Into Oblivion (Book 4)

by Shawn E. Crapo

  “I must warn you,” Farouk said. “Traegus’ appearance may be shocking. Try not to stare.”

  Faeraon looked at Farouk in confusion, but the Druid’s grin eased his mind. He nodded slightly, unsure as to what Farouk meant, but accepting the warning.

  With a tap of his staff on the soft ground, Farouk cast his teleportation spell and the two disappeared.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “There were two Enkhatar present at the prison,” Hamal explained as the group dug in to the feast. “I fought with one while Jadhav helped the prisoners escape, and this mysterious stranger fought the other.”

  “What did he look like?” Eamon asked.

  “He was about your height,” Hamal said. “Light skinned, light hair from what I saw… very quick and deadly. I could tell by his fighting style that he was not an ordinary warrior. His skills with the blade and the bow were similar to those of the assassins I have known in my time.”

  Eamon sighed. Though it was probable this was the same assassin that had been wandering the kingdoms in some kind of divine mission, his identity was still unknown. He knew of no young assassins of Eirenoch. His own mother had not employed them, and as far as he knew, neither did Maebh. If the former queen had, it was likely that they would be female.

  “What happened after you escaped?” he asked.

  “When we reached a safe distance, it seemed, the sky suddenly opened up and a ball of fire hit the island, completely annihilating it."

  "It was a grand sight,” Jadhav said. “Very bright, and very destructive. But, somehow, the damage was confined to the island.”

  “That is unusual,” Vedic said. “I would think that such a fireball hitting anywhere near the sea would create a massive wave. The ship should have been destroyed, but it was not damaged.”

  Eamon shrugged. “Then it is likely that the Great Mother had a hand in it.”

  “Do you know who this assassin is?” Hamal asked. “And why he would be working for the Great Mother?”

  Eamon shrugged. “Erenoth has been keeping track of this assassin through the priests of the other Firstborn. The puppet kings have been eliminated, leaving room for their rightful replacements, and every kingdom whose Jindala leaders have been killed has begun to rebel. The Great Mother is eliminating her enemies one by one, using this assassin as her tool.”

  “It’s a good plan,” Angen said, the first of the knights to speak. “Any other means would cause too much destruction, and she would risk killing many innocent people.”

  “I want to know who this assassin is,” Eamon said. “But our first priority is mobilizing our forces. Maedoc tells me that a blockade has been assembled in the sea, blocking our access to the mainland.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about them,” Jadhav said. “Once I get word to my vessels, we will sail against them. They will stand no chance against us.”

  “Do we have the ships needed to carry our troops?” Eamon asked Angen.

  Angen nodded. “With our own vessels, and Jadhav’s, we can take the bulk of our army across. The new Mordumarc and the Rangers should remain here, though. Eirenoch will need to be protected while we are away.”

  “Agreed,” Eamon said. “How soon can we gather our troops?”

  “I can have word sent immediately,” Angen replied. “We can also light the beacons. Word will spread quickly.”

  Wrothgaar cleared his throat. “And what of the Northmen?” he asked.

  “We can use their swords,” Eamon said. “I’m sure Ulrich will be the first to arrive.”

  Hamal slammed his fist on the table in agreement. “Excellent!” he exclaimed. “The time has come, brothers. Let us take back our world and send this Lifegiver back to the Abyss!”

  “Jodocus!” Traegus called as he saw the boy riding atop the moorcat.

  The beast and his charge had arrived near the border a few minutes before, and the wizard had watched them curiously. Jodocus was not in the presence of Aeli, which concerned him greatly.

  “Where is your mother, child?” he asked.

  Jodocus and the moorcat both stared at the young man dressed in plain white robes as he plodded over crest of the nearby grassy hill. He was in sandals no less, and his long, golden hair whipped around his head in the wind.

  “Traegus?” the moorcat asked, not recognizing the young body that spoke to him.

  “It is I,” Traegus replied. “It was time to shed the old bones and put on a new face. Or, more accurately, a face.”

