Finally, he reached the heart of the camp and the large black tent of Danon. Two Crimson Blades stood on guard outside the entrance. Neither acknowledged him as he brushed past them and went inside. As usual, only a solitary candle flickered inside. Accadus had learned that Danon despised the light. At times, being outside in the daytime appeared to harm him physically. If he’d had the courage, he would ask him about it.
Danon stood in the centre of the tent, his eyes closed. Accadus regarded his master for a moment. Long black hair fell to the dark lord’s shoulders, and even in the darkness of the tent, Accadus could see his cracked pale white skin. The body Danon possessed was ancient, only staying together thanks to continuous human sacrifices. Accadus had only watched one such ritual; it was an event he didn’t want to see ever again. Sucking the energy out of a person was a grim sight to behold.
“You asked for me, master?” Accadus said, the silence of the tent making him feel uneasy.
Danon’s eyes flickered open. Whereas a normal man had whites, he had none. Pure blackness stared out from his hollow, gaunt face.
“I did. You are to travel to the Blackmoor with a contingent of Crimson Blades. There you will await the arrival of Luxon and his friends.”
Accadus’s heart fluttered at Luxon’s name. For too long he had been waiting to get revenge on his nemesis.
“The Blackmoor? Why? Is Luxon heading there?”
Danon smiled, sending a shiver down Accadus’s spine.
“He knows where the final stone and the sword resides,” Danon replied.
Accadus gasped at the revelation.
“You must stop him. Retrieve the sword and bring it back to me.”
Accadus looked away. The last time he had crossed paths with Luxon, he had been beaten easily.
“Forgive me, master. But despite your training, I’m not sure I can beat him.”
Danon sneered at his apprentice.
“I do not expect you to beat him alone. I have summoned Drakis and his dragons to assist you. Luxon will be walking into a trap – one he will not escape.”
*
Ricard grunted as he buried his sword deep into the Sarpi’s guts. Withdrawing the blood-soaked blade, he parried an incoming strike and lashed out with a closed armoured fist. Something crumbled under the impact – no doubt the Sarpi’s nose. All around him, the Legion was holding their battle line. Black-clad fanatics threw themselves onto Legion spears and undead fell to silver swords. The weeks-long siege had been relentless. The enemy attacked non-stop, even with the whole might of the Legion at his command, the number of losses was beginning to take their toll. He ducked a spear thrust and whipped his sword upwards, cutting the spear in two. He then stabbed forward, slaying the latest attacker. A cheer came from behind him as the Sarpi once again broke and fled back over the city walls.
Baltar staggered over to him.
“They attack, we drive them off, and then they come again. Is there no end to this madness?” the baron panted.
Ricard shook his head and sheathed his sword. “They will not stop until we are all dead,” he answered grimly.
As the siege progressed, the baron had found his courage. Seeing his men die by the hundreds in defence of their homes and his city had shamed him into action. The fact that mutiny from the Bison troops had been in the air had helped, too. Ricard took the baron by the arm and led him back towards the heavily damaged city.
“See to the defences,” Ricard said. “I need to rest.”
He walked away from the baron and descended the stone steps that led away from the city walls. As he entered the courtyard of the baron’s castle, he called for his trusted lieutenant, Sir Vizir.
The grim-faced Vizir limped over to his leader. The man had served in Ricard’s household guard for decades and had fought many battles at his side. As well as the Legion, Ricard had also brought with him a small contingent of his men. As far as he knew, Champia had so far been spared from the attentions of Danon. The island fortress city was a formidable place to attack; to succeed, an invader would have to strike from both land and sea, and both approaches were highly treacherous. The sea route was filled with deadly rocks that only the skilled navigators of Champia were able to avoid with ease. The land approach meanwhile was a narrow path that wound its way through a steep-sided valley lined with defensive towers. No invader had taken the city by force. The Yundols had tried many times, and each time it had cost them dearly.
