Their first task, Khalid knew, was to rebuild the temple, as Erenoth's priests were currently doing at Dol Drakkar in the north. Meanwhile, he would do as Erenoth asked, whatever that may be, to serve the Dragon.
"My brothers," he said. "The Dragon wishes his temple to be rebuilt, and I have faith that I have chosen you all wisely. With your new powers, you will be able to complete this task without much difficulty. The wild beasts of the area will assist you as needed. You will be able to commune with them as necessary, Erenoth tells me."
The priests nodded, looking at each other to ensure they all understood. Dael, the eldest of them, would take charge. Khalid had appointed him as the leader in his absence and he would decide how to best proceed in the rebuilding.
"When the temple is complete," Khalid continued, "it will be reopened, and all will be welcome. Turn no one away who comes to seek guidance. Turn no beggar away who comes for shelter or food. Welcome everyone who honors the Dragon and lives in his land, man and beast alike. Welcome them, and protect them on their journey. Make the road to the temple safe, and guard its travelers. You will act not only as the Dragon's advocates, but as warriors of truth and virtue. You are, in short, paladins in the Dragon's service. You are companions to the Knights of the Dragon, and their leader, Prince Eamon of Morduin."
Khalid stood, coming down off the riser and standing directly in front of the priests. He looked them over one by one, satisfied that these men would serve the temple well. Though not possessing the powers of the priests at Dol Drakkar, their enhanced abilities would make them formidable warriors, and effective warriors against the Lifegiver and his forces.
"Erenoth has departed the temple," he went on. "He has returned to Dol Drakkar to check on the progress of the rebuilding. When the temples are complete, they will be rejoined, and the Dragon will gain a great portion of his power back. It is then that we will begin our crusade, my brothers. We will spread the word of the Dragon and conquer his enemies, the Jindala. We will face them in battle, storm their keeps, and protect the people from their evil ways. They must be cleansed from the island."
"You are a great asset in this battle," Dael said. "You have firsthand experience in their methods."
"Indeed," Khalid agreed. "I will impart all knowledge I have of the Jindala armies. Together, we will defeat them. But, for now, our task has been set in stone, so to speak. Begin your work on the temple. I will commune with the Dragon as needed."
The priests bowed, turning to take their places among the rubble to begin rebuilding. Khalid smiled after them, glad that Erenoth had the foresight to guide him to them. He was now the High Priest of Tel Drakkar, a position that required much responsibility and dedication. He would serve the Dragon to the best of his abilities as Imbra had instructed, and redeem all who had turned against the Firstborn. Whether by the word or by the sword, all enemies would be defeated.
Khalid's crusade had begun.
Maedoc sat at his sister's bedside. Siobhan lay on her side, curled up in a ball, sobbing lightly. He stroked her hair lovingly, doing his best to comfort her and relieve her sorrow. Ever since she sent Garret away, she had done little else but cry and isolate herself from the rest of the royal court. With Garret gone, and Eamon waging his campaign against the Southern Kingdom, Siobhan was left all alone. Alone, with no one to comfort her but her brother, the Seer.
"Siobhan," Maedoc said softly. "I know Garret. He will not fail in his mission, whatever that may be. He will return to you soon, I promise."
Siobhan sobbed, wiping the tears from her eyes with a trembling hand. "It is not his survival that worries me," she said. "It is what I asked him to do."
Maedoc shook his head, pursing his lips. "I don't understand," he said. "I haven't looked into the matter through the use of my powers, as I felt no need. Perhaps if you just tell me what you asked him to do, it will not be necessary. I would rather hear it from your lips than from the stars, anyway."
Siobhan sat up slowly, pulling her knees up to her chin and crying into her folded arms. She sobbed for several minutes as Maedoc continued to stroke her hair and back. Finally, she sniffed, raising her head to look into Maedoc's eyes.
"I have asked him the unthinkable," she sobbed. "Something he has not done since before Eamon was born."
Maedoc swallowed, knowing where the conversation was heading. He knew that Garret was an assassin, as Maedoc had taken part in the conversations between he and Magnus. "Go on," he said.