  The moorcat laughed, shaking its huge head. “Interesting, my friend,” he said. “But it fits you. How did you come about it?”

  Traegus approached, patting Jodocus on the head. The boy was still dumbfounded, giggling only slightly—and uncomfortably.

  “This body once belonged to Eogan, son of Queen Maebh. Eamon killed him during the final battle for Faerbane. I decided to put it to good use.”

  “Ahhhh!” the moorcat exclaimed. “It does look familiar.”

  “Yes, yes.” Traegus said. “Eogan was actually the son of Garret, little did we know. Jodocus, are you just going to stare, or are you going to say hello to your uncle Traegus?”

  Jodocus raised his hand, waving timidly, still confused.

  “He’ll come around,” the moorcat said. “In the meantime, we are very thirsty.”

  “Well, come in then. There is plenty of water and a place to rest your weary paws.”

  Jodocus giggled. “Paws.”

  “And if my senses serve me well,” Traegus added. “We will be joined shortly by the Druids… and someone else.”

  Hamal and Eamon stood on the balcony of Eamon’s meeting hall. They looked down over the city, enjoying the laughter and bantering of the citizens below. The celebration was going well, and the townsfolk seemed optimistic about the upcoming campaign.

  “Your people are happy,” Hamal remarked, taking a sip of his ale.

  “Their happiness is my mission,” Eamon replied. “And I look forward to seeing everyone in the world happy once again.”

  Hamal sighed. “It has been a struggle, indeed.” He said. “Imbra fears for us all; not only for our lives, but the decline in the beauty of everything around us. The Lifegiver’s presence, even if it is banished, will spell the end of things as we know it.”

  Eamon studied the prince carefully, realizing he spoke of the upcoming tribulations that would follow the Great Mother’s sleep.

  “We will survive,” he said. “All of us.”

  Hamal leaned against the railing, facing away from the city below.

  “I hope you are right,” he said. “But the Lifegiver’s defeat will mean the end of the Firstborn. It will be up to men like us to serve as an example for the survivors.”

  “I sense a great power within you, Hamal,” Eamon said. “I’m sure you noticed that our swords seem to speak with each other.”

  Hamal smiled, drawing his blade and showing to his new friend.

  “This is Mahaguratu,” Hamal said. “It means ‘The Soul of the Sands’ in my language.”

  Eamon drew the Serpent’s Tongue, holding it close to Hamal’s blade. The two swords began to glow ever so slightly, vibrating with the power of the Firstborn.

  “They are brothers, it seems,” Hamal said.

  “Cousins, perhaps,” Eamon replied, prompting Hamal to chuckle.

  “Whatever the case,” Hamal said. “We shall wield them as brothers, and take our place among the divine. You, the son of the Dragon, and I, the son of Imbra.”

  “I will be honored to fight at your side, Hamal.”

  Hamal sheathed his blade, turning back to the city. He longed to look upon the old Khem, and to see his own people as happy and carefree as the people of Faerbane. It was something he had never seen, but had always been his greatest hope.

  “My peoples’ happiness will be my mission, as well,” he said. “And I hope there will be enough of them left when this is over.”

  “People all over the world rally with The Lifegiver,�
� Eamon said. “When our armies gather around Khem, we will face hundreds of thousands of them; perhaps millions. But we have powers on our side the likes of which our enemies have never seen.”

  Hamal bit his lip. “Have you had strange dreams?” he asked.

  Eamon nodded.

  “Dreams of numbers; equations and the like?”

  “I have,” Eamon replied. “Though I do not understand their meaning.”

  “I didn’t tell this to Jadhav, but when we saw the fireball come from the sky I got the impression that it was summoned by the same powers that sent these dreams to us.”

  “I thought the Great Mother had summoned it,” Eamon replied.

  “I think she is being aided by something greater,” Hamal mused. “Aided by something even older; a sky spirit, perhaps.”

  “Farouk will know,” Eamon said. “He is very wise, as was Jodocus.”

  “Then perhaps we should speak to him before we embark on our journey.”

