Akharu moved into the lamplight, causing the man to back away. The demon was silent and intimidating in his appearance. From a distance, he would look like any other assassin; dark-robed, cowled, and steady in his demeanor. But up close, his appearance was frightening and chaotic. His thin armor was layered and segmented, with edges that were gilded and gleaming. He bore a striking resemblance to some odd and fearsome insect. The man knew he was not human, or anything resembling a human, and he only offered information because he knew that Garret was already dead.
“And how did you meet him, Jax?” Akharu asked, his voice a chorus of ethereal whispers.
Jax swallowed, not intending to reveal the existence of his daughter, Twylla.
“He killed the Jindala soldiers that had occupied my pub,” Jax replied. “All of them at once.”
Akharu grinned, his fangs glistening in the moonlight. “Excellent,” he said. “And what brought him there to your pub, Jax?”
“I don’t know, rightly. But he came from the north after eliminating a Jindala camp at the old trading post.”
He was lying. Akharu knew it. He slid closer to Jax, standing over him and training his dark face upon him.
“What are you not telling me?”
Jax looked up, seeing the fiery light in the creature’s eyes; eyes that were surrounded by his dark, demonic features. He choked back the urge to sob, fearful that the beast would kill him for his weakness. Akharu leaned in closer, taking hold of Jax’s cloak and pulling him face to face.
“What brought him to your pub?” he hissed.
“He was thirsty,” Jax stammered. “He was on his way to kill someone in Faillaigh, and stopped in for a drink.”
“Liar,” Akharu hissed. Jax swallowed in terror, knowing the assassin could see right through him. Still, he would not willingly give up any information concerning Twylla.
“Why do you want to know why he came to my pub?” Jax pleaded. “Why not ask me where he is?”
“Because you don’t know where he is,” Akharu replied, grinning. “But you do know what it was that caused him to stray from his mission, don’t you?”
Jax remained silent, straightening his posture and staring straight into Akharu’s eyes.
“I have nothing more to say,” he said. “If you want the assassin, you find him. As far as I know, he is dead. He died the night Queen Siobhan died.”
Akharu glared at him menacingly. He had to admit, he was impressed with Jax’s resistance. He was a brave man; not a coward, like the Jindala. He let go of Jax, allowing the man to relax. Slowly, he backed away.
“I will find her,” Akharu said. “I will find her, and I will use her to draw out this Scorpion.”
Jax sighed, waiting for the assassin to turn before slowly moving away.
“You cannot draw out a dead man,” Jax said. “Any more than you can pass yourself off as human. They will know what you are.”
Suddenly, Akharu’s black blade flashed in the moonlight as the assassin stepped into a thrust. The sword pinned Jax against the wall, having impaled him through the shoulder. He gritted his teeth with the pain, growling to cover his fear.
Akharu withdrew his blade, chuckling as Jax clasped his wound.
“Enjoy that,” the demon said. “It will never heal. You are my victim forever.”
“Then to Hell with you,” Jax replied.
Without a word, Akharu walked into the shadows and faded from existence. Jax slumped against the wall, sliding down as tears of pain began to roll down his cheek. As he hit the ground, he heard Hargis stumble out of his hiding place. The drunk knelt next to him placing his hand over Jax’s wound.
“Who in th’ Nine Hells was that?” he slobbered.
“I don’t know, Hargis, but he’s after Twylla.”
Hargis grunted. “He’ll ne’er find th’ lass,” he assured Jax. “An’ if he does, he’ll be wishin’ he ne’er did.”
Jax looked at his friend, knowing the man was simply trying to comfort him. This demon could easily kill anyone. Twylla would be no match for him.
“Take me to Tel Drakkar,” Jax said. “Perhaps the priests can heal me, and offer some protection for my daughter.”
“Mayhap they be knowin’ how to find the Scorpion, yah?”
“Perhaps, Hargis,” Jax replied. “We can only hope.”
“Aye,” Hargis said, putting his arm around Jax to help him to his feet.
