Eclipsing the Darkness (The Dragon Chronicles Book 5)

by Shawn E. Crapo

  “Yes,” Maedoc said. “Khalid, Faeraon’s people have met the Druaga in the past. They have been on our world many times.”

  “I believe it,” Khalid replied. “I assumed the legends of the Fey came from somewhere; elves and such. The Northmen have always spoken highly of your race.”

  “Yes,” Faeraon said. “We have had many dealings with their kind. But that was a long, long time ago.”

  Khalid smiled, happy to be in the company of such a noble and ancient creature; a king among them, even. But there was something in the back of his mind that seemed familiar about Faeraon. Nothing physical, such as his appearance. No, it was something more profound. It was as if Khalid had met him before. He wondered if Maedoc felt it, too.

  “Have you been here before, personally?” Khalid asked.

  “Yes,” Faeraon said. “Though on my own world my memory had failed me, it is all coming back to me now; the battles, the friendships, the knowledge imparted… even the weapons you carry, Khalid.”

  Khalid grasped the hilts of his scimitars. “My weapons?”

  “Yes,” Faeraon said, smiling. “I witnessed the forging of the blades you carry. It was my brother and his Druaga servants who forged them. I recognize their power.”

  Khalid stopped, turning to the Alvar king. “Then I owe your brother many thanks,” he said. “They feel as if they were forged especially for me.”

  Faeraon smiled. “Thaelius knew that this temple would be led by a man of the east,” Faeraon said. “He was quite the seer himself. So, in a way, they were forged for you, and you alone.”

  “Hmm,” Khalid grunted. “Erenoth did not say so in those exact words. But, he talks in riddles. I am sure that’s what he meant.”

  “How far down is the infirmary?” Maedoc grumbled, huffing heavily. “I’m an old man, you know.”

  Jax’s vision faded in and out as he struggled to keep his eyes open. Though Khalid had instructed him to sleep, the man was frightened to even rest his eyes, lest he never open them again. Nevertheless, his eyes refused to cooperate, and he found himself slipping in and out of consciousness.

  Through the haze of pain, he suddenly heard voices in the hallway. As the door to his chamber opened, he saw the familiar face of Khalid followed by a sight he could not believe.

  Another man, or something that looked like a man, had accompanied Khalid. He was aglow with some kind of energy; a halo of divine origin, it seemed. Jax’s eyes focused upon him, never blinking as he approached. The innkeeper could feel his heartbeat level out, and he felt the warmth of the man’s presence flow over him. It was a healing energy, he knew. An energy that came from the heavens themselves.

  The stranger sat at his bedside, placing his hands on Jax’s wound. He stared down with gray eyes that were set in a face so divinely carved, that it could have been the Creator himself. The stranger smiled as he looked down at him, and Jax slowly felt the pain and fear drain away.

  “Hello, Jax,” the stranger said softly. “My name is Faeraon. I am here to help you. Do not be afraid.”

  Jax shook his head, still staring into the stranger’s eyes. “I… I am… not afraid.”

  The stranger smiled, closing his eyes as he pressed down on the Jax’s wound. Comforting warmth flowed into his body from the man’s hand, drawing out the pain and cleansing his flesh of the corruption of the demon’s blade.

  “The darkness has taken hold of him,” the stranger said. “But I can dispel it. If he had died this way, then his body would have risen again; in undeath.”

  “Thanks be to you, friend,” Jax said.

  “Darkness and shadow bear nothing but cowardice,” the stranger said. “You are stronger, Jax. You can fight. You can cast it away if you wish. Do so now. Cast it away and give it to me.”

  Jax focused on the burning that remained, driving it up into his wound. He could not believe what he was doing, but somehow he was healing himself. He gritted his teeth as the pain deepened. It was like pulling out an arrow; barbed tip and all. Though he knew the pain was great, and would worsen, the final blinding end of it would mean that it was over. He gritted his teeth as it came, coupled with the searing heat of the stranger’s hand.

  “That’s it,” the stranger said. “Cast it away.”

  Jax groaned as he felt the final tendrils of black energy leave his body. The stranger closed his eyes, pulling the darkness out with his mind.

