The Ascent (Book 2)

by Shawn E. Crapo

  "I have the feeling we will become more than just simple protectors of the Dragon's lands," Angen said. "Like Farouk, our destinies may lead us to even greater things."

  Azim scrunched up his brow. "You may be right," he said. "And to think, when I woke up this morning, I was only a knight with a headache and a sick stomach."

  "From ale to nectar of the gods," Brynn said, smiling.

  Angen punched Brynn playfully, drawing smiles from the rest of the knights. Though concerned with Eamon's well-being, his trial was quite obviously part of the Dragon's plan.

  And it was a plan yet to be revealed.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Garret stood at the edge of the cliffs behind the city of Faerbane. Across the distance lay the main tower of the castle, its lowest window about even with the level of the cliffs. Below, the pool that caught the waters of the river falls was about two hundred feet down. From there, the river continued on through the city, and out to sea.

  To complete his mission, Garret would have to make it across the gap to the tower. It was a long distance, about sixty feet, but he had confidence that his grappling gear would do the trick. If he could throw the hook far enough to reach the tower, his rope was more than long enough to stretch the distance, and strong enough to hold his weight. The only question was if he was strong enough to hold his weight. He was no longer a young man, and after days and days of travel, battle, and sleeping on the rocky ground, he was tired.

  He removed his pack and set it on the ground to remove his gear. Once he gathered his ropes and hook, the pack would no longer be needed, and he could leave it. The rope was several hundred feet long, and woven of the finest silk the East had to offer. It was a gift from the King of Kitam in exchange for services rendered many, many years ago.

  Pulling the rope through the eyelet in his hook, he tied a double square knot, pulling it as tightly as he could. He held the open end with his teeth and pulled the other end with both hands until it no longer gave. He then tested it with a few quick tugs. Satisfied the knot was sufficient, he stood to find his target.

  He pulled out his spy glass and scanned the tower near the window. The stonework was beautiful, immaculate, and appeared to have been cleaned recently. Realizing he had just gotten distracted by an irrelevant detail, he shook his head to clear his thoughts and went back to scanning. Above the window was a large beam built into the wall to hold a lantern, or possibly to hang oneself. Whatever the purpose, it was perfect. He smiled and gathered up his hook.

  He stood at the very edge of the cliff, lowering the hook about six feet to give it some room to swing. He started the spin, swinging the hook in circles until he had it going around in circles above his head. He concentrated on the beam, waiting for just the right moment before letting go. The hook sailed across the gap beautifully, clanking against the stone wall and bouncing away.

  "Damn it!" he cursed, gathering up his rope hand over hand to try again.

  Once more, with the hook given plenty of slack, he started his swing. He concentrated harder this time, taking note of the hooks velocity, the wind, and planning the perfect arc. Satisfied again, he let go. This time the hook sailed across the gap, going past the beam at such an angle that the rope caught, and spun the hook around until it was secure.

  "Ha!" he exclaimed, proudly. "Still got it."

  He tugged on the rope to test it, feeling it pull tight and noting the secure anchor at the other end. He unwound the rest of the rope, tying it around a nearby tree to secure it. He reached into his pack again to retrieve his lanyard, and attached it to the rope. He stared out across the gap, contemplating his method of traversing the distance. He could hang from his lanyard and pull himself across, or use it as a safety line and hang from his hands and ankles and crawl across upside down. Neither way was going to be easy.

  He decided on hanging from the lanyard and pulling himself across. He tested his weight by kneeling, seeing that the rope was good and tight with very little sag. He then held his breath and stepped off the edge of the cliff. He slid for the first fifteen feet or so, enjoying the smooth glide. When he stopped, he began to pull himself across hand over hand. It was a difficult task, as his arms were sore from the many battles he had fought the last few days.

  He stopped to catch his breath halfway across. He hung limply, resting his aching body, enjoying the feel of the cool wind. The sound of the waterfall behind him was peaceful and calming, and it began to renew his strength.

  Slightly.

