Soon, the ship was free of the Jindala scum. Angen lit a torch, dropping it beneath the deck, and laughed as the galley was set to flame.
“Back to the ship!” Eamon commanded.
The warriors leaped across the gap again as the Jindala ship drifted away in flames. The men cheered, signaling to the other ships that they were successful. Hamal and Ulrich’s men joined in, and Eamon saw that they had sunk a ship each.
“Seven, plus one.” Eamon said, grinning at Angen.
“Quiet you!” Angen growled.
Near the ship, a spout of water shot up as a huge, grey form came rolling over the waves. It soon passed, slipping beneath the surface again. The men watched as the dark form of the whale rammed the damaged ship, sending it over on its side.
“Well,” Eamon said. “He’s a bit late.”
The sound of cannons was heard again in the distance. The huge ship had fired, and its cannonballs, within range this time, bore down on Eamon’s ship.
“Look out!” he shouted.
The men aboard deck scrambled, waiting to see where the cannonball would strike before deciding what direction they should flee. The projectile crashed into the crow’s nest above, shattering it and killing the lookout instantly. His body sailed through the air, broken and lifeless, and landed in the water behind the ship.
“Poor Shae,” Brynn lamented. “He had the eyes of an eagle.”
“Wrothgaar,” Eamon said. “Man the ballista again.”
“Where is Jadhav?” Daryth asked, leveling his bow at the nearest ship.
“He must be preparing to attack the large ship,” Eamon said. “If he could sink the Enkhatar ship, he can sink this one.”
Jadhav glared out of the porthole of his vessel, seeing the keel of the giant ship come into view. Though much larger than the ship that had carried the Enkhatar, it was of similar structure and would require similar tactics.
“Vedic,” he said. “Prepare the blades. We will go lengthwise down the keel.”
Vedic pulled the lever that activated the blades. As he pulled they slowly raised. Jadhav waited for the right moment, when his ship was at the perfect angle. He motioned for his steersman to turn to the starboard slightly, leveling his hand when the angle was right. Then, he nodded.
The ship lurched forward at full speed, rising slowly until it was directly underneath the bow of the warship.
“Up!” he commanded.
The vessel shot upward at an angle, impacting the warship’s hull and punching a hole right through it.
“Forward!”
The blades tore through the iron next to the ship’s keel, ripping through it as Jadhav’s ship ground forward. But there was not enough momentum to tear along. The vessel was too strong.
“Submerge again,” Jadhav commanded. “We’ll come straight up. Enough holes, and it will sink.”
“Yes, captain,” Vedic said.
“Fire!” Eamon commanded.
The cannons sounded again as the enemy ships came in line with their own fleet. Their cannonballs tore into the sides of the enemy ships, and smoke filled the air. The enemy and allied ships were all now in close proximity, and the chaos of battle filled the air. Arrows flew from every direction, cannons were fired, blindly, and men leaped from ship to ship to engage the enemy one on one.
Above, the screech of dragons sounded, and the Priests of Drakkar soared down from the obscured sky to join the battle.
Jets of flame strafed the decks of the enemy ships, and the sounds of men set aflame was deafening. Eamon squinted through the smoke, seeing Erenoth transform into human shape and slice his way through to fight at his king’s side.
“Well met, Erenoth,” Eamon said as the Priest joined him.
Erenoth nodded in greeting, dispatching two attacking Jindala as they rushed him.
“I see you decided not to wait for me,” Erenoth said.
Eamon chuckled, leading his friend into the smoke to seek out more prey.
Hamal fought his way through the crowd of Jindala that had boarded his ship. He could hear his own men surrounding him, cursing at their former kin as they slew them in atonement for their own sins. He was proud of the men Eamon had provided for him. These soldiers who had rebelled and joined the forces of Eirenoch were the best swordsmen he had ever known. He would have to remember them when he sat upon the throne of Khem.