  Then, it was over.

  As Khalid and Maedoc watched, Faeraon shot upwards, pulling a mass of shadow from the innkeeper’s body. It writhed and struggled in his grasp, flailing and screaming in rage as the Alvar king cast it to the floor and drew his sword.

  “He’s mine!” the shadow screeched, lashing out at its tormentor.

  “Back to Hell, demon!” Faeraon cursed, cleaving the dark form in two.

  The shadow thing howled in fury, its voice an echo of a thousand tortured souls. Faeraon cleaved it again, sending it spiraling away to cower in the shadows of the chamber as it quickly dissipated. The cacophony of screams faded, leaving everyone in the room gasping in horror.

  “What in the hell was that?” Khalid asked, going to Jax to examine his wound.

  Faeraon sheathed his sword, sitting back down at Jax’s side. “That was a wraith,” he said. “It had taken possession of Jax’s body. That is what was causing his death, and would have caused his transformation had we not gotten here in time.”

  Khalid shook his head in disbelief, looking at Maedoc. “I still have much to learn,” he cursed himself. “I could have healed him had I known that.”

  Faeraon placed his hand over the innkeeper’s eyes, nudging him to sleep with a minor spell. “You were not born knowing everything, my friend. There was no way you could have known.”

  “Who was this demon who attacked him?”

  “It was Akharu,” Faeraon replied. “The embodiment of murder itself, if you will. The Lifegiver’s divine assassin.”

  “If this was the result of a single wound,” Khalid said. “Then he is truly a danger to all life.”

  Faeraon nodded, but looked at Khalid with a smile. “He can be destroyed,” he said.

  Khalid shrugged. “I nearly cut off his head when we met.”

  “That is one way,” Faeraon replied. “But there are others. However, I have the feeling we have more pressing concerns in the near future. In the meantime, my warriors will help you protect the temple, and Maedoc has sent rangers here as well. They should both arrive by morning.”

  “We should take Jax to Morduin,” Maedoc said. “I must return there anyway.”

  Khalid stood. “I was preparing to send Jax’s daughter that way, just to be safe. This assassin seemed to be looking for her, too.”

  “I will take them both,” Maedoc said. “They will be safe there.”

  “Thank you, Maedoc, Faeraon,” Khalid said. “We will guard Tel Drakkar with our lives. I will find Twylla and inform her of the change of plans.”

  With a nod, Khalid left Jax’s room.

  “Farouk will be looking for us,” Maedoc said.

  “Yes. It is time to meet King Eamon. I look forward to it.”

  As the sun settled just above the horizon, and the sky came to life with a rainbow of brilliant colors, Torak settled in to rest among the shadowy pines of Faillaigh’s surrounding forest. A fire would not be needed this night, as he knew the bustle of activity in the area would chase off any predators. Besides, with a pocketful of nuts and berries, he had all the nourishment he needed. There would be no hunting this night.

  He was aware of the many sentient life forms in the forest; the rangers, the moorcat, and the approaching divine folk of Alvheim. He knew they were on their way to Tel Drakkar to help protect the temple from the impending darkness, so decided not to interfere. He was worried, however, for their safety. Whatever was on its way to Eirenoch would not be a welcome, nor pleasant, sight. It was an evil with which he was all too familiar.

  The Enkhatar.

  If nee
ded, he would assist in any way he could. But he would do so with stealth. He would help them all with silent chants, secret spells, and subterfuge. He would not interfere directly.

  The Keeper had commanded it.

  It was just as the sun touched the distant peaks to the west that Torak heard the passing of the Alvar. He crept to the edge of the trail, keeping as silent as he could, and watched them in awe and curiosity.

  There were twenty-one of them; tall, fair, and armored with the most brilliant of steel. Their leader was the picture of perfection. He was dressed in slightly different colors; mostly blues and purples that contrasted with his armor in a very royal fashion. The others, mostly woodland warriors, he guessed, wore earth tones; browns and greens. Whatever their station, they were inspiring and as beautiful as the dryads themselves.