  Eamon nodded. “We will,” he replied. “He has the habit of appearing whenever he is needed; just like his mentor.”

  “Good,” Hamal laughed. “Then we will lay our plans, and await him.”

  The Corruptor found himself just to the east of Morduin, outside the crag basin. Among the rocks and jagged escarpments, he was surprised to find a forest of iron spears jutting from the grassy plain. Upon them, the skeletal remains of Jindala warriors hung silent and still like a macabre orchard of death.

  The Corruptor smiled at the brutality of the scene, imagining the warriors of Eirenoch impaling their enemies upon the spears as a warning to those who would attack in the future.

  “Impressive,” he whispered.

  He liked this Onyx Dragon.

  Eamon seemed like a man he could speak to as an equal. He did not appear to be a weakling, as many of the other kings of the world had. He was different; more cunning and powerful. He was definitely more like the kings of old, from the Corruptor’s own time.

  But, like the others, Eamon would fall and be replaced with another puppet. One who would sacrifice his own people to The Lifegiver’s will.

  Raising his crooked hands, the Corruptor gritted his teeth and drew energy from the Earth. As it passed through him, it became dark, fouled, and malevolent. He released it from his fingertips and chuckled as it snaked out and swirled toward the impaled remains. The dark wisps wrapped themselves around the bones, soaking into them and breathing into their depths.

  Many of the skeletons began to quiver; their life renewed with the Corruptor’s dark power. As they struggled, they began to slide down their spikes, crumbling to the ground before steadying themselves on their bony feet. Those that were aware enough grasped the spears that impaled them and pulled them out of the ground, either tossing them aside or holding them menacingly.

  The Corruptor smiled as he his army began to take shape. With this force of undead warriors, he could enter the city quite easily; keeping the guards distracted as he blessed the new king with his presence.

  With his army assembled before him, the Corruptor gave his order.

  “Scale the city walls!” he shouted. “Leave none alive!”

  A mass clicking and banging of bones and armor followed the army’s departure. The Corruptor watched them rush toward the city walls, and he made his way toward the gates. The guards there stood frozen as they spied the vast horde of skeletons crossing the empty basin and heading straight for the walls.

  Archers fired their bows down at the horde in vain; the missiles merely sailed straight through them or bounced harmlessly off of their rusted armor. None of them even noticed the dark cloaked figure casually walking behind the macabre soldiers; cackling and gritting his teeth in amusement.

  Maedoc heard the shouts of the city guards below as he finished inscribing his day’s activities into his journal. He looked up, unsure as to what had caught their attention. Quickly he set down his quill and ran to the window overlooking the city square. Men were rushing everywhere, and civilians were frantically fleeing. His gaze was drawn to the wall, however, as the sounds of battle echoed off the stone.

  The guards were battling an unfathomable enemy; a horde of skeletons that had scaled the defenses. Maedoc scowled.

  “What is this?” he said to himself.

  As he watched, a single figure walked through the city gates, unmolested and unconcerned. The guards were occupied, and Maedoc guessed that was the intention. As he studied the man, he pursed his lips in recognition. Though the undead posed no threat to the city guards, who could easily dispatch them, this man was the real danger. He was here not to attack the city, but to deliver a message to the king.

  Sighing, Maedoc returned to his desk to await the messenger. He folded his hands before him, showing no fear. In his heart, however, he knew he was in great danger. This man was familiar to him. He was a man from Maedoc’s past and one who once belonged to the Eye of Ptah; the long disbanded order of mages to which Maedoc himself belonged. He was a man whose vile activities had gotten him expelled from the order and, ultimately, executed.

  In his mind, Maedoc recited a simple cancellation spell he had learned as a child. As he finished, he heard the collective collapse of the skeletal army outside. It was quite a simple task, but he knew the necromancer that had raised them from the dead had only done so to get past the guards.

  The ploy had succeeded.

  The Corruptor walked through Maedoc’s door; not even bothering to open it.

  “Well met, Malthor,” Maedoc greeted him.

  The Corruptor grinned beneath his cowl, his rotting teeth brown and crumbled.