"I sent him to Faerbane," she said, then laid her head back onto her knees.
Maedoc sat back, absorbing the meaning of her statement. If she had sent Garret to Faerbane as an assassin, then his target could be only one person; Maebh. Though she was his sister, Maedoc had no love for her. But still, he could not wrap his mind around the situation. What was the reason for the assassination order? To give Eamon a better chance at uniting the kingdoms? To eliminate her rival?
"A difficult task for Garret," Maedoc said, sadly. "But I know that he is capable. It was his profession, and a man such as Garret takes his contracts seriously."
"It wasn't a contract," she explained. "I simply asked him to do it out of love for me."
Maedoc nodded, understanding why she was so upset. She felt that asking him to perform such a deed, using her love to persuade him, was morally wrong. Somehow, though he didn't fully agree, a small part of his conscience empathized. Siobhan, like their father, was never a person to use their status or the love of another to their own advantage. There was some underlying reason, but he was not sure what.
"Surely eliminating Maebh is the right thing to do," he assured her. "Her absence will make it easier for the people of the south to expel the influence of the invaders."
Siobhan shook her head. "That is not the whole reason," she said. "I don't know why, but I had the strong feeling that the Great Mother wanted me to send him for some reason. I believe it will quicken Eamon's ascent to the throne. I'm not sure how, but it is such a strong feeling, that it has to be true."
Maedoc was silent. He wasn't sure whether Siobhan's words were the truth, or if she simply believed they were the truth. Either way, he would seek answers on his own. Perhaps the Dragon would know.
"I trust your judgment, Siobhan," he said. "I will not question it. For now, you should rest more. You haven't opened your court for several days now, and with the Jindala gone from the north, the people have requests."
Siobhan nodded. "I will rest," she said. "Wake me at sunrise."
Maedoc smiled. He left the room without speaking, closing the door behind him. He waited a moment before walking away, listening as Siobhan began sobbing again. He knew she was taking the situation very hard, and it would take time for her to recover. In the meantime, he would try to handle as much of the business at the castle as possible.
He would let her sleep in.
Maebh lounged lazily on her velvet couch, her mother lounging on a divan a short distance away. They had been chatting for several hours since the Prophet's arrival and were now waiting to be served. At either side of the doorway to Maebh's chamber stood the two Enkhatar who had accompanied them. They stood guard, as still as statues, awaiting the Prophet's orders.
The Prophet leaned up on her elbows, looking Maebh in the eyes, smiling. "Siobhan wants you dead." she said, laughing.
Maebh stared silently for a moment, contemplating the words her mother had just spoken. Then, she smiled as well. "Why?" she asked. "And how?"
The Prophet laughed again. "She has sent the King's assassin to do the deed," she explained. "Her lover and bodyguard."
"Garret?" Maebh asked, giggling. "He's too old to do the job anymore. I am not afraid."
"Oh, you need not be," the Prophet assured her. "I will take care of everything."
Maebh rolled over, excited at the thought of her mother taking action on her behalf. "What will you do?" she asked. "Will you send the Enkhatar to kill him?"
"No, my dear," the Prophet said. "The Ka'ha'di will
take care of the problem. I will send one of them to put an end to this little plan of hers. In the meantime, we will discuss our plans for retaking the cities back from Siobhan's son."
Just as Maebh was about to answer, the door opened. The two of them looked to see Eogan enter. The Prophet smiled and stood, laying her eyes approvingly on the young, handsome boy who would one day sit upon the throne.
"Mother," Maebh said as Eogan came to her and kissed her hand. "This is Eogan, your Grandson."
The Prophet held out her arms. Eogan, smiling and looking her over, took her hands and embraced her. "Hello, Eogan," she said, stroking him as a lover would. "I have waited long to meet you."
"And you as well," Eogan said. "It is an honor to meet you, Grandmother."
"You will make a handsome king one day," the Prophet added. "And I hope that you will allow me to sit at your side on the throne."
Maebh smiled uncomfortably, unsure of the implications of the Prophet's statement. Maebh herself had planned on remaining on the throne, becoming her own son's Queen. What did the Prophet have planned?
