"Back down!" Jadhav commanded. "We'll hit it again."
The black ship began to tip on its side as water filled its hold. The wights began to crawl out of the splintered hull, twisting and writhing in the water to get to shore. The Enkhatar watched, knowing most of them would make it, unconcerned with the rest. They were undead, after all, and their only doom would be to walk the sea bed for eternity, mindlessly wandering in the darkness of the ocean floor.
The impact came again, this time splitting the ship in two. The Enkhatar themselves were thrown into the water, their heavy armor immediately pulling them under. They sank like stones.
Jadhav's crew watched them pass by the portholes on their way down. They were terrifying in appearance; black as night, and armored like something from their nightmares.
"Demons," the seer said. "Nothing less than demons."
"They will return," Jadhav said. "They are already dead, like the others."
Indeed, the crew could see hundreds of the writhing creatures making their way toward the shore. Most of them would surface, and their reign of terror would begin. But neither they, nor the Enkhatar, were Jadhav's major concern. The seer had told him before that there was something else on the vessel. Something the Lifegiver had created to strengthen his hold on the island.
A gate.
The gate would allow travel to and from anywhere in the world. It would be a quick way for the Lifegiver's forces to overrun the island, and bring the kingdoms to their knees. And now, it was heading to the sea floor.
Jadhav's mission was complete.
"Head to the east coast," Jadhav said. "Our route is there. We will prevent any further vessels from landing at Faerbane."
"Yes, sir," the First Mate said.
Jadhav was a man of his word. He would protect the ports of the east coast with his life. His honor would never allow him to betray his friend, or the people that counted on him. When the island was free, Eamon would keep his word, as well.
Jadhav had faith that it would be so.
Erenoth had no trouble retrieving Siobhan's body. She had been left where she died, and no one had seemed concerned. The priest's heart ached for her. She was a friend, and the mother of the Onyx Dragon. He would grieve for her, and for him.
As he landed at Morduin upon the balcony of the meeting hall, Maedoc stood waiting. Erenoth released her as he landed, gently setting her body on the stones. Maedoc crouched near her, stroking her red hair, his face masked in grief. Two guards stood nearby, ready to take Siobhan to the embalming chamber to prepare her for burial.
Erenoth noted the tears in Maedoc's eyes, and felt the pain that was in them. He went to the seer, resting his hand on the old man's shoulder. Maedoc looked into his eyes, seeing the sympathy that the priest felt.
"I'm sorry, Maedoc," Erenoth said. "She was an honorable woman, a good friend, and a great Queen. She will be missed."
Maedoc nodded, letting his head fall again. "Thank you, my friend," he whispered. "When you find Eamon, break it to him with as much sympathy as you can. He is strong, but Siobhan was his mother."
"I know," Erenoth assured him. "I lost my own mother when I was young. She was the only person who ever really loved me."
"Go to him," Maedoc pleaded. "Be there for him. Bring him home."
"I will. I will bring my priests along to carry the others, as well."
"The Knights of the Dragon are complete," Maedoc said. "I know this. Eamon has gained even more power. He will destroy the Lifegiver's army."
"I have faith in him," Erenoth said. "The Onyx Dragon will not fail."
Maedoc smiled dimly, motioning for his guards to take Siobhan's body away. Erenoth watched them take her, and noted the looks on their faces as they lifted their beloved Queen.
Without a word, Erenoth transformed and flew off into the night, leaving Maedoc alone on the balcony.
The seer, rested against the railing, looking out over the city. The news of Siobhan's death would not sit well, with the people. However, their strength and resolve to join the battle would be tenfold. There was no need to inform them how their Queen had died. Such news was not necessary. He had no desire to tarnish their love for Garret, the greatest man who had ever served the throne without want or need.
Garret would remain a hero in their eyes. Maedoc would see to it.
Khalid and his priests stood atop Tel Drakkar. From their vantage point, they could see the endless horde of dark creatures crawl onto shore and spread like flies. Though uncertain what the creatures were, Khalid had an idea that they were the Lifegiver's latest creation; a creation that would bring death and destruction to the island if not stopped in time.
So now, the crusade would begin. Khalid would test his mettle, and that of his priests, against these supernatural foes, and prove once and for all that the Dragon ruled this land.
"My brothers," Khalid spoke. "Prepare yourselves. Our journey begins now."
The priests nodded, staring out over the distant shore as the dark creatures continued pouring out of the sea.
"Our faith will be tested," Khalid continued. "And our power will be sapped. These creatures we will stand against must be destroyed at all costs."
"We will send them back to Hell," Dael hissed. "Send them back to await their master."
Khalid smiled. Dael was a man he liked. "Yes, my brother," Khalid said. "Back to Hell."
He walked to the center of the tower's deck, turning to face his priests. "When this is over, we will all be stronger, more powerful, and more blessed and respected. Let not our legend dim your vision. For even in fame and legend, one must never forget why they became legendary in the first place. This is why I fell from grace. I forgot the reasons why I stole from the rich, and turned my attention to the fame and glory. We shall overcome this weakness. Understood?"
"Yes, Lord Khalid," they said in unison.