Ricard led Vizir inside the damaged castle and down a flight of steps that led into an oval-shaped chamber that he was using as a command centre. On the round table in its centre was a cloth map of the city, and on top of that were several wooden models. Square blocks represented Legion regiments, while round ones represented the enemy. To an outside observer, the city’s situation appeared dire, for on the map it was surrounded by round blocks.
“The city is lost, Vizir, and the message that arrived last night by carrier pigeon said that Trentian is dead and the capital overrun by rioting peasants. The king is missing, presumed dead. It’s time we now think about our survival. Gather the rest of the men you brought with you from Champia and tell them to prepare for Operation Plight. I want them ready to move at midnight.”
Vizir nodded his head in understanding. “I will tell them to be discreet. What of the Legion?”
Ricard sighed and shook his head. “Their fate is their own. What matters now is that I escape to Champia. From there we can regather our strength and perhaps one-day counterattack. For now, survival is the most important thing.”
He cursed as war horns sounded in the distance. The enemy was yet again assaulting the walls.
“Come, we need to ensure the city still holds until nightfall,” he said, loosening his sword in its scabbard.
*
The enemy came at the city again. This time the undead and werewolves had been unleashed, their howls and moans carrying on the wind. Once more, the tired defenders braced themselves for slaughter. Ricard stood on the crenellations of the southern wall, the epicentre for the foe’s attacks. Looking at the men, he knew that it was now just a matter of time before their courage faltered. They had to last until he had the opportunity to flee. Clearing his throat, he stepped forward and, with a wave of his sword, caught their attention.
“We stand against the impossible,” Ricard bellowed to his men, “but still we shall fight. Our quivers are almost empty, but still we fight. Our brothers have fallen in droves, but still we fight. We are the wall between our enemy and our families. We will face the impossible, and we will win!”
Defiant roars came from the tired legionaries. Having said his speech, Ricard paced back through the now fired-up ranks. He should have felt guilt at leaving the brave men of the Legion to their fate, but to Ricard his own survival was all that mattered. He had made a play for the Sundered Crown, and would have succeeded if not for Danon. Instead, he would escape to his homeland across the sea, and there bide his time as the rest of the realm fell to darkness.
20.
Blackmoor
Umbaroth soared through the clouds. Luxon and the others rode on his back. The vastness of the Blackmoor passed by below. Thousands of years ago the dismal lands had once been called Greenmoor, a place of fertile farmlands and lush forests. A great war had raged, and a battle between four Empires and the N’gist had seen it turned into a place of barren marshes and bleak, windswept tundra. Foul magics had been unleashed in the battle so that now only Fell Beasts, undead and other horrors roamed. Several tribes of wild men scratched out livings on the Blackmoor’s edge, and regularly raided the surrounding lands. In short, Blackmoor was a grim place.
Luxon and Ferran watched the terrain below for signs of King Marcus’s tomb. The Blackmoor was the perfect place to have built it, for no grave robbers would dare to cross it. Umbaroth flew over a wide valley of jagged rocks, and below they could see wraiths and nightstalkers moving through the mist. A cry came from behind them, and Luxon turned to look back. H
annah was pointing off to the side and upward. Luxon narrowed his eyes. Sure enough, moving quickly through the clouds were several large shapes.
“Fear not,” Umbaroth said. “They are friendly”.
A green-scaled dragon broke through the clouds and took up position next to Umbaroth. Other dragons of various sizes and colours appeared until there were over a dozen all flying in formation.
“We heard your call, King Umbaroth,” the dragon said. Its voice was deep, but nowhere near as powerful or grand as Umbaroth’s. “We will protect the wizard and his friends. It is good to see you again, Ferran.”
Ferran laughed in surprise.
“Tratos? I am glad to see you’re well,” Ferran shouted back.