  Taking another deep breath, he continued pulling himself toward the window. As he came near, he was happy to see the window was unlatched. He pulled himself harder as he passed the lowest point of the rope's sag. From here on, it would be an uphill climb. Hand over hand he went, struggling to make his aching muscles work. Finally he reached the end, and climbed onto the beam to rest.

  His breath was labored, to say the least, and his arms were burning with fatigue. Nevertheless, after a brief rest, he dropped onto the window sill. The room inside was empty and lit only by a single torch outside its door. There were plenty of shadows in which to hide if he made too much noise, and the room was not far from the balcony that he assumed was connected to Maebh's private bedchamber.

  He squeezed through the open window and dropped onto the floor, immediately ducking into the shadows. Voices carried from down the hallway, and he stopped to listen. They were Jindala voices, speaking in the guttural language that he had grown to hate. Seconds later, the voices stopped and he heard the footsteps of a passing guard. He pulled out his dagger, waiting for the guard to pass or enter. He heard the footsteps stop near the open door, the guard looking into the room and scanning the shadows.

  The guard then turned to stand still with his back to the open door. Garret quietly snuck up behind him, peering down the hallway to see if any other guards were in view. The hallway was empty. Whoever this guard was talking to had gone in another direction and disappeared around the far corner. Garret stood, wrapping his arm around the guard's face and pulling him back. The guard struggled briefly, dropping his spear and kicking his legs, mumbling. Garret pushed his dagger into the man's back to avoid a spray of blood, and held him tightly until he stopped moving. He pulled the corpse into the shadows and gently laid it in the corner.

  Garret stopped for a moment near the door, listening for any more guards. The hallway was silent. He peered out one more time, seeing that the way was clear. He went left, toward the room with the balcony, and counted the doors to figure out which room he had to enter. He chose the third door on his left, testing its handle to see if it was locked. The handle turned easily and he peered inside. It was an empty storeroom. He had not gone far enough. He looked down the hallway again, seeing that the next door was an open archway with carved columns decorating either side.

  He should have known that Maebh's room would have something more than a plain wooden door. He was losing it, he thought. Shaking his head, he crept up near the archway, listening intently. There were no voices from the open room, only the ticking of a large clock and the crackle of a burning torch. He peeked around the corner to get a quick glance.

  The room was a foyer of sorts; an entryway to a more elaborate room. This had to be Maebh's room. There were two suits of armor, one on either wall, and the symbol of a wolf carved on the door. Smiling, he entered the foyer, creeping up to the door to listen.

  Again, there were no voices heard. He reached up and turned the handle, finding it unlocked, and slowly pushed open the door. As he peered inside, he saw the richly decorated chamber that was quite obviously the Queen's bedroom. Tapestries, fancy furniture, and countless mirrors lined the walls, and there were countless ornamental rugs covering the marble floor. From the door, he could see the double wide entryway to the balcony.

  Maebh stood near a dresser, gazing at herself in a golden-framed mirror. It was typical of her personality, Garret knew. Maebh had always been a mirror watcher; so obsessed with her appearance, even when she w
as a child. He watched her for a moment, feeling a great sadness for her. Despite her misgivings, he loved the child she once was. Not as much as he had loved Siobhan, however, but more like a niece, or a friend's daughter.

  Maebh seemed to be in a daze. Her expression was blank, and she merely stared at her reflection, seemingly oblivious of anything around her. He couldn't see her whole, though, so he was still not sure whether she was coherent. Either she was sick, or had been eating her exotic flowers as usual. He opened the door enough to slip inside, and continued to watch her from inside.

  Maebh turned from the mirror, facing away from him, staring at the double doors that led to her balcony. Slowly she walked toward them, opening them and stepping outside. Garret crept across the room, making his way to crouch just inside the doorway, waiting for the right moment to strike. This was his mission, and he had never faltered in the past, but his mind was still in turmoil. He would not be able to look into her eyes, or hear her voice. She was Siobhan's twin sister, and despite their difference, they were nearly identical in appearance.

  Taking a deep and calming breath, Garret rose and crept out onto the balcony to stand behind her. He closed his eyes, silently asking the Dragon to give him strength.