“Let’s get ye to the temple,” Hargis said. “Tha’s a nasty poke ye got there.”
Jax cringed in pain, groaning as he felt the dark essence of the demon’s blade coursing through his veins. Though he knew the wound itself wasn’t fatal, the presence of dark magic told him that it was something much more dangerous; something that may take his life anyway.
Or, perhaps, his soul.
Malthor sat cross-legged on the floor of a cave near Argan. He had flown here after his encounter with Maedoc in an effort to maintain a close, but respectable, distance from Faerbane. Eamon was there, he knew, and he wanted to get a feel for the man’s personality and strength.
First, however, he felt the need to inform his master of the encounter with Faeraon; it was an encounter that had happened because of the rift. The Lifegiver had felt the ethereal portal and was curious as to its nature. He had come through a similar rift before, but this one seemed to be the work of something other than his sorcerers.
With Tyrus gone, and the Prophet in slumber, the only explanation was that the Universal powers were interfering. It was a prospect that did not bode well for The Lifegiver, or his lust for life energy.
Somehow, those powers that be had discovered his pattern.
“Master,” the Corruptor spoke. “I am here.”
Before him, a point of purple light appeared, growing into a swirling mass of black tendrils and swirling clouds. Malthor felt The Lifegiver’s power as it surrounded him, filling him with renewed strength.
Speak, Malthor
“I have discovered the source of the disturbance, Master,” Malthor spoke. “It is a rift; a portal to another dimension.”
To what realm does it lead?
“It leads to a dimension you have previously conquered,” Malthor replied. “And in that dimension resides a survivor. Faeraon, the King of the Alvar.”
The form shuddered at the mention of The Lifegiver’s former enemy. The purplish mass began to spin faster, and Malthor could feel his master’s wrath growing.
How did he survive?
“Unknown,” Malthor said. “But he is now here in this realm. The Druid Farouk brought him here.”
For what purpose?
Malthor thought for a moment, putting together his theory that was based upon the various feelings he had experienced in both realms.
“The Druids and their kin have hatched a plot to undo all you have done,” he said. “I feel the presence of another power just beyond the rift; it is one that has been here before. I can feel her growing stronger as the Druids unravel the spell that was cast upon her. There is also the matter of the Druid-child.”
The children of Gaia present a danger. Something lies within the Earth that I am unaware of. The Firstborn have been released; all but Imbra. Yet the Dragon has disappeared. I no longer feel him. He is working with this mysterious spirit. I feel that he does not yet know this, but Gaia has sent him away for some purpose. This plot must not come to fruition.
“What plot is this?”
Something is happening here on Gaia; something that I cannot quite describe. Watch the Druids. Find out all you can by any means possible. If you must, seek out the Dragon. The fact that I cannot sense his location tells me he may have discovered a way to free himself and leave his true form behind. Take care of the Druids and this child. Then, find the Dragon.
“Yes, Master,” Malthor replied.
He closed his hands, causing The Lifegiver’s image to fade away. Leaning back on his palms, he stared up at the cavern’s ceiling, contemplating his next move. He had no
desire to deal with the Druids and their kin directly, he knew. However, he could not just leave them to their plans. The Lifegiver would be most displeased. No, he had to deal with them one way or another; but not necessarily on his own. He could distract them somehow, perhaps raising a small army to take care of the dirty work, and try to get to the Druid-child. That boy, he felt, was the key to defeating their plans. Perhaps it was time to make use of his own inter-dimensional powers. He could summon a force of creatures from another realm to fight for him; thus not only outnumbering the Druids, but catching them off guard as well. Nothing would distract them more than an army of demons.
He smiled at the thought.
Faerbane was a bustle of activity as the Knights of the Dragon and their allies gathered at the main port. Out in the harbor, a dozen war vessels of Pashir lay in wait for them. Jadhav’s people had come through, fulfilling their promise to assist in destroying the Jindala blockade. Somewhere beneath the waters, unseen to most, were Jadhav’s special undersea vessels as well. With this small fleet, the allies of the Dragon would lay waste to the Jindala navy, and clear the way for the transport vessels to carry the allied armies to the mainland.
