Jodocus paused, giving himself a moment to think. The two young men leaned in closer, waiting for him to continue.
“I spoke with the Dragon for days, hearing his tale of an ancient battle once fought against a being of similar nature. Something that was chaos itself. Or negative energy. Possibly the same being. Who knows? But this ancient battle was fought at the request of the Great Mother. He was the Mother’s warrior spirit, after all, and was the only one fit to wage war. It was a battle that the Dragon ultimately won, but it cost him much of his power. When it was decided during our communion that the Dragon himself was too weak to fight again, he thought that he should take human form and bring his seed onto the Earth once more—that’s you, Eamon. But you knew that—where was I?”
Jodocus stopped for a moment, scratching his chin.
“Oh yes,” he continued. “I decided to travel to Dol Drakkar to greet him, as we had been friends for centuries. There, I met with his servants; the Priests of Drakkar.”
Jodocus stopped again, pouring the two men another cup of tea. He swigged from a small bottle he took from his robe, then replaced it without saying a word. Eamon looked to Wrothgaar from the corner of his eye, seeing the Northman mirroring the gesture.
“I told the Dragon of your mother and her twin sister. I described their character to him as best I could, and he decided on the lovely Siobhan, instead of the equally lovely Maebh. They’re twins, after all. But he liked the sound of a future Queen who would lead her people into battle herself. What bravery, he thought! What character. She would be an excellent Queen, and an excellent vessel for his offspring.”
“Did he love her?” Eamon asked.
“He did,” Jodocus replied, nodding his head slowly, smiling. “Indeed he did.”
“Then why did he never return?”
“He did, on occasion. He witnessed your birth, your coronation, and even your first battle against the islanders. He was proud, and still is to this day. He will be glad to see you, Eamon.”
Eamon sat silent, not sure how to react. Finally he said, “I’m not sure I will be happy to see him. I’m not even sure I want to see him, even under these circumstances.”
Wrothgaar put his hand on Eamon’s shoulder. “My friend,” he said, “many of my people never get a chance to meet their fathers. And those that do are happy to do so, no matter how long it takes.”
“Your friend is right, Prince Eamon,” Jodocus said. “The Dragon has his reasons for the way he works. No one knows why he chose to seclude himself underground, letting his body rot away. No one knows why he walks the Earth in human form, either. It’s just what he does...or did, rather. He is an ancient being, older than time itself—on this world, anyway—and his reasons are far beyond the comprehension of any mortal.”
“What of the other creatures that the Jindala travel with?” Eamon added. “What are they?”
“Living voids, it seems,” Jodocus said. “Strange beings, like the Lifegiver, that have the power to draw the life from all things around it. Wherever they appear, things die—unusually fast, I might add. I have had to travel to many locations around the kingdom to restore life to the places they have drained. Not an easy task, I tell you. But the most disturbing thing is that they are sentient beings, not just objects that the enemy carries around in a box. They walk among us like demons. But they are not demons. They simply are—and aren’t...”
“I do not understand,” Wrothgaar said, scratching his head. “How can they be and not be?”
“I understand your confusion. But it’s the only way I can explain it. They seem to exist in this dimension and their own dimension simultaneously. Their own reality and ours, so to speak. They have not fully entered our world as the greater being has done, but are somehow stuck between worlds. They use this bridge to feed upon the energy of this world, that they may grow stronger in their own. And if they succeed in gathering enough life force in this world, they may be able to cross over fully. Such a being would upset the balance greatly, as the Lifegiver has done. A creature from a negative universe existing in our own universe…well, you can imagine the consequences. Very disturbing, indeed.”
Eamon quietly sipped his tea, feeling the burden on himself and his friend grow heavy. He wondered if they would be able to fight the creatures, even with the Dragon’s help. It would be a difficult and dangerous task, but for the sake of the kingdom, and possibly the entire world, they must succeed, or die trying.
