Onyx Dragon (Book 1)

by Shawn E. Crapo

“Enter,” Eamon said.

  The door was opened with haste, and a city guard entered. “My Lord,” he said. “Maedoc summons you and the Knights to his tower.”

  Eamon stood. “Come, brothers,” he said, “Our seer awaits us.”

  Maedoc’s chambers were set up differently than before. In the center of the room, a large map of the island was laid out, strangely realistic and alive. A bronze frame was erected above it, with crossbars that suspended a large, glowing orb above the map. The Knights looked at the contraption with wonder, amazed at the detail the map held, and how its surface seemed to move.

  Maedoc beckoned them to close the door when they entered, and motioned for them to gather around the table. He began by pointing at the border between the Northern and Southern Kingdoms.

  “An army of Jindala marches North to the border,” he began. “They will reach it in two days. They number at least three thousand, more than the army that laid siege to Morduin. And these are not just men.”

  “Who are they?” Eamon asked.

  “Among their ranks are two Defilers, several hundred Berserkers, and a creature whose nature I do not know.”

  “Only two Defilers?” Daryth asked, jokingly. “Brynn and I will take them.”

  Brynn laughed, knowing full well that the two of them could take the beasts down easily.

  “Nevermind the Defilers,” Maedoc scolded. “What is important is the sheer number of Jindala, and this strange thing that travels with them.”

  “Does the Dragon know what it is?” Eamon asked.

  “The Dragon has been occupied of late,” Maedoc replied. “He is communing with the other Firstborn, attempting to awaken them. But the feeling I get from this new thing is similar to the Defiler, only stronger. A larger void, maybe. I do not know. Whatever the case, we have two days to prepare.”

  “Good work, Maedoc,” Eamon said. “Your skills are beyond compare. Wrothgaar, find your father and inform him that we leave in the morning for the Southern border.”

  Wrothgaar nodded.

  “Angen, your strategic skills are needed. We need to know where the enemy will cross, and where the best place to meet them will be.”

  Angen sighed, knowing that the Jindala, with a force this size, would undoubtedly march straight into the North Kingdom. “When we discover where they are going to cross, I think the best strategy would be to meet them head on, as far into our own territory as possible. The mountains south of Cael Pass would be a good place. The Rangers could ambush them as they pass.”

  “Good. But the rangers must guard the coast. Brynn’s archers would be a better choice.”

  Brynn nodded. “I agree,” he said. “The archers of Taryn are skilled enough for an ambush, and could fight hand to hand once the Jindala have been thinned out.”

  “My pikemen can take the front lines,” Angen added. “And my infantry can double as cavalry if needed.”

  “My people will be happy to kill in whatever capacity presents itself,” Wrothgaar said.

  Eamon chuckled. “I have no doubt about that,” he said. “Alright, everyone to their tasks. We ride in the morning.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Khalid moved swiftly through the streets of Gaellos, his robes wrapped tightly around him. To everyone else, he was just another Jindala noble, but he had to take measures to ensure that he wasn’t recognized by any soldiers that might see him. His mission was simple, free the children in the town square, and kill as many Jindala as possible.

  He passed by several soldiers, nodded his acknowledgement at them before disappearing from view. Making his way through the city would be difficult. Seeing as how the Jindala here were brightly colored, his white robes stuck out like a sore thumb. He would have to find something else to wear.

  Khalid ducked into an alley and hid in the shadow of the evening sun to gather his thoughts. He could easily walk into a shop and buy some new clothes, but that would probably not go unnoticed. Perhaps he could bribe a commoner for a cloak or something similar. He felt in his pockets, realizing he had no coin, and dismissed the idea.

  “Damn it!” he cursed to himself.

  He seemed to be out of options. His only choice was to sneak into the square, kill the guards, and free the children. He would probably get killed in the effort, but the children would be free, a riot would ensue, and he would die as a redeemed man.

  That was acceptable.