Eamon watched the skiff as it neared the docks. There were two men on board; each of a distinctly different origin. They were both dark-skinned, bearded, and wore headgear similar to Jadhav’s people. They were clearly seasoned warriors, as well, as they both bore the expressions of men who had seen battle for most of their lives.
“They are the officers of my father’s former military,” Jadhav explained. “One is from my country, the other is from Khem. Both are loyal to our cause.”
“That is good news,” Eamon replied. “The good people of Khem are with us then?”
Jadhav nodded. “Most of them, yes,” he said. “But there are still hundreds of thousands of Jindala to deal with. They are the enemy, no matter what their country of origin.”
“We should each command a vessel,” Hamal suggested. “And your knights should sail with you, Eamon.”
Ulrich cleared his throat. “I will take the one with the nice black sails,” he said, prompting a round of chuckles from the others.
“Whatever you wish,” Eamon replied.
“I don’t care much for sailing,” Wrothgaar added.
Ulrich put his arm around his son is a teasing manner. “It’s alright, boy,” he said. “Feel free to hang your head over the side and pray to the sea. Your uncle Thorgrymm was the same.”
“I’m sensing a pattern here,” Angen teased.
Eamon turned to the group when the skiff had reached the dock. “Are we ready, my friends?”
There was a collective “Aye!” as the knights followed Eamon onto the small boat. Others were seen in the distance, ready to carry the rest of the soldiers to the ships. To the south, a fleet of transport vessels was approaching; having sailed around the southern tip of the island from Bray.
“The others have arrived!” Eamon shouted. “Troops, prepare for boarding at the command of the dock master!”
The collective soldiers raised their weapons in understanding. Eamon smiled proudly.
“Alright then,” he said to his friends. “Let’s sink some Jindala ships.”
Erenoth and his priests scouted the blockade under the cover of the Dragon’s magic. They soared high, scanning the sea for any ships that may be laying outside the line in wait. These would be their targets, as the main force of Eirenoch’s fleet would face the main blockade directly.
When several smaller vessels, and a large behemoth of a ship, were spotted, Erenoth gave the signal to split up. The six draconians shrieked in understanding, and the seven swooped in for the kill.
The Jindala vessels were caught completely off guard. The spotters in each crow’s nest were incinerated immediately, and the rest of their crews scrambled to man the ballista and draw their bows. The priests weaved in and out of the thick cloud of arrows that seemed to come suddenly, diving down to avoid them and razing the decks with their flame.
Men jumped overboard in panic as they were set alight, screaming and thrashing all the way to the surface. The priests picked up several men in their claws and dropped them onto the decks to splatter among their allies, then returned to knocking down the masts and blasting the hulls with their fiery breath. Those men that escaped were dragged out of the water and clawed to death. Seeing their allies killed so quickly sent the Jindala into a panic. They fired their bows wildly, hoping to catch at least one of the mysterious creatures that were destroying their ships. Within only a few minutes, the entire group of smaller ships was engulfed in flames. It seemed that the entire group of reinforcements had been disabled.
But disabled was not good enough.
Erenoth swooped in along the length of the largest ship, firing a jet of flame at each store of black powder that was stacked in heavy barrels. There were several explosions as each was ignited, and bits of wood, flesh, and molten metal flew everywhere. The other priests followed him, seeing an opportunity to cause more mayhem. They flew after him, firing their own flames at the deck. Men screamed and shouted as they were incinerated, and the deck itself began to darken and splinter.
Erenoth dove over the side, flying alongside the ship to look for any openings in the hull. There were several ports near the top that led into the interior; probably for cannons, he thought. He reached out with his claws, catching onto the hull to peer inside one of the ports. Seeing nothing, but smelling oil, he fired a jet of flame into the hole. The flash of an explosion that resulted nearly blew him off his perch. He laughed and moved on to the next one.