As he ran through the chaos, cutting down enemies along the way, he was suddenly thrown off his feet by the impact of a giant cannonball. It crashed through the deck, sending splintered wood in every direction. Hamal rolled back onto his feet again, attempting to stay steady as the ship lurched and pitched from side to side. The hull had been ruptured and the ship was sinking. He had to get his men onto another ship.
“Abandon ship!” he shouted.
He led his men to the railing, waiting for them to cross over before following them to the deck of the next ship. They fought off the mass of Jindala that were there to greet them, killing them quickly and efficiently. Hamal now had command of an enemy vessel.
“The Imperial ship must have fired blindly,” he said to one of his warriors. “There is no possible way anyone aboard it could have distinguished between our ships and theirs.
“Of course it fired blindly,” the man agreed. “The Jindala care nothing for their own.”
Sadly, the man was right. The juggernaut would fire at will, destroying every ship it could; enemy or not.
“Steer us to the next ship!” Hamal commanded. “We’ll go from deck to deck until the Jindala are no more.”
Ulrich’s crew swarmed the deck of a Jindala ship like rats. They had appeared from the smoke of the surrounding fires, leaping onto the deck and catching the enemy by surprise. Their tactic was simple; the Jarl and the larger warriors would take the deck, and the smaller warriors would flood the areas below deck, setting fire to the galley and seeking out the officers.
He calmly walked across the deck as his men pushed the enemy toward the railings. Though a few Jindala attempted to rush him, he casually knocked them aside and continued on. This would be the third ship they sacked and sank, and as far as he knew, there were only a few left.
“Knock them overboard, boys!” he shouted, smashing an approaching enemy with his hammer.
He continued on to the bow, ascending the three stairs that would give him a better view. Through the smoke, he could see the outline of the giant ship approaching fast. Once it got a clear view, it would no doubt fire.
He peered carefully at the juggernaut’s side. Even through the smoke, he could see the ports from which the cannons fired. They were open, he saw, and the cannons inside were likely loaded and ready to fire.
“Archer!” he shouted, calling on any of his men to answer his call.
A younger man appeared at his side; a rebel Jindala archer. “Yes, sir?”
Ulrich pointed at the ports on the black ship. “You see those ports?” he said. The archer nodded. “Fire into them with flaming arrows. Keep shooting until you hear something explode.”
The young man grinned, grabbing a flaming timber from the railing. Ulrich stood behind him, guarding him from any enemies that strayed too close. The archer lit an arrow, carefully firing it into the smoke. The faint glow of the arrow’s flaming tip sailed straight into the nearest port.
“Nice shot!” Ulrich said, tapping the head of his hammer on his free hand. The approaching Jindala warrior that had threatened to attack quickly changed his mind, running off to find easier prey.
The archer fired two more arrows. Still, nothing.
“Sir!” the archer shouted. Ulrich turned, seeing that the ship had cleared the smoke and was quickly turning about to fire.
As Ulrich watched, the giant cannons were pushed through the ports, three of them in all. The gunners inside lined them up for a good shot, adjusting their height and direction. The archer knocked another arrow, taking careful aim as he judged the wind speed and force. Then, he let loose.
Ulrich watched the arrow sail in a graceful arc straight to its target. It disappeared into the port, streaking right past the cannon’s shaft. Fire shot out of all the portholes as something inside exploded with all the fury of Hell. The Jarl’s men ducked, thinking the cannons had fired.
“Good shot, boy!” he shouted, clapping the young man on the back. “You get an extra cup of ale for dinner!”
Jadhav felt the concussion of the explosion from the ship above. Oil and debris began to pour through the giant hole Jadhav’s ship had ripped in its hull, and the sea became cloudy with its blackness. He grinned, seeing that Vedic was grinning, too.
“What was that?” Vedic asked.
Jadhav chuckled. “I’m guessing something exploded,” he said. “Let’s put another hole up there, my friend.”
Vedic obliged, lining the ship up and readying the spikes for another attack.
Jadhav nodded.
“What in the Hell is going on down there!?” the Jindala Admiral demanded, shouting down below deck.