Luxon smiled. With the dragons at their side, they would be well protected. Perhaps getting the sword wouldn’t be as dangerous as he had feared. He looked back down, doing his best to fight the vertigo that always washed over him whenever he flew on the dragon’s back. Using magic, he enhanced his vision so that he could get a better look at the terrain below. Large stones appeared amongst the marshes. At first he thought they were a natural occurrence, but that theory was blown away when the unmistakable shape of a man’s bearded face carved in stone came into view. As he looked, he could see that broken statues lay all around below them.
“This is the place,” Ferran said. “Are you ready?”
Luxon nodded and gripped Dragasdol tightly. “Take us down.”
*
Umbaroth broke through the clouds. Ahead was the unmistakable visage of an ancient structure. Tall stone columns lined the side of a long-overgrown roadway, and numerous statues lay broken in the long grass. Many were submerged in the dark, marshy waters. At the end of the roadway there stood a squat structure covered in moss and grass.
“Fell Beasts!” Ferran shouted in warning.
Emerging from the long grass and bog came snarling pucks and goblins. From the air, Luxon could see thousands of the creatures swarming through the marshes towards the tomb and their landing area.
“We will deal with them,” Tratos snarled.
The Dragons broke formation and began to dive down onto the beasts below. Luxon watched in awe as Tratos skimmed the marsh, his talons outstretched. As it flew, the dragon smashed into the monsters below. All around the other dragons unleashed their dragonfire. The inferno swept over the marshes, vapourising Fell Beasts and vegetation alike. Within a few minutes, the Fell Beasts fled back into the marsh and disappeared.
With the space below clear, Umbaroth landed. Luxon leapt from the dragon’s back, a height of more than thirty feet, and levitated slowly to the ground. The others, meanwhile, had to wait for the huge dragon to lower itself to the ground. Luxon offered Hannah his hand and helped her down. Once on the ground, the small group began to walk toward the structure ahead. Mixed emotions swirled within Luxon. On the one hand, he was excited about finally finding Asphodel’s resting place, while on the other a dread wormed inside his guts. The warning made by his future self taunted him with its obscurity. He glanced to his right at Yepert.
Watch Yepert, his older self had said. What had he meant by that? He’d been at Yepert’s side almost constantly since they departed the Isle, only being apart when he had spent time with Hannah or had met with Thanos. His friend seemed more withdrawn than he usually was, but Luxon put that down to tiredness. Life was crazy for them all, after all. Some days he wanted nothing more than to spend all day in bed sleeping. Yepert raised an eyebrow as he noticed Luxon looking at him.
“You alright?” Yepert asked quietly as they walked.
“I’m fine,” Luxon replied. “Nervous I guess. I have no idea what we will find inside. All I know is that there will be trials.” He reached into his cloak’s pocket and pulled out the battered book that his mother had given him. The Diasect sigil was worn on the cover, and the pages were frayed from overuse.
The group walked through long grass and on damp ground. The Blackmarsh was nearby and, thanks to the recent bad weather, had flooded to encompass part of the Blackmoor. Their boots squelched through thick mud, and their clothes were soon covered.
A loud terrible roar sounded, and they stopped dead in their tracks. Luxon spun back to look behind them. Ferran and Kaiden drew their swords. Umbaroth was looking to the sky, and the other dragons were circling overhead.
“Drakis!” bellowed the silver dragon. Luxon’s eyes widened. On the distant horizon, but closing fast, dozens of huge black shapes were moving against the wind.
“Impossible … Danon cannot know of this place,” Luxon gasped in horror.
“No time to worry about that now,” Ferran said, grabbing his arm. “Run. Get to the structure!”
The group broke into a panicked sprint. Behind them, Umbaroth launched himself into the air, his mighty wings creating a powerful gust of wind that flattened the tall grass and almost sent them all sprawling into the mud.
“Defend the humans at all costs!” Umbaroth called to his kin.
Within moments, Drakis and his followers reached the tomb. The clouds above lit up as the two factions of dragons clashed. Roars seemed to shake the very air.
Luxon and the others ran as fast as they could. All around them dragonfire fell from the sky, igniting the vegetation on the land. The sound of dozens of mighty dragons waging war was deafening, and the destruction was on a scale hard to imagine.