“Come,” Jodocus said, rising. “We will go to my chambers. I have a few things that may be of great value in this struggle.
The door the three entered opened into a stairwell that led down underground to another door. Through the second door, a cobblestone-lined hallway led into the darkness. Though dark and dusty, the hallway was dry and not at all unpleasant.
“This hall leads to my tower,” Jodocus said. “It’s hidden from view, obviously, and the hall is the only way into it.”
“Ingenious,” Eamon stated. Wrothgaar nodded in agreement.
“Do not worry about your horses,” Jodocus assured them. “They’ll be fine. My forest is guarded by the spirits of the trees. They will protect them and keep them from wandering off.”
Eamon had completely forgotten about them, but Wrothgaar seemed unconcerned. Then again, he didn’t care for horses to begin with, so his indifference was not surprising.
Jodocus lit the way with his staff, which glowed brightly at the tip with a greenish light, revealing intricate runes carved into the stones. There were runes of unknown origin, pictograms, and many other glyphs written in long dead languages.
“I see you’ve noticed the writings on the wall,” Jodocus said. “They were carved by the Priests of Drakkar many thousands of years ago when this tower was built. It was originally inhabited by the lich, Traegus, a powerful human sage who used his magic to bring himself back from the dead. Smelly fellow, as you could well imagine, but rather pleasant to talk to.”
“I’m not sure what a lich is,” Wrothgaar stated.
“An undead Priest or wizard,” Jodocus answered. “Some of them are so devoted to their craft, and the pursuit of knowledge, that they refuse to allow themselves to pass away. They stay alive, despite the fact that their bodies are dead.”
“Ah,” Wrothgaar said. “Interesting, and repulsive at the same time.”
Jodocus laughed. “Indeed, my friend. Indeed. They are one small group of individuals that seem to always upset the balance. Burns me, it does. When it’s your time to go, it’s your time to go. They just refuse to accept that.”
“And what of you?” Wrothgaar asked. “Why have you refused to let death take you?”
“I haven’t!” Jodocus snapped in mock anger. “I just haven’t died yet. But I will. Someday. I have been here for as long as men have walked the Earth. Even longer. But when my time comes, I will happily let myself cross over. I look forward to returning to the Earth.”
The group reached the end of the hall where there stood a heavy oaken door. It was adorned with steel bands and rivets, ornate hinges, and a fist-shaped handle. Jodocus turned the handle and pulled the heavy door open. It swung open with little effort, apparently well balanced enough to glide easily on its hinges.
“Go on in,” Jodocus offered.
The two men entered, looking upward to the dark, featureless shaft that loomed above them. There was not much to see. No stairs, no windows, no torches. Only a large round platform upon which they all now stood. With a wave of his hand and a tap on the floor with his staff, Jodocus began to raise the platform.
Wrothgaar and Eamon stumbled slightly when it began to move, but quickly caught their balance. Jodocus chuckled, mumbling to himself in amusement as the platform slid smoothly upward.
“Levitation is the easiest way to harness the natural energy of the Earth,“ Jodocus said. “It’s the first trick that all apprentices learn to use, whether seer, wizard, druid, or what have you.”
The two younger men glanced at Jod
ocus briefly before turning their attention back to the empty blackness above. After a few more moments, the platform stopped, resting at another large door, similar to the one at the bottom of the pit.
“Here we are,” Jodocus said, opening the door. “Go on.”
Eamon and Wrothgaar entered the chamber, finding it octagonal in shape, decorated with arcane symbols, alchemy equipment, and maps of the stars and planets. It was similar to Maedoc’s chamber back home, but somewhat more wild-looking in appearance. The sunlight poured in through tall, rectangular windows on each tan stone wall, and various plants were hung or potted in each corner. The windows themselves were overgrown with vines and ivy, some of which boasted beautiful white or lavender flowers.