  Though he sat in silence, Torak knew that the Alvar were aware of his presence. They did not falter in their path, however, knowing that he meant them no harm. In fact, a few of the warriors glanced in his direction as they passed, their faces merely curious; not spiteful or full of hate as he would have expected.

  They had, apparently, accepted his presence and had no worries as to his intentions.

  As a gesture of kindness, Torak cast over them a blessing of the forest. He ingrained them with the essence of the spirits, allowing those divine entities to surround and permeate the Alvar with their protective nature. The spirits would give them a cloak of protection against dark magic, and would negate the shadowy nature of the Enkhatars’ blades.

  The gesture caught the attention of the leader, who seemed to take in the air around him with a deep, comforting breath. He smiled as he did so, knowing that there was some unfamiliar magic in the air. It was a magic that he could sense would aid them. He was pleased.

  “May the blessings of the Great Mother protect you, my friends,” Torak whispered. “And may you be victorious in your battle.”

  “That was very kind of you,” said a voice behind him.

  Torak turned, only slightly startled. There, among the weeds, was a young boy. He was blond, with deep green eyes, and a flowing, white robe. He carried a short staff in one hand, and a dagger was strapped to his belt. His smile was wide, and the shaman felt a sense of familiarity with the boy, and also a sense of frustration at having been shadowed for a second time.

  “Hello,” the boy said. “You’re a strange one.”

  “Well met, Jodocus,” Torak said, smiling.

  The boy’s expression changed to one of surprise. “Forgive me, sir,” he said. “But you have me at a disadvantage.”

  Torak turned fully, remaining in a squatting position to conceal himself from the passing of the Alvar. “My name is Torak,” he said. “But the Jindala may know me as Tyrus the Blackhearted.”

  “Ah,” Jodocus replied. “You have returned.”

  Torak nodded. “As have you.”

  “Well, then, I suppose we are kindred spirits, you and I.”

  “Indeed,” Torak said. “I knew who you were immediately. I can feel the spirit of the Great Druid Jodocus within you, and another power that is very familiar to me. You have been returned by the Keeper.”

  “The Keeper?” Jodocus repeated, curiously.

  “My father,” Torak said. “One of the higher spirits of this realm.”

  “That makes sense,” Jodocus said. “Though I have never met this Keeper, my friend Farouk has spoken of him on many occasions.”

  Torak nodded, laughing. “Yes, Farouk. I hear he has ascended to greatness.”

  “He is the Grand Druid of Gaia,” Jodocus replied. “The most powerful druid on Earth.”

  “Yes,” Torak said. “Farouk has always been strong in spirit. I see why Jodocus chose him as his apprentice, and why the Keeper chose him as his successor.”

  Jodocus cocked his head, suddenly realizing the identity of the Keeper. “The Keeper is Ptah,” he said, drawing a nod from Torak. “The first Grand Druid, and the creator of my mentor’s order.”

  “Yes, friend,” Torak replied. “He watches over all of us, but cannot interfere. The rules are the same as they were when he was but a corporeal being.”

  Jodocus smiled. “It is good to know that beings of flesh can ascend to much greater stations.”

  “I hope that someday I will ascend, too,” Torak said, sadly. “Once I have atoned for my evils.”

  “For what evils must you atone, Torak?”

  The shaman lowered his face in shame, not wanting to tell Jodocus of what he had done in the past. He not only cursed the lovely Allora to thousands of years of torment, but had allowed the Lifegiver himself to enter this world. For that he was shameful.

  “You were seduced by his lies,” Jodocus assured him, hearing his thoughts. “That only makes you human, not evil.”

  “But I am not human,” Torak protested. “I never have been, even when the Lifegiver allowed me to look like one.”

  Jodocus smiled warmly, placing his hand on Torak’s shoulder. “It is not your appearance that makes you human, friend. It is your soul. Look at me. I look human, but I obviously am not. We are both children of the stars and the Earth. Yet we live amongst men, doing as they do, thinking as they think. It is no surprise that you would fall victim to their wants and needs. You are as human as you need be, as you are here now seeking atonement. One who was truly evil would never do so.”

  Torak nodded, knowing the truth of the druid’s words.

