. You can trust him. He hides on the west coast of Eirenoch until the time comes to assault the Lifegiver directly. He is here to help."
"How can he be of use?" Eamon asked.
"His fleet can guard the port near Faerbane, to prevent any more Jindala from arriving. It is too late to prevent the Prophet's arrival, however. The creatures of the sea have felt her darkness, and the darkness of the Enkhatar. Even they are afraid to swim near her ships."
"That is disturbing," Eamon replied. "I do not know who this Prophet is, but some part of me fears her."
"As it should be," Farouk said. "She is evil, without a doubt, and cares nothing for life. Much like your aunt, Maebh."
Eamon thought for a moment, trying to make a connection between the two. Farouk put his hand on Eamon's shoulder to encourage him to search his feelings.
"You know who she is," he said. "I can see the answer within you."
Eamon swallowed hard as the realization hit him. "She is my exiled grandmother," he replied. "I can feel it."
Farouk sat back, letting the fact sink in. He knew Eamon would struggle with the reality. But he also knew that Eamon was strong enough not to let the fact influence his war against the Lifegiver. His grandmother had been exiled for a reason; her selfishness, vanity, and lust for power had negated any honor she may have gained by being Queen. She was now an enemy of Eirenoch, and, indeed, the entire free world.
"She must be destroyed," Farouk said. "She is no longer your grandmother, but a thing of evil and darkness."
"She and Maebh," Eamon added. "For the sake of the entire world."
"Go to Argan as the Dragon instructed," Farouk told him. "There, you will find your answers. For now, instruct Jadhav to sail the coasts and keep them safe. He will help Eirenoch in their struggle. In return, he will expect you to join him in the final battle on the mainland. He and his allies."
"What will you do?" Eamon asked. "What is your mission?"
"I am to travel to the Northlands," Farouk replied. "The Great Mother has given me the power to free the King of the North from his prison. Once he is free, the battle will truly begin."
Eamon nodded, knowing that the strength of a Firstborn would be of great use against the Lifegiver. Once a Firstborn was free, setting the rest of them free would be more likely. From Wrothgaar's stories, Eamon had reasoned that Kronos was physically the strongest of them all. He embodied the wrath of the Great Mother, and that wrath was what was needed in this battle.
"Then I bid you safe travels, my friend," Eamon said, smiling. "I know you will not fail, just as I know that Azim will not fail."
"Yes," Farouk agreed. "Azim will fight with you until the end."
Farouk pointed out the window, showing Eamon that Jadhav had awakened and was standing at the docks. "Go to him," Farouk said. "I must speak to my brother."
"Very well," Eamon replied. "Safe travels, friend."
Jadhav had awakened and dressed an hour earlier. He stood on the docks to take in the morning air, and gaze upon his vessel. He was dressed in his elaborately gilded gold tunic, white trousers, and fine leather boots. His white dastar, the head wrap worn by his people, was crisp and clean, and sported a golden emblem just above his forehead, and a white ibis feather that protruded upwards. At his side, a great, jeweled scimitar hung on a gilded leather belt.
He looked as regal as any king, and his presence was a welcome and needed boost for the morale of Bray's people. Along with the Onyx Dragon and his knights, the Radja had liberated the town, making it possible for its people to continue with their daily lives.
Jadhav smiled as he saw Eamon emerge from the inn and make his way out to the docks. The Prince was impressive in his demeanor, even with the slight look of concern on his face. Jadhav could see the strength in him, and hoped that Eamon would join him in the battle on the mainland. With so many allies waiting in secret, the addition of a Firstborn's descendent would ensure their victory.
"Good morning, my friend," Jadhav greeted him. "The sea is beautiful this morning. Other than the scum of the Jindalas' remains."
Eamon chuckled. "It was all because of you, Jadhav," he said, moving to join the Raj at the end of the pier. "You and your men came at just the right time."
"Timing is everything in battle," Jadhav said. "Had we come sooner, my ship would have been spotted, and I would have had to call my entire fleet."
Eamon searched the seascape. "Where is your fleet?" he asked.
"They're around," Jadhav answered, slyly. "You just can't see them."
Eamon said nothing, but continued scanning the waters.
"We have a great battle on our hands, my friend," Jadhav said, breaking the short silence. "We hope that you will join us when we are ready to make our final stand against the Lifegiver. However, I realize that your first and most urgent concern is your own island."
"The kingdoms must be united," Eamon said.
"Yes, under one king. You. The Onyx Dragon."
"When my kingdom is safe, we will join the battle," Eamon said. "I must be sure that the Jindala are driven away, and will never return. Only then can I take my knights to the mainland."
Jadhav turned to Eamon, raising his hand in an offer of brotherhood. "My people have long fought against darkness," he said. "And we live by our word, and our honor."
Eamon clasped his hand, gripping tightly. Jadhav continued. "I swear to you now, my friend, that I will aid you in your fight. My sword and my ships are yours to command. In return, I ask that you join us when the time is right."