He choked on the smoke that billowed up, and waved his hands to clear it out of the way. There was no answer from his gunners, and the men above were beginning to panic.
“Damn it!” he cursed. “Steersman, ram them! Push straight through the line.”
He grabbed the nearest sailor, pushing him toward the companionway. “Get down there and see what’s happening!” he ordered.
Suddenly, the ship lurched again. The Admiral was thrown to the deck. Jindala soldiers rushed to his aid, pulling him to his feet as the ship began to become unstable.
“Get off of me!” he shouted, pushing them away. “Get us out of here! Full speed ahead!”
He heard creaking from below. The sound of metal grinding against metal was almost deafening. The sound was that of the ship’s doom. Nevertheless, he remained calm, determined to sink as many ships as he could before he met his maker.
Then, his men at the bow scrambled in horror. He shot a quick glance forward, dropping his jaw as a dragon streaked down the length of the deck. A jet a flame blazed from its open maw, setting the men aflame and scorching the iron planks of the deck.
The Admiral ducked as the dragon passed, and then rushed to the front of the ship. From out of the smoke, an endless line of enemy soldiers were flooding the deck, led by a man in armor that looked like the dragon that had just passed him.
“For Eirenoch!” the Dragon King shouted. The Knights of the Dragon shouted behind him, followed by the chaotic screams of the allied forces. The faces of the Jindala were twisted in terror as they saw them appear from the smoke. Eamon raised the Serpent’s Tongue, calling on the power of the Dragon.
He leaped into the air, vaulting the front line and landing among the enemies behind it. He immediately let loose a vicious roar, striking in a series of sweeping attacks. He felt his blade slice through flesh with each strike, and his battle rage built quickly. Around him, the mix of friend and foe was a cacophonous blur of deafening roars and curses.
Behind the enemy soldiers, Eamon could see the commander of the ship. He gritted his teeth, charging forward through the chaos. He struck again and again, slaying those that stood in his way. Wrothgaar’s voice was nearby, and he knew the Northman was right behind him, as he always was.
Eamon growled with rage as he cut through the final few men. He was now clear of the battle and free to charge the terrified Admiral and his three guards. They rushed forward, swords in hand, bravely defending their lord; who stood cowering behind them. Eamon faked an overhead chop, but then ducked at the last minute as the three guards prepared to parry. He came low in front of the middle guard, thrusting his blade into the man’s gut.
He withdrew immediately, spinning around on one knee and slashing at the legs of the guard on the left. His blade severed it at the knee, and Eamon thrust his blade behind him to block the remaining guard’s stabbing attack.
He felt the two blades connect, and spun again, rising to his feet and slashing upward. He sliced the guard open from gut to throat, kicking his gushing body to the deck. He stood still for a moment, slowly directing his gaze at the Admiral. The man was backing away, though held his sword out defiantly.
“Onyx Dragon,” he hissed. “You will never make it to Khem.”
“Oh?” Eamon replied, walking toward him and allowing his armor to shrink back until his face was visible. “And why is that?”
The Admiral began to laugh hysterically. Without a word, he lifted his sword to his throat. Before Eamon’s eyes, he ended his own life in the most brutal fashion possible. As the choking man sank to his knees, Wrothgaar appeared at Eamon’s side. He was just as puzzled as his king.
“I do not understand these people,” he said. “So willing to die for a devil that cares nothing for them.”
“He cares only for their spirits,” Eamon replied. “Not their souls.”
The two men turned as the chaos behind them died down. The men were cheering their victory, and the last of the enemies were tossed overboard. Through the chaotic caterwauling, the king heard his name shouted from over the side of the ship.
He peered over the edge, seeing Jadhav standing on top of his ship. His friend raised his arms to his side in a questioning gesture, smiling widely.
“Did you happen to notice that the ship is sinking?” he shouted up. “Perhaps you should disembark.”
Eamon chuckled. “We will do that.” He said. “Men! Back to our ships!”