“These are my chambers,” Jodocus said. “Not quite as cozy as my cottage—rather eclectic I would say—but comfortable. I do my best writing and research here. Well, next to outside in the open, of course. Please sit.”
Jodocus went to a large chest underneath one of the windows, blowing the dust off before opening it. He fumbled around for a few moments, mumbling, until finally he found what he was looking for.
“Ah ha!” he shouted. “Found it.”
He turned, finding the two young men still standing.
“Oh goodness,” Jodocus lamented. “I suppose it’s a little hard to sit without any chairs.”
The druid tapped his staff on the floor again, and two chairs slid across the room and came to rest in their proper places at the table. Both men took a seat and waited, anxious to see what Jodocus had found.
The old man shuffled over to the table and set down a small pouch. He motioned for Eamon to open it.
“This was given to me by a dryad a long, long time ago, when I was actually young—I think. I do not remember, but it’s a nifty little thing.”
Inside the pouch was a large gem, light green in color, and cut to such beautiful precision that it sparkled as if it contained a light of its own. Eamon was mesmerized by its beauty.
“What is it for?” he asked, turning the gem over and over in his hands.
“It’s a soul gem,” Jodocus said. “It contains the soul of a dryad, a spirit of nature. When placed on the ground, and the dryad’s name is uttered, it will spring forth living energy. Trees will heal, grass will grow, and any other lifeless plants around it will spring back to life. You can wield all of the power of a master druid with this single stone. Within reason, of course.”
Eamon smiled. “What a wonderful gift,” He said. “This will help us heal any damage done by whatever beings travel with the Jindala.”
“Yes,” Jodocus agreed. “Use it sparingly, for its power is great. If the need arises, you can summon the power of the gem and return some life to the land. But do not give too much. Only give what is needed. We don’t want to see any trees walking around of their own accord. Trees can be feisty, you know.”
“Thank you, Jodocus,” Eamon said. “I will use it wisely.”
“One more thing!” Jodocus interjected, going back to his chest. “This is for both of you.”
Jodocus brought back a large pouch inscribed with druidic symbols. “These are healing herbs,” he explained. “Prepare them like tea and drink it hot. It will replenish you when you are weary, and will help you heal when you are injured.”
“Thank you, my friend,” Eamon said. “You have been very helpful to us. How can we ever repay you?”
Jodocus sighed. “Speak to the Dragon and fulfill your destiny as your Grandfather’s successor. That is all I ask. I know you are strong enough to do so. And you, Wrothgaar, see that Eamon makes it safely to Dol Drakkar. The rewards to you will be great as well.”
“I will,” Wrothgaar promised. “And I will tell my people of how you helped us.”
Jodocus smiled. “Thank you, my friend. Now, it is getting late and the two of you should rest. You may stay here for the night and help yourself to all the food you like. When you awaken, I will be gone. I have business elsewhere on the island.”
“Where will you go?” Eamon asked. “And how can we find you if we need your help?”
“I will be where I need to be. This is my battle, as well, and I must do my duty to maintain the balance. I will do whatever I can to do so. If you need me, don’t bother calling for me. I will have already been there.”
Jodocus winked, fading from sight.
“Well,” Wrothgaar said. “I guess that answers your question.”
Farouk stepped off of the small rowboat as it pulled up on the Eastern shore of Eirenoch. He removed his armored turban, letting his long, black hair loose to flow in the breeze. Despite his heavy, woolen tunic and cloak, and the armor that chaffed his skin, the small gesture made him feel a little like himself again.
There was a chill in the air that made him uncomfortable, but the beautiful landscape put a smile on his face as he took it all in. It was quite different from his desert homeland. There were trees and bushes the likes of which he had never seen before, and even the cliff wall that rose before him was home to a wide variety of birds and flowering plants.
He looked to the sky, which was overcast and gray. The sun was barely discernable, but Farouk found it comforting. In his homeland, the sun beat down from the sky like a hellish orb of fire. Here, it was cool and unobtrusive. The change was quite refreshing.