Hannah screamed, and Luxon skiddec to a halt. He spotted her scrambling onto her feet after having tripped in the mud. He cried out in warning. A ball of fire was falling towards her. With a yell, he used his power to launch himself high into the air and landed beside his beloved. Falling in a crouch at her side, he raised Dragasdol and created a magical shield. Hannah clung to him tightly as the fireball impacted harmlessly against the barrier. Luxon took her hand and pulled her after him. Up ahead, Ferran, Kaiden and Sophia had already reached the tomb’s entrance. Yepert was still running, his boots sinking into the soft marshy ground.
Luxon focused on his struggling friend and shoved his free hand forward, sending Yepert flying through the air towards the tomb. Yepert’s surprised cry was cut short as Ferran used his magic to catch him.
Luxon and Hannah ran. Behind them, the moor was being decimated by dragonfire and explosions as the fire ignited the natural gases buried within the earth. Smoke filled the air, and the terrible roars of titanic beasts battling one another made it feel like the world was ending. Ferran shouted a warning. Luxon swore and pulled Hannah close. A red-scaled dragon was tumbling from the sky, its neck ravaged by the teeth and claws of another of its kind. It crashed to the ground, creating a shockwave that would have sent them falling over again if Luxon hadn’t planted Dragasdol into the ground to anchor them. Dust, mud and other debris scattered all over the place. Luxon glanced upward, desperately trying to spot Umbaroth. The cloud cover was too thick to see anything except massive shapes moving and fighting in the gaps. If he didn’t know what carnage was being wrought, he would have thought the sight beautiful.
Finally, they reached the entrance of the tomb. A tall archway led into a pitch black passageway beyond. Ferran lit a firestone and Hannah summoned her magelight to push back the darkness within. Dust fell from the ceiling as two brawling dragons crashed into the nearby marshes, sending huge amounts of water high into the air.
“We need to hurry, or else this whole place might come down on us,” Kaiden warned.
The light cast by the firestone and magelight revealed images carved into the passages walls. Luxon ran a hand over one that showed a depiction of a man wearing a golden crown.
“It’s King Markus,” he said in awe. He walked down the passageway, the light revealing more images as he went.
“These images are telling the story of his life. Here,” he said, pointing to the image of a group of armed men and women standing over the now deceased king. “These are his champions preparing him for burial, and this must be Alectae.”
“The champion tasked with
hiding Asphodel from the world of men,” Sophia added as she recalled the legend of the ten champions.
Luxon followed the images until he spotted one that showed the image of Alectae holding a stone tablet above his head. A golden sword was engraved on its surface. The next image showed him smashing the tablet into three pieces.
“The sigil stones. The final one must be around here somewhere,” Luxon muttered. He glanced around the passageway. It was empty save for the large circular stone door that barred the way deeper into the tomb. On its surface was a square slot.
“A keyhole?” Hannah wondered as she ran a hand over the indentation.
Luxon rubbed his chin in thought. His gaze settled onto the image of Alectae holding the tablet. He stepped closer and touched the wall, gasping at the power he felt emanating from it. Placing his palm on the surface of the stone, he followed the feeling of power until his hand rested over the image of the tablet. With a finger, he pushed the tablet. A click sounded, and then a rumbling, as a stone plinth rose from the ground to stand in the centre of the passageway.
Resting on its surface was the final sigil stone. Luxon hurried over to it and took a deep breath before touching it. As with the other stones, he expected to have images flash through his mind, but to his surprise nothing happened. Instead, it glowed in his hand.
He picked up the stone and walked over to the door.
“Here goes nothing,” he muttered as he slotted the stone into the hole. With a click, the sound of gears turning and chains rattling emanated from the door. Then with a loud rumble, the door rolled to the side, revealing a vast antechamber beyond.
“Hey, guys,” Kaiden shouted from behind them. “We’ve got company.”
Quest for the Sundered Crown (The Sundered Crown Saga Book 3) Page 16