"I accept," Eamon said. "I need you to guard the port near Faerbane. Our ships are no match for the vast numbers of the Jindala fleet. The Prophet will land at Faerbane very soon, and the rest of the ships will be sailing around to the west. They carry dangerous foes, and must not be allowed to land."
"Then we have an agreement?" Jadhav asked.
"I give you my oath as future king of Eirenoch that we will join you in this battle."
Jadhav smiled, gripping Eamon's hand tighter. "Then we are brothers in arms," he said. "Two of many. May we be victorious, and send this devil back to Hell."
"I am happy to call you my brother," Eamon replied. "I believe fate brought us together for a reason."
Jadhav nodded, releasing Eamon's hand. "My men and I will depart immediately," he said. "There is no need for us to wait. We will meet the Jindala ships before they land on the west coast."
"Excellent," Eamon said. "I have no doubt your fleet will make short work of them."
"Neither do I," Jadhav replied, laughing. "The Jindala have no sea legs. None at all."
"I will send Titus with you," Eamon offered. "He can be your eyes."
"There is no need. Send him where you need him most. Perhaps he can be of help in Gaellos, or as a spy in Faerbane."
Eamon nodded again, accepting Jadhav's advice. Perhaps sending Titus to Faerbane was a good idea. The machine could get a first hand view of the Enkhatar when they land. Such a glimpse would give Eamon and his knights a better idea of what they were dealing with.
"Agreed,
" Eamon said. "I will let my knights remain at rest for a few more hours. Then, we will ride for Argan."
"Good luck to you, my friend," Jadhav replied. "And may the Great Mother watch over you."
The two men clasped hands again, strengthening the bond they had made, and the oath they had sworn.
"May she watch over us all." Eamon said.
"So, what's the plan?" Twyla asked Garret as the two of them crouched in the brush near Jax's pub.
"I didn't really have a plan," Garret replied. "I was just going to kill the guards and be on my way."
"No plan, eh?" Twyla mocked. "That's always smart. I suppose I should just walk in and start servin' ale, then?"
Garret grinned, picturing the look on the faces of the Jindala, and those of her regular customers. "That would be amusing, but, no."
"Then what?"
Garret thought for a moment. It had been a day since he was here last, but the one thing that stuck with him was the conversation he had with Hargis, and the reason he had been outside in the first place.
"Unless I miss my guess," Garret said. "Hargis will be outside to relieve himself any time now."
Twyla chuckled. "Aye," she said, her eyes seeming affectionate at the thought of the sloppy older man. "Hargis is a bucket of piss with a hole in it if I ever saw one."
Garret grinned again. He had to admit, despite her crude personality, he liked the young woman. She was the perfect example of the plain, hard-working, everyday person that Siobhan so adored. She was not a mask in a rich gown. Twyla was real. She was what Siobhan wanted to protect. And Garret as well.
"When Hargis comes out," Garret said, "go to him and keep him out of the way. I don't want to see him get hurt."
"Aye," Twyla replied. "I'll keep him safe."
The two of them waited in the brush, keeping their eyes on the door. The morning was humid, and the mist was a good cover, but the moisture that gathered on the ground would make for a slippery fight. Garret would have to enter the inn and kill the guards inside.
As predicted, Hargis stumbled through the door, already drunk despite the early hour.
"Is he always drunk?" Garret asked.
"Not always," Twyla replied. "Sometimes he's asleep."
When Hargis reached the tree line, Garret urged Twyla forward. "Go," he said. "Be quiet, and keep him hidden."
Twyla bolted across the path. Garret watched as she pulled Hargis into the weeds, and heard his expression of joy upon seeing her. When the two were hidden Garret calmly walked around the deck and up the steps, his hands gripping his daggers. He was a black shadow in the mist, and death was his purpose.
The pub was dark inside, lit only by the morning sun that came through the windows. Jax was behind the bar, washing mugs and small whiskey glasses from the night before. He did not whistle as usual, as his mind was occupied by the unusual aggression the Jindala guards had displayed lately. Their relief had never arrived last night, either, making the situation even worse. Jax himself was already at a loss since the Jindala leader had taken his daughter, and he found it hard to work under such a heavy burden.
Nevertheless, he continued on as best he could.
Hargis had just gone outside to relieve himself when the dark stranger came in. He was tall, slim, and dressed in all black. A hood was draped over his head, making his face visible only from the mouth down. From the looks of the man's gray beard, he was older, yet still maintained a demeanor that indicated to Jax that this was a warrior.
Jax watched the man as he slowly approached the bar and quietly took a seat. Without lowering his hood, the man spoke.
"I am Scorpion," he said. "And your daughter is safe. Say nothing and don't react. Give me a mug of ale and go about your business."
Jax was speechless, and froze briefly at the news of his daughter. He then cleared his head, reaching down to grab a mug as the stranger had instructed. He filled the mug with frothy ale from the keg and set it in front of the stranger who called himself Scorpion.
"Thank you, sir," the stranger said.
Jax nodded, turning to continue washing his mugs.
Garret raised the mug to his lips, tasting the cool liquid as it flowed into his thirsty mouth. It was high quality ale, nutty in flavor, and with the perfect amount of fermentation. He swallowed, enjoying the sensation of the excellent ale going down.