"Good," Khalid replied, smiling. "Gather your weapons and your symbols. We go now."
Farouk stood at the north shore of Eirenoch. Across the narrow channel was the land of Jotunheim, the land of giants. His destination. Behind the Druid, the tribe of Northman who occupied the village gathered supplies for him, and packed them into a small boat that he would row across the channel alone.
There, he would seek out the Caverns of Hel, the place where the Firstborn Kronos was imprisoned. He would use the power given to him by the Great Mother to release his bonds and set him free. It was a power that came from a higher power than the Earth itself, and was passed on to him. He could use the power only once, and then his fate would be decided by Kronos himself. He did not fear that fate, however, as a normal man would. Like Jodocus, he was wise to fate, and the ways of nature.
If he was meant to die, then it must be so.
Jodocus joined him as the boat was nearly ready to go. He put his arm around the old Druid, resting his head on top the old man's. He kissed the baldness that he had grown to love and lay his cheek against the rough skin of Jodocus' scalp.
"I've never been kissed so often by another man in my life," Jodocus joked.
Farouk chuckled. "Forgive me, my friend," he replied. "In my culture, a kiss is not meant for lovers, but for all of those whom one loves or respects."
"Hmmm," Jodocus mused. "I'm sure your brother respected a lot of women in his day, much like Wrothgaar and Angen."
"You are probably right," Farouk said, humorously.
Farouk backed away, facing his teacher, gazing at his face lovingly. Jodocus looked up at him, smiling warmly.
"I will miss you, Jodocus," Farouk said, sobbing slightly.
Jodocus put his hand on Farouk's cheek. "You will see me again," he said. "Soon, or in the hereafter. Our fates are tied now, my friend. Nothing will ever separate us. Ever."
"I've grown accustomed to your face," Farouk said. "And your kindness...and everything you have taught me."
"You are in the hands of the Great Mother now, Farouk," Jodocus replied. "Put your trust in her. She will lead yo
u down the right path."
"Gentleman," a young man spoke. "The boat is ready. You may board it anytime."
"Thank you, young man," Jodocus said, smiling. "He will be along shortly."
The young man nodded, running back to the campsite. Jodocus turned back to Farouk.
"Go now," he said. "There is no time to waste."
Farouk leaned in, embracing Jodocus like he would his father. He felt close to Jodocus, and the thought of leaving him tore him apart inside. But, his destiny awaited, and he must perform his duty as the Great Mother had instructed.
"I have faith in you, my friend," Jodocus said. "I know you will not fail."
"Thank you," Farouk replied, releasing the Druid.
Hesitantly, he grasped the edge of the small boat and began pushing it into the water. The sea was cold, he felt, and it would only grow colder as he neared Jotunheim. Being used to a desert climate, he did not look forward to trudging through the snow and ice. It would be difficult for him to adapt, but that's what Druids did.
Jodocus watched him board the boat and sit on the narrow wooden bench. Farouk grabbed the oars as the boat lightly bobbed up and down on the water. The old Druid waved, the smile never leaving his face as Farouk began rowing.
Farouk felt his sadness grow as Jodocus grew smaller and smaller with distance. His heart ached, and a lump began to rise in his throat. He would miss his mentor badly, and his brother as well. He had the fear that he would never see either of them again, and the thought brought tears to his eyes.
Sobbing, he leaned his head forward, rowing stoically toward his fate. A fate that could very well end in his death. Perhaps if that occurred, he would see Imbra again.
He could only hope.
Below the surface of the sea at the southern shore, the Enkhatar slowly trudged along the silt, heading toward the land. They were oblivious of the fish that swam around them curiously, and the darkness did not cause them to falter. Their undead bodies walked ceaselessly and effortlessly through the water, never looking back, never losing their focus. They crossed massive ruts and valleys in the sea floor, never slowing their pace, and never turning to avoid obstacles. They were completely unaffected by anything that crossed their path.
At last, after several hours, their armored heads rose above the waves. They continued trudging up the shore until their feet reached the sandy beach. Hundreds of claw prints and drag marks marred the sand, indicating the passing of the horde of mindless undead that had landed here earlier.
Within mere seconds of making landfall, the Enkhatar sensed the presence of their target; the Sword of Sulemain. They could almost smell its blade, and the power it carried. It was in the vicinity of several other enchanted blades that they also sensed. One forged by the Dragon himself, another forged by Kronos. Still another was present, but its power was unknown to them. They would find them all, and destroy their owners.
That was their purpose.
The ten giant, black soulless warriors disappeared into the night, their purpose clear, and their presence a bad omen to the shaman that watched them trudge by like walking statues of obsidian. She felt their darkness as they passed, and it unsettled her greatly. She feared them, and their power. They would destroy everything in their path, and leave none alive, she knew. They had no hearts, no souls, and no morals. They would seek their target, and let nothing stand in their way. They would not stop, ever, until they got what they came for.
They had arrived, and darkness had come with them.