  It was time.

  Swallowing hard, he reached out to cover Maebh's mouth from behind, pulling her gently back toward the doors. He poised his dagger at her back, at the level of her heart. He then rested his face against her hair, whispering into her ear.

  "Forgive me."

  The dagger slipped easily into her back. She did nothing more than whimper as the blade pierced her heart. Garret felt her slowly go limp. She was still breathing, but he knew that she was still dying. He gently lowered her to the floor, cradling her head as he rested it on the stone. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with terror and betrayal.

  Her eyes!

  "Garret..." she whispered.

  Garret's heart jumped in his throat.

  "Siobhan..." he stuttered. "What....how?"

  Garret snatched her into his arms, pressing her face against his chest, his breathing quickening and his heart racing. He had murdered his Queen, and his love.

  "No!" he called out, tears welling up in his eyes, and his heart about to explode. He cried out loud, cradling his love in his arms as the life left her body. He was in agony! His horror was unmatched, his soul itself reeling in anguish. He sobbed uncontrollably, screaming into the night. His life was over, he knew. He had betrayed himself, and his Queen. He was nothing. Desperately, he squeezed her tightly, begging the Dragon to bring her back as he rocked her in his arms.

  Behind him, as he sat in torment, he heard laughter.

  "Pity," a woman's voice said.

  Garret turned, still holding Siobhan. Maebh stood inside the bedchamber, accompanied by a woman with a familiar face; Igraina, the former Queen. Yet, somehow, still as young as the last time he had seen her, thirty years before.

  "She died at the hands of the man that loved her most," the Prophet mocked. "What a tragedy."

  Garret struggled to speak, his heart still aching with the pain and torment.

  "Thank you, Garret," Maebh added. "Thank you for eliminating my rival to the throne of Eirenoch. You've done me a great service."

  "You...vile..." Garret stammered. "Why? Why!?"

  Maebh showed mock sympathy, her bottom lip curling over. "Forgive me," she said. "This land is mine, not hers, and not Eamon's."

  Garret gently placed Siobhan's body on the floor, rising to his full height and drawing his sword.

  "You will pay," he hissed.

  "Forgive my ever sweet daughter," the Prophet said. "She was simply returning a favor that Maebh did for her long ago."

  Garret was confused. What did that mean?

  "You see," Maebh began. "She took my place tonight to repay me for what I did long ago. I took her place one night, in your bedchamber, long ago."

  Garret winced, his sword arm began to feel heavy with the confusion.

  "Eogan!" she called. Garret looked to the inside door as a young man stepped through. He was blonde, with handsome features, tall, and regal in appearance.

  "That night was, oh, sixteen years ago," she said, smiling. "Eogan, meet your father, Garret. Also known as the Scorpion, your Grandfather's greatest assassin."

  Garret was at a loss. His heart was already torn out by the loss of Siobhan. And now, this boy, this monster that stood before him, was his son? It was too much for him to take. He dropped his sword, backing away in a daze as the young man approached him.

  "It is an honor to meet you father," Eogan said. "I have waited my whole life for this."

  Garret remained silent, his head spinning and pounding. His lips moved, but he couldn't muster the will to speak. He was stunned, and defenseless. Eogan came closer, his eyes locked with Garret's. He held a dagger in his hand, a dagger that once belonged to Garret long ago. He had given it to Maebh as a gift. Eogan now held it, approaching Garret in a threatening manner.

  "My son...?" Garret stuttered. "My...blood..."

  "Your blood," Eogan repeated. "And your death."

  Eogan plunged the dagger into Garret's chest, grabbing his throat tightly. "You are a weakling," Eogan hissed. "And now you die."

  He pulled the dagger from Garret's chest. Garret began to slump as his strength faded away and his vision clouded, but Eogan held him up against the railing of the balcony. With one last smile, Eogan pushed Garret over the edge and watched as he plunged into the darkness below.

  "Very impressive," Maebh complimented him. "A bit brutal, but impressive."

  "Thank you, Mother," Eogan replied, turning to face his two concubines. "Let us return to our feast, my loves, and let the dogs have this vile corpse."