  He continued on, approaching the town square after a half hour or so of wandering. The sun was down now, but the square was lit. There were many guards around, perhaps a dozen or so, and walking right up to the cages and announcing his intentions was the only idea he had.

  Until an odd, suspicious-looking commoner came into view.

  He knew the type, he was the type; shifty-eyed, nervous, and obviously up to no good. Someone he could deal with. He waited for the strange man to look in his direction and got his attention. The man looked around to see if anyone else was in view, and quickly crossed the street to where Khalid had hidden.

  The man recognized Khalid’s white robes and began to back away. “I’ve done nothin’,” he insisted. “I was just on me way home.”

  “I don’t care where you were going,” Khalid said. “I need your help.”

  “Aren’t you a Jindala?”

  “No. Well...yes. I was. But I’m not anymore.”

  “Then what is it ye need of me?” the man asked.

  “I want to free the children in the town square,” Khalid said.

  The man cocked his head, leaning in closer. “I’m listenin’,” he said.

  Khalid reached into his tunic, suddenly remembering the cheap brass medallion he wore as his insignia. He showed it to the man, whose eyes widened with delight.

  “Distract the guards for me,” Khalid said, “and this medallion is yours.”

  The man took the medallion, smiling widely. Khalid noticed several teeth were missing.

  “I’ll do ye one better!” the man said. “Me mates and I will really get their attention. We’ve been wantin’ to start some trouble lately. And this is a good cause. Ye got it, mate!”

  Khalid nodded. “Good,” he said. “I’ll wait while you get your friends.”

  “What do ye mean?” the man asked, confused. “They’re right behind me. Don’t ye see ‘em?”

  Khalid saw no one, but said, “Ah yes. My mistake. Off you go.”

  The man flashed his toothless grin and ran off, stuffing the medallion into his pocket. Khalid could see him approach the Jindala guards. They ignored him at first, motioning for him to move along. But the man continued taunting them, kicking dirt at them and spitting at their feet. When one of the guards raised his spear in a final warning, the man spat right in his face and the distraction began.

  The man ran past Khalid, smiling slyly as he did, and the guards chased him. When they turned the corner, Khalid ran to the center of the town square as fast as he could. What he saw was horrifying.

  The children were filthy and soiled with their own waste. They were lying together to conserve warmth, and looked starved and weak. Khalid’s heart sank. He knew he had caused similar suffering in the cities he had occupied, and the guilt overwhelmed him. Determined to carry out his mission, he grabbed the bars of the cage, leaning his head in between them.

  “Children!” he whispered harshly. “Children, wake up!”

  Some of them stirred, rubbing their eyes as they looked up at the foreign stranger.

  “Who are you?” one of the little girls asked.

  “I am Khalid,” the Sheikh answered. “I am here to set you free.”

  The children’s eyes lit up as he spoke, the life returning to their dullness.

  “Are you a Djinni?” another asked, smiling widely.

  Khalid struggled for an answer, something that would please the children. “Uhhhhh...yes,” he lied. “Yes, I am Khalid the Magnificent!”

  The children laughed with delight, some of them clapping their hands. Khalid cont
inued smiling, and set about his task, his heart warm with the love he felt from the innocent prisoners.

  Khalid examined the locking mechanism of the cage. It was very simple, not much of a challenge for a former thief. He pulled his dagger from his belt, thankful he had not offered it to the man as a bribe, and began picking the lock.

  He turned the blade within the lock’s cylinder, listening for the audible click that would indicate it was picked. When he heard it, he opened the door, motioning for the children to stay put.

  “I will check to see if it is safe for you to go,” He instructed them. “When I tell you, run home. Do you know where your homes are?”

  The children nodded.

  “Good. Now wait here.”

  The Sheikh stood and casually walked into the town square. Outside a nearby shop, a man, probably the town smith, eyed him suspiciously. Khalid smiled and waved, believing that the man would look the other way. When Khalid was satisfied that no one else was watching, he returned to the cage.

  “Go children!” he said. “Run!”