"You will be a beautiful Queen once more," Eogan said. "And let this gift I have brought you be a symbol of our betrothal."
Eogan lifted a large leather sack, displaying it proudly. He opened the drawstring, reaching inside. The Prophet and Maebh both watched in anticipation as the Prince revealed what he had brought. The Prophet's eyes widened with glee as Eogan pulled the head of Kuros from the bag, holding it up for her to see.
"Kuros," the Prophet said. "The old Ranger. Such a pity. He was a handsome man."
"I killed him for you, my love," Eogan said. "And for the Lifegiver."
The Prophet motioned for the Enkhatar to take the gift. Eogan watched the fearsome creature approach and hold out its armored hand. He felt the beautiful darkness that the Enkhatar conveyed, and reveled in it. His glee was quite obvious.
"I have waited long to be in the presence of the great Enkhatar," he said. "They are every bit as impressive as I was told."
"Indeed they are," The Prophet said. "And they will serve you well."
Eogan smiled. He was overjoyed at the prospect of being in command of the Enkhatar. With them at his bidding, he would surely defeat the Onyx Dragon and his armies. His victory would be sure and swift. Eirenoch would be his.
"Come to my chambers later," the Prophet said commanded. "We will get acquainted. The Ka'ha'di will bathe you appropriately and prepare you for the night."
"I look forward to it," Eogan said, smiling widely.
Maebh kissed her son once more before he left, joining the Prophet in watching him go as impressively as he had come. The two of them looked to each other again, smiling and laughing.
"Come," Maebh said. "Let us eat. My cooks are the finest in the land."
"Excellent," the Prophet exclaimed. "And in the morning, I will choose my finest handmaiden to rid us of Siobhan's plans. All will be well. You need not worry. Tonight, you will rest well, knowing that your loving mother will keep you safe."
"I know you will," Maebh said. "And I know you will love Eogan as your own. He will make you proud."
"I am impressed already," the Prophet said. "He has his Grandfather's strength."
Maebh smiled only slightly, disappointed at the lack of praise for her own maternal traits. Yes, Eogan was like his Grandfather in that he was strong-willed and determined, but his treacherous ways and conniving personality were all hers.
It would be hard to convince the Prophet that she should be allowed to stay upon the throne.
Chapter Twelve
Ulrich scanned the horizon to the south of Gaellos. In the distance, a large Jindala army approached, determined to retake the city and eliminate any resistance. Among them, Ulrich could see the same golden-robed warriors that he had fought previously. They were berserkers; warriors who felt no pain and could fight until the last drop of blood was spilled from their veins.
They were formidable warriors to say the least, but they could be killed.
Ulrich took a bite from his apple, spitting out the seed that came with it. He glanced from side to side, seeing that his army was prepared for the assault. Among the archers, the captive Jindala stood in defiance of their former allies. They had volunteered to fight alongside the people of the island in exchange for being allowed to stay. As a precaution, they were not armed with melee weapons, only bows. Angus had made that suggestion, reasoning that if the battle went for the worse, the Jindala would switch sides again and join the winning side. Such were their ways. Ulrich had confidence that the men would prove him wrong, but agreed with the precaution.
Ulrich waited patiently for the Jindala army to approach. He eyed the front flanks, seeing the men of the thieves guild stationed at key places. A man named Adder had come to him last night to offer assistance. This very guild had helped to liberate the city, he was told, and he was glad to have them on his side. Their master skills at stealth would be a valuable asset.
Ulrich looked to Angus, who stood command over the archers. He nodded to the smith, signaling him to ready his archers. The line of bowman drew their bows and awaited the command to loose. Ulrich glared at the line of Jindala men who came ever yet closer and closer. The sounds of their marching became louder as they neared, and the ground shook lightly.
Then, they stopped.
"Loose!" Ulrich yelled. Angus dropped his hand from the air and the archers fired. Hundreds of arrows streaked into the sky, catching the Jindala off guard. Other than the berserkers at the front, the Jindala crouched and cowered behind their shields. Ulrich laughed at their plight.
"Ceor!" he yelled at his possible successor. "Look at the little lasses playing with their toys!"