  Igraina and Maebh laughed, watching as Eogan kicked Siobhan's body as he passed. The deed had been done, and now Eogan was King of Eirenoch. Eamon was of no concern. The Dragon was imprisoned, never to be free, and his power would soon fade.

  Eogan would be a fearsome King.

  Farouk and Jodocus had watched Garret fall to his death with great sadness. It was not a fate befitting of such a man, but it was the Great Mother's will nonetheless. She knew best, and they were in no position to question. All that remained was to commune with the Dragon and inform Erenoth. The High Priest of Dol Drakkar would retrieve Siobhan's body, and bring her home. She would have a proper burial.

  Erenoth would be the one to tell Eamon, they knew. Only he could break the news to the Onyx Dragon that he was now King. And only he could bring him back to Morduin to receive the crown.

  Fate, it seemed, had gone awry.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jadhav and his crew slipped silently underneath the waters of the southern coast. Their vessel was close to the surface, looking out for any sign of the Jindala ships. A seer sat in the center of the bridge, on an ornate chair equipped with an underwater spyglass that could be poked through to the surface. Her concentration, however, was on sensing nearby ships with her powers alone.

  Jadhav watched her as she reached out with her mind. She mumbled occasionally, speaking to herself, sorting out the things she sensed. He knew she would inform him if she felt anything worth mentioning, and he waited patiently.

  "Captain," the First Mate said. "We are too far from the coast. The Jindala do not sail the open sea. We will never find them out here."

  Jadhav smiled. "Patience, my friend," he said. "They wouldn’t sail too close to the coast, either. Especially with such a cargo. She will find them."

  The First Mate was silent. He sat next to Jadhav, patiently waiting with him. Suddenly, the seer took a sharp breath.

  "You see," Jadhav said. "She has found something."

  "I feel a great darkness," the seer declared. "A darkness, and an anguish."

  "Is it the Jindala?" Jadhav asked.

  "It is evil," she replied, opening her eyes. "Great evil."

  Jadhav motioned for her to stand, and took the chair for himself.
He lowered the spyglass to peer through, scanning the surface of the sea. A short way ahead, he saw a vessel. It was not a typical Jindala ship, however, but something different, something huge and terrifying. It was black, ghostly, and seemed to be made of human bone; charred bones.

  "By Imbra," Jadhav exclaimed. "I don't know what that is, but it must be destroyed. Raise the fins."

  "Yes, sir," the First Mate replied.

  Outside Jadhav's vessel, a sharpened fin of spikes was raised up through the hull. It was a dangerous weapon, used to mangle the bottom of a vessel overhead. Jadhav would surface his vessel underneath the enemy ship, and tear its hull to pieces, thereby sinking it.

  "Keep your heading," he said. "We are almost there. Be ready to surface when I give the word."

  The black vessel sailed on its own, carrying its vile cargo of Enkhatar and soulless beasts to the west coast of Eirenoch. The terrifying Enkhatar stood motionless on its deck, awaiting their destination like automatons of darkness. Below them, the endless screams of torment echoed from the belly of the massive ship. The undead were there, the horde of black, soulless monsters the Lifegiver had created.

  They would overrun the island kingdom, spreading their disease of undeath until, finally, the kingdoms fell under the rule of the Lifegiver and its remaining people were enslaved.

  Jadhav held up his hand, signaling his crew to be ready. Slowly, the black ship came into range overhead, its rudder coming close to the level of Jadhav's vessel. When the position was right, he nodded.

  "Now!"

  The undersea vessel surfaced quickly, shooting upward at high speed, gaining momentum as it went. The fins crashed into the black ship's hull, shaking the vessel with the jarring impact. Jadhav and his crew were thrown to the floor, unhurt, but shaken.

  "Good hit!" Jadhav exclaimed.

  The fin had ruptured the bone ship and shattered its hull. Seawater gushed in, throwing the blackened wights about, smashing them against the walls and upper decks. The Enkhatar staggered as well, coming to life as the ship was tossed around, and rushing to the wheel to try to stabilize it.