Wrothgaar leaned against the railing of the guard tower, staring out over the plains below. The night was calm, cool, and quiet, and he enjoyed the solitude he felt. He felt the need to come here alone to gather his thoughts and isolate himself from the others. In his heart, he was worried for Eamon, and he didn't want the others to see. His best friend had gone through a divine transformation, and given strength he had never dreamed of having. From his own myths, Wrothgaar knew that such a transformation was never easy on anyone. Even his own gods, who had ascended above humanity with the blessing of Kronos, felt the burden of their new responsibilities. Eamon would be no different.
Though he knew Eamon was a strong man, and an honorable warrior, he had seen how absolute power had the uncanny ability to corrupt even the most pious. It would typically either corrupt them, or destroy them. He wanted neither one for his friend. As a Knight of the Dragon, it was his duty to protect and follow the Onyx Dragon, and he would do so until the end of his days, but a small part of him worried that Eamon would stray from his path as many of the gods had. Toli, for example, was once a humble illusionist who had been given the power of a god, and it destroyed the man he once was. He became the god of mischief and trickery in the Northern lands. Asvelt, the god of the hunt, was once a wild game hunter and trader, and became malevolent with his ascent. Such were the ways of men.
Wrothgaar sighed. He would do what he was bound by oath; to follow Eamon in his quest, and serve the Dragon faithfully. It was his destiny, and his duty.
Despite the victory they had achieved here, the Northman knew that the battle was not yet over. The next step would be to take Faerbane, and allow Eamon to claim the throne and unite the kingdoms under one crown. Somehow, he sensed, there was something wrong. He could not guess what it was, but the feeling was inescapable.
He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Perhaps he simply needed rest. The knights had won today, and the Order was now complete. Brianna was the sixth and final knight, and there was no question that she was worthy of bearing the title. She fit in well. Her ferocity in battle was matched only by the women of his own country, especially against their own husbands.
He laughed to himself, remembering the story he had told Eamon about his uncle, the smith who had been killed in his sleep by his own wife. It wasn't the first time such a thing happened, and it wouldn't be the last. That was just the way things were, and that would never change.
Wrothgaar looked up into the heavens, hoping that his father had successfully defeated the army that had marched to Gaellos. In his heart, he knew that Ulrich had. His father was undefeated in battle. But, then again, all warriors are until the end.
"Rest well, Father," he said. "Rest well until the Valkyries carry you to Valhalla."
Epilogue
The sun shined down on the shore near the city of Faerbane. The river delta was peaceful, and the water, after going over several small falls, flowed out to sea with a pleasant trickling sound. Seagulls lined the beach, pecking at crabs and other small creatures, and flying about in circles in the sky above.
A beautiful woman walked the beach, casually strolling in the pleasant morning air. She wore a flowing white gown that trailed behind her, billowing gently in the wind. Upon her head she wore a crown of white lilies tied together in a primitive, yet, crude fashion. She laughed and smiled as she walked, enjoying the feel of the wet sand between her toes, and light surf that rolled over her feet.
As she passed the flocks of gulls, they watched her curiously. They were not afraid, as they knew she meant them no harm. They felt her innocence, and the pure love that she exuded.
As she neared the rocks that lined the mouth of the river, she glanced upstream. The falls were gentle and only mildly frothy. The few rocks that broke up the water were small, worn away by hundreds of years of the river's passing.
She spied a comfortable looking rock that was covered in soft moss. She bent down, brushing off the sand and dirt so as not to soil her gown, and sat. Her attention was focused upstream, and she remained motionless as the gulls walked past her, and the fish swam in front of her.
For hours she sat alone, never moving, never looking away from the river. She was waiting, and she would not leave until she saw what she was waiting for.
A smile spread across her face as she spied something tumble over the rocks in the distance. It rolled in the water, spreading out and bobbing about in the gentle rapids. She stood, walking to the river's edge where the brackish water chu
rned as it collided with the surf.
The object floated downstream toward her as she bent down. It was a mass of black cloth, floating along the surface like a sack of small branches. She reached out as it neared, grasping a swatch of cloth in her slender fingers, and pulled it toward her. She hefted the object onto the bank, spreading out the cloth and unwrapping the twists that the river had made along its length.
Inside was a man.
She rolled the man's broken and lifeless body onto its back, looking down at his handsome face with its lifeless expression. She felt saddened at the man's demise, and a single tear fell from her eye.
She bent down closer, placing her hand on the man's cold cheek, stroking it lovingly and gently. She leaned in, kissing him on the lips, pouring her love into him like a magic spell. She then leaned back and watched.
The man's eyes began to flutter. His lips moved, and his tongue came out slightly to wet them. He took a shallow breath, struggling to take in the air with his damaged lungs. Slowly, he opened his eyes.
He stared up at her, seeing her beautiful face and her long, flowing blond hair. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. She smiled down at him, and placed her hand on his face again. It felt good, and her touch seemed to bring the life back into his body.
She leaned in closer, stroking his hair and face, comforting him as he lay there looking up. Then, she spoke.
"Wake up, Garret," the Great Mother said. "I need you."
THE DRAGON CHRONICLES
Wrothgaar’s Quest (prequel novella - 2014)
Onyx Dragon
The Ascent
King of the North
Into Oblivion (summer 2014)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Shawn lives in the great state of Indiana, where he writes and builds websites full time.
The Ascent (Book 2) Page 23