Above, the priests were making short work of the sails and slamming into the ship’s masts. As they toppled, the deck, already weakened from the flame, shattered under their massive weight. They flew high out of the way when Erenoth’s explosions began to shake the ship. Flash after flash of oil explosions began to blast through the hull and set the remaining timbers on fire. The thick clouds of smoke were nearly blinding.
Erenoth returned topside, flying up to meet his priests in the air. They circled above as they watched the massive warship disintegrate and sink beneath the waves. The other ships, disabled and unable to flee, simply burned dead in the water. The Priests of Drakkar had completed their task.
“That was fun!” Erenoth growled.
Chapter Eighteen
Imbra opened his eyes as he felt the power of his ancient gem. Somewhere nearby, he was being called upon through the magical device that he had created thousands of years ago, and had lost. Somehow, it had been found, and was now in the possession of some soul who sought his wisdom. Though he longed to speak to one of his children, the chance of escaping his prison seemed the most important possibility at the moment. He could better serve his children if he were free.
He reached out with his consciousness, feeling out the immediate area around his temple. His awareness, though in an extra-dimensional prison, was still acute, and he was able to get an accurate vision. What he felt reviled him.
There was a great darkness wielding the gem. It was a darkness that seemed familiar to him, as if someone or something he knew of called for his presence. For what purpose, he could not guess. Though the farther inward he focused, the more apparent who the being was.
Sulemain.
Imbra gasped when the name flashed in his mind. Sulemain was long dead; he had died before Imbra’s gem had even been cut. How could this be?
“Absu,” Imbra groaned.
As he focused harder, his anger began to grow. His most faithful child was now a tool of the darkness, and he dared to defile his father’s temple with his presence. The Firstborn struggled against his magical bonds, his rage adding to his immortal strength. His power grew, and he felt his body begin to be drawn away from the prison. He would escape because of the gem, but he now knew why Sulemain had summoned him.
“Sulemain,” he growled, allowing his rage to flow through him; to change him.
The Enkh
atar gathered around their master as he held the gem in the air. It glowed brightly, with rays of red and blue illuminating the shadowy chasm where the temple was carved. They hissed in delight when the rays of color began to coalesce into a single beam that swirled and snaked its way in the direction of the temple entrance.
Soon, Imbra would appear and the Enkhatar would destroy him.
Suddenly, the temple doors exploded outward, shattering into dust, and jagged shards of limestone that shot through the air. The Enkhatar hissed once more, each drawing his weapon as Sulemain lowered the stone in triumph. Within the temple’s dark opening, the sounds of shuffling signaled Imbra’s appearance. The Enkhatar stepped forward in anticipation, their weapons poised.
A massive head came through the door; blue faced, red-eyed, and armored in a formidable golden helmet. The Enkhatar, expecting the benevolent Imbra to appear, looked at Sulemain. The Lord of the Enkhatar growled, not familiar with this beast that came in Imbra’s stead.
As the massive creature exited the temple fully, Sulemain drew his own weapon. There stood the giant figure of a divine warrior, naked and blue, armored with only a waist plate, golden boots, his helmet, and golden gauntlets guarding its six wrists. Each of the creature’s six arms drew a heavy, curved blade, and the red eyes glared at its enemies as they brightened and narrowed.
Gone was Imbra’s former benevolent self. He was now Imbra the Destroyer.
Sulemain charged.
Imbra immediately became a spinning wall of blades as the Enkhatar attacked. He easily parried their strikes, blocking with one sword and countering with another. The Dark knights surrounded him, but Imbra could not be taken so easily. His six blades and his fierce, red eyes cast fear into their blackened hearts. Imbra stepped back, raising all of his weapons into the air, and let loose a keening of rage that echoed for miles around, and caused the Enkhatar to writhe in pain.
Kronos stopped in his tracks when he heard the distant roar. He looked to Yin-Kai, who returned his curious glance.
Into Oblivion (Book 4) Page 18