The line of Northmen laughed, drawing chuckles from the men of Gaellos as well. Ulrich tossed his apple to the side, drawing his hammer.
"Forward men," he ordered. "Keep your pace, let them approach and pass the thieves."
Ceor caught up with him, marching beside him. The younger warrior, who was Wrothgaar's main rival for chieftain, was confident and excited to spill the blood of the Jindala.
"I stand with you, my king," he said. "As your loyal subject and your friend."
Ulrich laughed. "You're the ugliest woman I've ever seen," he said, jokingly.
Ceor chuckled as well, slapping Ulrich on the back. "Even uglier than Olga?"
"Hmmm," Ulrich grunted. "Alright, the third ugliest. My wife wasn't very impressive, either."
The surrounding men burst into laughter. Ulrich was glad to see that the army was in good spirits. Morale was high, and the battle would surely be glorious. Live or die, Valhalla would have more occupants by the day's end.
"Spears!" Ulrich called. "And keep your pace. The Jindala are close to the thieves!"
The men marched on at a slow pace, keeping their eyes on the line of Jindala that approached. The enemy began to cross in between the two tree lines that marked the hiding places of the Thieves' Guild. Once the bulk of the army was past, the shadowy men would attack from behind, taking out their archers, and, possibly, their leaders.
"Ready!" Ulrich called again, as the last of the Jindala passed the tree line. The men lowered their spears, drew their swords, and prepared for the charge.
"To Hell!!!!!!"
The army of islanders and Northman howled their war cries with fury. The line of men charged fiercely, leaping over obstacles and raving like madmen. The Jindala did not waiver in their march.
"Signal!" Ulrich yelled over the fray. From down the line, a horn blasted over the sounds of the men's cries. The tall grass behind the horde of Jindala began to rustle with the passing of men moving out of sight. The back of the enemy line became chaotic as the thieves attacked their archers, bringing them down before they had a chance to fire.
The two armies clashed with a cacophony of clanging metal. The spears of the allies tore into the berserkers, furiously jabbing and slashing the seemingly immortal warriors until they fell dead one by
one. Ulrich smashed foe after foe with his hammer, laughing and singing alongside Ceor. The younger warrior fought with glee, joining Ulrich in his song of glory.
The Northmen tore through the ranks of berserkers, leaving them for the men at the back of the line. Axes hacked and slashed at the Jindala forces, and the battle raged ever more furious by the moment.
Ulrich bashed a swordsman in the head, knocking him flat onto the ground. He then raised his weapon, smashing it down onto his foe, crushing his ribs with a sickening splat. A spear was thrust near his head, but the Northman dodged, grabbing the spear and pulling its wielder toward him. He punched the enemy in the face, feeling his nose smash under his fist, then swinging his hammer at the man's shoulder. Ulrich then leaped over the crumpled body, finishing him off with a stomp from his heavy boot.
Ceor swung his axe over his head, howling like a madman as he brought it down onto a Jindala head. The skull was split, splashing blood in all directions. Ceor kicked the lifeless corpse out of the way, ramming his axe head first into another Jindala's back. As the foe was forced forward, the young warrior helped him along with an overhead chop, splitting his spine from neck to pelvis.
Angus and his archers had joined the melee. The experienced warrior wielded his short sword and hand axe well, striking with both of them at impressive speeds. As a Jindala charged, he dodged, jabbing his short sword into the enemy's gut and chopping his neck with the small axe. He withdrew the sword, turning to face the next enemy. He saw that the captive Jindala had armed themselves with dropped weapons and had also joined the battle. Angus smiled proudly as he saw them furiously killing their former allies as if they had been enemies their whole lives. No longer doubting their allegiance, Angus continued his fight.
Adder and his cutthroats weaved in and out of the battle, taking down archer after archer with silent, unseen daggers. Their brutal executions dwindled the number of bowmen quickly, and the silent killers were working their way toward the cadre of Jindala leaders that congregated at the rear of the lines. He ran across Jhayla on occasion, nodding to her as he did. She was as impressive in battle as any man, and her silent attacks were no less deadly.
The Ascent (Book 2) Page 19