"Is this your recipe?" he asked.
"Aye," Jax replied, never turning from his glass washing.
"When I finish," Garret began, "I am going upstairs. Which room or rooms do the Jindala occupy?"
Jax swallowed. "Turn right at the top of the stairs, last door at the end of the hall. They bunk together."
With a quick guzzle, Garret drained the mug completely, gently setting it down on the bar. He then stood, cracking his knuckles.
"Twyla is outside with Hargis," he said. "You should join them."
Jax nodded, turning to exit the pub. Garret glanced around; taking note of the layout in case he needed to escape. The wooden planks that made up the walls were faded and gray, but sturdy. Each window was skillfully installed, and there were two exits. The back door appeared to be locked.
Silently, Garret ascended the stairs, drawing his daggers and pulling back his hood slightly. The upstairs was dark, and laden with shadows. On either side of the hallway were three doors, with a single door at the very end of the hall. He walked down the hallway without making a sound. Halfway through, he realized that he had forgotten to ask Jax if there were any other patrons present. He sighed at his forgetfulness, but remained hopeful that Jax would have warned him if anyone else were staying in one of the other rooms.
He approached the door, lightly turning the handle. It was locked, as was expected. From inside, he heard the foreign tongue of the Jindala guards as they loudly bantered. He crouched in front of the door, setting his daggers aside and drawing his lockpick from his cloak. The lock appeared somewhat modern, but simple. As he inserted the pick into the cylinder, he found only three pins inside. He pressed on each one, hearing them click into place in turn. He then withdrew the pick and turned the handle again.
Success.
Garret replaced his lockpick and picked up his daggers again, gently pushing open the door. Inside, the guards were crouched in a circle, casting dice and tossing coins in a pile on the floor. The beds and tables had been moved against the walls to make room for their game, and dirty plates, clothing, and empty mugs littered the floor. From the layout, Garret decided that his sword was the best option for winning this fight. He quietly sheathed his daggers, drawing his katana as one of the guards looked up and spotted him.
As the guard jumped up, the others joined him, spinning and drawing their swords in surprise. They all stood frozen as they saw Garret's dark, shadowy figure in the doorway. Without warning, he charged, slashing with an inward arc and spinning away. The guard blocked his attack, knocking his katana away with the scimitar he wielded. Garret's spin placed him at the guard's flank. He kicked to the side, catching the guard in the hip and knocking him back. He immediately attacked the next guard with a backhand slash, disarming his opponent.
Garret punched with his other hand, catching the disarmed guard in the jaw. He then attacked with a double-handed slash, disemboweling the guard. The other two guards attacked simultaneously, coordinating their strikes in an alternating pattern. Garret parried one attack after another, dodging and spinning to the side to attempt to flank at least one of them. The guard he had kicked joined the fray again, attacking in his own pattern. Garret parried his attacks as well; kicking him again in the chest and slicing him open as he fell back.
The remaining two guards continued their tandem strategy. Garret spun around them, dashing out the door and down the hallway. The guards followed, being careful not to get too close to the fleeing assassin. Garret spied the banister that led down the stairway. Grabbing his katana with his right hand, he grabbed the knob at the banister's top and leapt sideways. He gripped tightly as he
spun around, over the railing, and landed behind the running guards. He slashed with his katana, slicing open one of the guard's throats as he landed in a full crouch. The remaining guard tumbled down the stairs, his scimitar bouncing down along with him.
The guard landed with a thud at the bottom, curling up into a ball as he realized his hip and right arm were broken. Garret calmly walked down the stairs, his eyes locked with the guard's in a deadly stare as he approached. The guard began pleading in his own tongue, the fear quite obvious on his pathetic face. Garret stopped at his feet, glancing down at him with a blank stare. The guard breathed heavily, gasping with the pain of his broken bones. He rolled onto to his back, closing his eyes and preparing for the inevitable.
"Do you speak my language?" Garret asked.
The guard hesitantly opened his eyes, nodding and sulking. "Yes..." he said, desperately.
"Whom do you serve?"
"The Lifegiver," the guard replied. "When I die, he will reward me in the afterlife."
Garret chuckled. "For a man who is about to be rewarded," he said, "You seem quite frightened."
"There is pain in death," the guard explained. "And fear. When you die, you will be afraid as well. And you will suffer."
"Are you speaking prophetically?" Garret mocked him. "Or are you just guessing?"
The guard smiled through his gritted teeth. "He who kills will be killed eventually," he said.
"Interesting," Garret replied. "Thank you for the advice."
He sent the guard to his reward quickly.
Twyla, Hargis, and Jax watched as Garret emerged from the pub. His hood was down, his sword sheathed, and his demeanor was calm and collected as usual. He approached the three of them, stoically nodding with a slight grin. Jax stepped forward, offering his hand in friendship. Garret took it.
"Thank you, sir," Jax said. "Thank you for returning my daughter to me safe and sound. I am forever in your debt."
"You can repay me by moving on," Garret replied. "Go somewhere else until it is safe to return."
The Ascent (Book 2) Page 17