He looked back at his men as they scrambled to disembark, and saw his brother Azim strapping on his sword and bow. The Jindala warriors were impressive and deadly, but Azim was a master swordsman and archer, and could best any man in combat. He felt fortunate to have Azim with him, as the two had always been close, even for brothers. Azim’s demeanor was one of rationality and compassion, two qualities that always brought Farouk comfort in such a chaotic world.
“Off! Off!” Farouk commanded, waving his arms toward the cliffs. “We make camp here for the night.”
The beach was secluded, perfect for massing troops. The other groups of Jindala, including the Diplomats, had made camp here, and their gear was still present. Lavish tents lined the beach, each one complete with comfortable beds and other reminders of home. Farouk’s men would be grateful for a good night’s rest on dry land. Their many days at sea had taken their toll. The Jindala were not seafaring men.
Azim came and stood next to his brother, watching the men unload and make their way toward the camp. “The men will be fine to travel in the morning,” he said. “They are strong, and your leadership inspires them.”
Farouk said nothing, but continued watching them. He felt an uneasiness overcome him. Not an uneasiness caused by the chill anymore, but something he couldn’t describe. Almost like a feeling of abandonment. There was something missing here in this land. And something present that he never felt in his homeland. He was too far from home, and the soul of this island was unfamiliar and different somehow. He could feel it.
“Are you alright, my brother?” Azim asked, concerned as always.
Farouk shook off the feeling as best he could, smiling at his brother. “I am fine, Azim. Thank you. Go find a good place to rest. I’ll join you once the men have disembarked.”
As Azim turned to leave, Farouk wondered if his brother was feeling the same sense of loss. He didn’t dare ask. Such feelings would be considered blasphemy, and Farouk would be executed as an infidel. He would not say anything for now. He would do as The Livegiver asked, and force the people of Eirenoch into submission. That was why he was here.
Chapter Seven
What news?” Fergis asked the two rangers who had returned from their scouting.
“The attackers split up here,” One of them reported. “One group went south toward Gallot. The other, the larger of the two, went southwest. They may be heading for the castle. The tracks are still fairly fresh, only a few days old, so they must have departed shortly before the destruction was discovered.”
“Were there anything other than human tracks?” Fergis asked.
“No, not that we could see.”
“Good work, men,” Fergis said. “Follow the group heading southwest and stay hidden. When you are sure where they are headed, report to your own Captain. Kuros will decide whether to ambush the attackers. If not, the city guards will protect the walls until we return. We will follow the other group toward Gallot and attack them there. I have a feeling they travel with our mysterious killer. If this monster is as dangerous and powerful as we think, it could make up for the lack of a larger army.”
“Agreed,” The ranger said. “Good luck, Fergis.”
“Mount up!” Fergis commanded his men. “We ride to Gallot!”
Kuros stayed hidden behind a high, rocky knoll as he watched the caravan approach the mouth of Cael Pass below him. Even in the dim light of dusk, he could see them clearly.
There were twenty men, two of them on horseback. He scanned the group carefully, noting their elaborate and colorful clothing, and general non-military demeanor. They were not armed for combat, either, but for self-defense. Very few of them carried military weapons, and those were undoubtedly personal guards.
Even so, the armed men were still adorned in silk robes, sandals, and neatly wrapped head wear. They were most likely diplomats. Soldiers would not wear such elaborate clothing.
“I do not see any weapons,” Daryth said. “Nothing useful in combat anyway.”
“Not in plain sight, no,” Kuros agreed. “But most of the elaborately dressed men are carrying swords under their robes. The others, only daggers. Their leader, the one on the black horse, has a ceremonial sword. But it’s far too ornate to be anything but decorative.”
“What should we do?” Daryth asked.
“We will go to Morduin and stay hidden in the forest nearby. If my guess is correct, this is a diplomatic envoy. Attacking them could incite a war.”
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