  One by one, the children emerged from the cage. They all ran in different directions, disappearing from sight. Khalid watched them go with a glad heart. The man at the shop stopped, then made his way into the square toward Khalid.

  “What are you doing?” the man asked. “Who are you?”

  Khalid grabbed the man’s sleeve and pulled him into the shadows. “My name is Khalid,” he explained. “I am an enemy of the Jindala. I was instructed to free the children. I have done so, and now I must go.”

  “No,” the man said, “not now. When the guards return, they will question us. They have to be killed.”

  “I only have a dagger,” Khalid said, showing the weapon.

  “Are you skilled with a sword?” the man asked. “I have weapons in my shop.”

  “Yes, of course,” Khalid said. “Do you have a scimitar?”

  The man thought for a moment. “I have similar weapons,” he replied. “Come. Come in and take your pick. Quickly now.”

  Khalid and the man dashed across the town square, ducking into his shop. The forge was not burning, which was to be expected, but Khalid knew that most smiths usually had plenty of weapons around, stashed away from sight.

  “I forged these last year,” he said, pulling a few curved blades from underneath his bed. “They are like scimitars, only smaller and lighter.”

  “Katana,” Khalid said, recognizing their design.

  The smith smiled. “Yes,” he replied. “Katana. You know your weapons. Take your pick.”

  “These are fantastic, sir,” Khalid complimented him. “You do marvelous work.”

  The man nodded in thanks.

  Khalid selected a finely crafted sword, the only one with a full tang. It was wrapped in leather and engraved with Druidic symbols. It was not only beautiful, but perfectly weighted, balanced, and sharper than the swords of Khem.

  “Alright,” the smith said, pulling out a smaller, curved weapon. “We will go back out. When the guards return, you will address them. Tell them you caught me setting the children free.”

  “Good, good,” Khalid agreed. “But what of the other guards in the city?”

  “The Thieves’ Guild is always watching,” the smith said. “When they see us kill the guards, they will spread the word through their network. The entire city will revolt. We’ve been waiting for this.”

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  The two men returned to the town square. The smith had hidden his blade in his tunic and kneeled on the ground before Khalid. The Sheikh trained his sword on him, waiting for the guards to reappear. When he heard the sounds the approach, he began his role playing.

  “Infidel scum!” he cursed the smith. “You will be executed for your treachery!”

  The guards rushed to Khalid’s side, looking at the empty cages and then to the prone man.

  “I caught this scum setting the children free,” Khalid hissed. “Take him away.”

  The guards complied, but eyed Khalid curiously. He was new, they thought, but he was clearly one of their own. Despite his somewhat ragged appearance, he still retained his air of Jindala royalty.

  “Who are you, Sheikh?” one of them asked. “I have not seen you before.”

  “I am Khalid,” he answered. “I was sent to make sure your occupation is going as planned. Now take this man away immediately.”

  Hesitantly, the guards surrounded the smith, preparing to put him in chains. Khalid held his breath, waiting for the smith to act.

  “Remember,” the smith said. “The Thieves’ Guild is always watching.”

  Khalid attacked, slashing two of the men in the back with his katana. The smith pulled his weapon and thrust upward at the nearest guard, disemboweling him in the street. As Khalid charged one of the nine remaining guards, they suddenly stopped, their faces blank and lifeless. One by one, they fell to the ground.

  Behind them, Khalid saw several figures dressed in black cloaks standing with daggers drawn. The smith stood, smiling at Khalid. The dark figures bowed quickly to the smith and disappeared into the shadows.

  “You see,” he said. “Always watching.”

  Khalid laughed. “They watch well,” he said, “and move quickly. Just like the assassins of my land.”

  “We can take it from here, Khalid,” the smith said. “We thank you. Now go before you are targeted as well. Keep the sword as a gift of thanks.”

  “Yes,” Khalid agreed, “I should go. My destiny awaits. Thank you for the gift. Good luck to you and your people.”

  “Good luck to you, as well.”

  “By the way, what is your name?” Khalid asked.

  “Angus,” the smith replied. It was a name that Khalid would remember.