  “Khalid, Farouk, and Azim were all Jindala once,” Jodocus said. “Khalid had even murdered the innocent in the name of the Lifegiver. But, he is now one of the greatest priests to have ever served the Dragon.”

  “Khalid was blinded,” Torak said. “I knew exactly what I was doing.”

  “Did you?” Jodocus asked. “Is that what you truly believe?”

  Torak thought for a moment. Perhaps the boy was right. His motivation in bringing the Lifegiver into this world was to take revenge on those who had spurned him. Even his choice to destroy Allora and do ghastly things to her body was motivated by revenge; revenge against her rejection.

  “You are guilty of pride,” Jodocus said. “Not evil. Pride is a human emotion; one of the most powerful.”

  Torak collapsed into a seating position, cradling his head in his hands. He began to sob, prompting Jodocus to move his hand up to the man’s head.

  “You are most human,” the druid said. “More human than you know.”

  The shaman looked up at the boy, who remained smiling. “Thank you,” Torak said.

  “No,” Jodocus replied. “Thank you for helping us. You have proved that you do, indeed, have a soul. And it is one of great compassion. That is a rarity.”

  “No one can know of my presence,” Torak said. “Especially not Allora or Faeraon.”

  Jodocus nodded. “I understand,” he said. “I will not tell anyone that I saw you.”

  “You and the moorcat are the only ones who know I am here.”

  “Farouk knows you’re here,” Jodocus said. “As does Traegus. But we know why, and we will not interfere.”

  Torak nodded. “Thank you, friend.”

  “Safe travels, Torak,” Jodocus said. “We will watch over you, as you watch over the others. Do not hesitate to call upon us if you need help. Goodbye.”

  As Torak raised his head to say goodbye, the druid faded from sight. He chuckled to himself, knowing how the druids had the habit of appearing and disappearing without warning. He had done so on many occasions himself. Like them, he always found it amusing.

  In the silence of the forest, the shaman chuckled, settling back for a good night’s sleep.

  Chapter Seven

  The united kings stood in a line along a ridge overlooking a nearly abandoned city on the edge of the Great Desert. Below, the sparse population of Jindala soldiers went about their business, preparing the city for the arrival of their own forces; forces that were likely meant to retake the cities of Thyre and the other surrounding kingdoms. Though barely aglow
under the light of the rising moon, the fires placed about the city gave the kings a rough estimate of the number of soldiers stationed there.

  Though once a densely populated city-state, what remained now were empty buildings, abandoned houses, and demolished temples to Imbra and the other Firstborn. The soldiers were using it for a military base, as its many buildings would serve quite well as barracks and war rooms. Even the surrounding towers, originally meant for spotting approaching traders, would serve as effective guard posts.

  If only they were empty.

  “Brynn, Daryth!” Eamon called.

  The two knights stepped up from the mass of soldiers behind the kings, awaiting their king’s orders.

  “Take out the guards in the two nearest towers,” Eamon said. “We will follow with a quiet charge down the cliff side.”

  Mekembe chuckled. “As quiet as a massive charge can be,” he said. “Perhaps a small force should be sent to infiltrate the city in order to open the gates.”

  Eamon nodded, noting the placement of archers on the walls. “Good idea,” he replied. “Daryth and Azim can lead a smaller squad. They are both adept at stealth.”

  “I have four men that can join them,” Hamal said.

  Mekembe looked back at the tribal warriors among his own army. “The tribesmen are very quiet,” he said. “They are hunters after all. I will send six of them.”

  “That should be enough,” Ulrich said. “And what an excellent viewpoint we have.”

  “Yes,” Cannuck said. “What a stroke of luck they occupied a city as unguarded as this one.”

  The kings chuckled at Cannuck’s humor. He was right. The city was down in a valley that was basically situated in a wide open area. The surrounding lands, though rocky, were flat and easily traversable. And the cliff on which the kings now stood was at just the right angle for a quick charge.

  Taking the city would be easy.

  As the other kings prepared their men for the infiltration, Eamon watched Brynn and Daryth descend the cliff and take their places behind boulders that were embedded halfway down the slope. Each of them carefully tested the wind direction and speed, drawing back their bows in unison and awaiting the perfect moment to loose.