Chapter Twenty Five
Farouk returned to Southwatch after transporting Khalid back to Tel Drakkar. The priest had been in a state of shock since the departure of the Dragon, and would need time to recover. Farouk felt the man’s sorrow, as he, too, once served the Dragon. Farouk owed the Firstborn everything. Without him, the Druid and his brother may have suffered some other fate. A blasphemous end, perhaps. But the Dragon had called to them, and welcomed them into his arms.
For that, he was grateful.
Farouk looked over the remains of the demonic force. The Alvar had laid them to waste with the help of the Rangers and the Druaga. The bodies were left where they fell, as they would eventually fade away as the abyss called them back. It was a small matter.
At the top of the tower, he saw a single figure standing there. She was looking down at him. He could tell, even from this distance, that there was a look of hope on her face. He smiled, holding up his staff.
Allora faded from sight, appearing in front of him in an instant. She approached slowly, full of hope, her eyes never leaving the gem.
“Is she…?” she stammered.
“I have the Mother Spirit you are looking for,” Farouk replied. “She is safe, and when the time is right, she will belong to you.”
Tears welled up in Allora’s eyes, and she covered her mouth with her slender hand. She lowered her head, moving her hands up to her eyes.
“I have waited for so long,” she sobbed. “And I owe you everything.”
“We will defeat The Lifegiver together,” Farouk replied. “All of us, Theia included. Then, all will be well. Your world will live again, and one day you can return.”
Allora stared into his eyes, smiling with hope. “Thank you, Farouk,” she said. “You will always be a friend to my people.”
“I would be honored,” he replied, smiling. “And I will be honored to fight at their side.”
“I will join the battle,” Allora said. “When we are ready to travel to the mainland, my magic will have fully returned.”
Farouk nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Let us join Traegus and lay out our strategy.”
He stepped forward, taking her hand, and the two of them made their way to the tower.
As the day was quite pleasant and beautiful, they decided to walk.
With two additional ships in their fleet, the allies set sail for the mainland. The many transports from the island had joined them, and the ships were now fifty one in number. With a line of warships at the head, the fleet would be unstoppable, a
nd the battle would be joined in full force.
Eamon stood at the bow, his arms folded, and his sights set on the distant shore. There lay the coast of Thyre, and King Tregar’s army. They would join him there, and ride for Khem to meet the assembled armies of the world.
It would be a glorious sight.
He smiled to himself as he pictured the scene in his head. The land surrounding Khem would be a sea of warriors, spread out for miles. What a fearsome sight that would be for The Lifegiver.
Yet, deep down, the king knew that it would spell the end of the Firstborn; all of them. Their sacrifice would be necessary for the fate of the Earth and all forms of life upon it. The world would go on without them. New gods would be born, new heroes would arise from the wake of battle, and one day, he hoped, his own son would inherit his crown.
His own son.
Eamon, a voice said. He knew it was the Dragon.
“Yes, Father,” he whispered. “I hear you.”
Be strong, my son. In the days ahead, you will face death many times. You will be challenged by the forces of darkness; darkness of which no one has ever seen. Do not be anything but my hand. I did not defeat Absu alone, and neither will you. Do not try.
“I am your humble sword,” Eamon said.
Obey the laws of the Universe, my son, and you will prevail. Your friends were chosen for a reason, and were presented to you in the order they were needed. Nothing has ever been a coincidence.
Eamon nodded, accepting the Dragon’s words.
The Keeper has followed you since your birth. He has helped you in ways I could not. He also watches Farouk, and has sent the Druid to the places he is needed. Farouk has the key to victory. You must work with him to use it. Do you understand, my son?
“Yes, Father.”
Good. I go now to my Mother. When you reach Khem, and face The Lifegiver, I will know. I must give myself back to Gaia in order to set the battle in motion. When this happens, you will be the Dragon. Not just the son of the Dragon, but Dagda himself. Do you understand?
Into Oblivion (Book 4) Page 25