  Khalid turned and ran to the nearest alley. It would be a difficult trek through the now busy streets. He would have to avoid being spotted by either side if he was to escape safely. Carefully, he wound through the houses and buildings, staying in the shadows—not an easy thing to do in white robes.

  Despite everything, Khalid knew that if he did not survive, he would still be rewarded in the afterlife. He had redeemed himself to Imbra, and, he hoped, to the people of Gaellos. There was still much work to be done, though, Khalid knew. He would travel to this temple and await further instruction from Imbra. There, his new path would be revealed to him. He only hoped that he would make it.

  For the first time in his life, Khalid felt free.

  The Knights of the Dragon lined a crest on horseback near the border of the South Kingdom. Ulrich was with them. The assembled armies of Morduin, Taryn, Kernow, and the Northmen were behind them. Brynn and Azim’s archers lie hidden in the nearby cliffs, about fifty yards ahead of them.

  Eamon scanned the valley below, awaiting the approach of the Jindala army. From their angle, the Jindala would only see the Knights and the Northman, and would confidently march forward. They would be oblivious to the massive army behind the crest.

  “I can hear the thundering of their boots,” Wrothgaar said, training his ear to the wind. “We should see them any time now.”

  “The Defilers will be hidden,” Brynn said. “But will appear when they are needed. Keep watch when the Jindala stop fighting and move away. That’s when they come.”

  “When you see them,” Eamon said. “You and Daryth take them down. And Daryth, keep your distance.”

  “Right,” Daryth agreed.

  “They will undoubtedly have a sorcerer with them,” Azim warned. “They travel with the larger armies and masquerade as negotiators.”

  “I’m familiar with them,” Eamon said. “One of them appeared at Morduin.”

  “If a sorcerer is with them,” Azim said, patting his bow, “I will take him down.”

  “From this distance?” Daryth asked. “I hope you’re a better shot than I am.”

  “I’ve had some practice,” Azim said, grinning.

  Ulrich cleared his throat. “Can we stop the small talk?
” he joked. “I like to have a few moments of silence before I kill.”

  Wrothgaar laughed. The others soon followed.

  After a few minutes had passed by, a cloud of dust appeared in the distance. The Jindala army had taken the route that Angen had predicted, and were now approaching steadily. Even from this far away, the Knights could see that the army was immense. They had quite the battle on their hands.

  The Onyx Dragon rode forward and turned to address his Knights.

  “My brothers,” Eamon began, “this battle is for our lives, and our freedom. We must not falter, or be fearful. Our places in history have been assured. We are the Knights of the Dragon. We wield his power, and we will not fall to this evil. We will destroy every last man who marches on our lands, and send him to Hell!”

  The Knights raised their weapons, shouting their war cries. Ulrich joined them, delighting in the thought of the upcoming battle. Eamon remained in front of the line, awaiting the battle.

  The Jindala slowly approached, their full numbers coming into view. There were at least three thousand, possibly more. Eamon’s combined forces numbered almost two thousand. Then there were the archers.

  “Archers!” Eamon called, raising his sword.

  The Jindala stopped their march a hundred yards from the archers’ positions. Their front lines were occupied by berserkers and spearmen. Eamon could see a small gathering of nobles in the rear. Near them, a large wagon was pulled by horses.

  “Loose!” Eamon commanded.

  The archers let loose their arrows. Ahead, the Jindala took cover, all except for the berserkers. The arrows rained down on them, dropping dozens of them with the first volley. Eamon smiled, realizing that Brynn had instructed them to aim for the heads.

  “Fire at will!”

  Round after round of arrows flew to their targets, striking them with full force. With a shouted command behind them, the Jindala began to march forward.

  The archers continued their firing, and the Jindala archers began to fire back. Many of their arrows came close to the crest, but none could reach Eamon or his Knights as they stood boldly in defiance.

  Eamon raised his sword again, calling to the mass of horsemen behind them, “Cavalry!” he yelled. “Prepare to charge.”