  “Hello, Maedoc,” he replied, his voice a harsh whisper. “The last time I saw you, you were just a young boy.”

  He clasped his hands behind his back, and began to slowly pace in front of Maedoc’s desk.

  “And you were human,” Maedoc said. “As I remember.”

  Malthor chuckled. “Yes, yes. And now look at me. Look at you. You’re an old man now, Maedoc.”

  “Indeed I am, but I am still a man, unlike you.”

  The Corruptor stopped, pulling back his hood to reveal his ghastly face. His eyes were sunken deeply, his skin stretched tightly over his bones, and his grin was wide and frightening. He was a fearsome sight.

  “Still handsome as ever, I see,” Maedoc joked. “Tell me, why are you here?”

  Malthor turned to look out the window, speaking with his back facing Maedoc.

  “I had come to see this new king,” he said. “This Onyx Dragon, as he is called. But I can see that he no longer resides at Morduin. Tell me, what happened to Queen Siobhan?”

  Maedoc sighed, knowing that Malthor was already aware of the events that resulted in his sister’s death.

  “There is no need to repeat the past,” Maedoc said. “She was buried a year ago, and Eamon is now king of the whole island.”

  “Ah, yes. He reunited the kingdoms, did he? Impressive. I would never have pictured a descendant of Magnus being a usurper.”

  Maedoc stood, his hands pressed firmly against the surface of his desk.

  “The king is not a usurper!” he said firmly. “Eamon gained the support and blessing of the people of the south.”

  “And he did not slay his aunt on her own throne?”

  Maedoc sat, calming himself. Malthor turned to face him once again.

  “He did not,” Maedoc replied finally. “She was taken away by the Great Mother, I am told.”

  “But he did slay her son; his own cousin.”

  “What is your point, Malthor?”

  “My point is that given your family’s history of bloodshed, you would be a valuable asset to The Lifegiver.”

  Maedoc laughed out loud. “Me? Serve The Lifegiver? Are you mad?”

  Malthor chuckled, leaning in to rest against the desk. “The Lifegiver needs blood like yours.”

  “Tell me, Malthor,” Maedoc whispered, leaning in. “What was the appeal? What did Absu offer you in return f
or your betrayal?”

  “Eternal life,” Malthor replied matter-of-factly. “He is called The Lifegiver after all.”

  “Absu is nothing but death. He seeks to destroy all sentient life.”

  “You are wrong, my friend,” Malthor said. “All life is but energy. It is energy that is all part of the Creator; little pieces of sentience that will inevitably return to Him to relate its experience. The Creator so selfishly allows pain and suffering for His own amusement. The Lifegiver takes away this suffering and offers oblivion to those who wish it.”

  “To those whose experiences are then lost,” Maedoc finished him. “And must be lived again by someone else.”

  “Precisely!” the Corruptor agreed. “And that is why Absu seeks to eliminate this process. There is pain and suffering in life. There is none in Oblivion. Only peace. This is my mission; to recruit those who seek to spread Oblivion.”

  “You will never convince me that The Lifegiver destroys for the sake of sparing sentient beings from torment. Those who he has absorbed, including the millions of Mother Spirits, writhe in agony within his hellish mind. He is pain and torment. Spread your lies if you will. Those who join you deserve that Hell. I will not be a part of it.

  The Corruptor said nothing, but turned to face away again. “I adored you once,” he said. “You had such potential. I am disappointed in you. When I saw you, I thought I could convince to join me.”

  “To join you in undeath?” Maedoc hissed. “Once again, are you mad?”

  Malthor turned his head to view Maedoc from the corner of his eye. “When your father had me hanged and burned at the stake, the last thing I saw was your face. You were staring at me with a child’s eyes; sad and full of tears.”

  “I did not know then what atrocities you had committed.”

  “Atrocities?” Malthor repeated, facing Maedoc again. “Do you know what atrocities your own mother has committed?”

  “I am aware of her actions,” Maedoc replied. “That is why she was banished.”

  “And she is now The Lifegiver’s Prophet. Do you know why?”