He was soon asleep again.
“How is he?” Eamon asked Farouk as he and the two Alvar emerged from Brynn’s room.
“He will live,” the druid said. “The defiler’s power was just too much for him. But he will recover soon.”
“Good,” Eamon said. “Now please introduce us to your friends.”
As Farouk turned to his companions, they lowered their cowls. Eamon’s eyes widened as he saw them. The man was almost divine in appearance, his features as noble as any god. His companion, an equally divine woman with long, flowing crimson hair and eyes as green as emeralds, left him even more awestruck. She was the most beautiful woman Eamon had ever seen. Her appearance alone sent his heart into a flutter, and his breath into quick, shallow gasps. He felt compelled to look away, as if he was not worthy to gaze upon her.
“This is Faeraon,” Farouk said. “King of the Alvar. And this is his daughter, Allora.”
Eamon raised his eyes once more, staring at Allora with timid and frightened eyes.
“You,” he stammered. “You were the banshee.”
“Yes,” she replied, her voice sending chills up Eamon’s spine. “I was. But your friends brought me back to the light. For that, I am grateful.”
Eamon was speechless. He was struck not only by her beauty, but by the fact that was once a terrifying creature that had haunted his lands for countless years.
“Allora is a mage,” Farouk said. “Something like the druids of this world. She came here thousands of years ago to find the Mother spirit that Khalid and the Dragon found in the depths of the Earth. It was Tyrus who killed her and cursed her to haunt Eirenoch.”
“Tyrus…” Eamon repeated. “How? How could that be?”
Farouk put his hands on Eamon’s shoulders to steady him. “I have learned Tyrus’ true nature,” he said, also addressing the knights who had gathered around. “I will tell you about him if you wish, but you must know that Faeraon and his people are here to help us.”
“Yes, yes,” Eamon stuttered. “And in return you will give them Theia’s spirit. I know this. I am simply…”
“Love struck,” Brianna said from behind him.
Angen chuckled. “Aye,” he said. “I know that feeling.”
Eamon turned to glare at both of them, shaking his head clear. He turned back to the Alvar, who waited patiently, their smiles warm and understanding.
“Welcome,” Eamon said. “Forgive my silence. I am truly honored to meet both of you.”
Faeraon nodded, extending his hand to Eamon. “We are both pleased and honored to meet you, King Eamon,” he said. “I sense a strange bond between us; as if we are kindred spirits. Perhaps that is partly the reason for your discomfort.”
“Perhaps,” Eamon replied, moving to stand in front of Allora. Her eyes gazed into his, and he felt his heart flutter once more. Again, he was briefly speechless, but her comforting smile melted away his fear.
“And you are most welcome as well,” Eamon said to her. “I will not hold you responsible for Tyrus’ curse.”
Allora smiled in thanks.
“Farouk tells me you have an army waiting to join us,” he then said to Faeraon.
“They are two thousand strong,” the Alvar replied. “Less twenty-one, who remain at Tel Drakkar. They are ready to join the battle as soon as you are ready to summon them.”
“That will be soon,” Eamon said. “Perhaps tonight when the men are settled in.”
Eamon turned away, taking one last look at Allora before facing Farouk. “How soon will Brynn be ready to travel again?”
“He has been healed,” Farouk said. “He will merely need a night’s rest. Not necessarily sleep, but time to relax.”
Faeraon approached, putting his hand on Eamon’s shoulder. “I would like to speak to Brynn,” he said. “If you will allow it.”
“Of course,” Eamon said.
“Come, Eamon,” Farouk said. “I will tell you of Tyrus. It is quite a fascinating story.”
Brynn opened his eyes as the tall, fair man entered. He was strange in appearance, Brynn thought. Not quite human; something more advanced, divine. Though Brynn could see great age and wisdom in his eyes, his face remained youthful; almost feminine.
“Hello, Brynn,” the man said. “I am Faeraon, King of the Alvar. I wanted to speak to you, if you are able.”
Brynn nodded, confused.
“You have something in your possession,” Faeraon said. “A weapon. May I see it?”
A weapon? His sword? Why did Faeraon want to see it?
“You wish to see my sword?” he asked.
Faeraon smiled, nodding. “Yes,” he said. “I felt its presence earlier, and it seemed familiar to me.”
Brynn nodded, still confused, and reached the edge of the bed to retrieve his sword. As he brought it up and unsheathed it, Faeraon grinned. The Alvar came closer, sitting on a chair beside Brynn’s bed. Brynn reluctantly handed the sword to him. Faeraon accepted it, admiring its gleaming steel and sparkling gems.
“Ah,” he said, happily. “You wield a sword named Vehndwyr.”
Brynn’s eyes widened as a smile spread across his face.
“It was forged on my world ten thousand years ago,” Faeraon explained. “I had it crafted for my daughter as a gift. Where did you find it?”
“My father found it in the banshee’s lair when he was my age,” Brynn said. “He gave it to me when he fell ill.”
“I see,” Faeraon said. “Perhaps he knew you would one day grow worthy enough to wield it.”
“I think it’s more like he gave it to me to get rid of me,” Brynn mused, sadly. “He was never interested in being a father.
“It was a great gift,” Faeraon said. “This sword has come to life in your possession. It was meant for you.”
“If it belongs to your daughter…”
“No,” Faeraon interrupted him. “It is yours now. A sword goes where it is needed. It has found its master, and it is content.”
Brynn smiled. “Vehndwyr,” he repeated.
“In our language it means—“
“Shadow’s Bane,” Brynn said.
Faeraon looked at him, surprised. “That is correct,” he said. “How did you know that?”
“When I first held it,” Brynn said. “I could swear I heard it tell me its name. But I never believed I really heard it. I just thought I was imagining it.”
Faeraon chuckled. “It did indeed speak to you,” he said, handing back the sword. “It knew that it had found its rightful owner. I trust it has served you well.”
“Very much so,” Brynn replied. “It has taken the lives of many defilers.”
“It was made for destroying darkness,” Faeraon explained. “But it was of no help to my daughter.”
Brynn did not understand the meaning of Faeraon’s words, but the sadness in the king’s face silenced the curious knight. He simply gazed at his sword, seeing it with a new found respect.
“I will always wield it with honor,” Brynn said finally. “Until the day it leaves me.”
Faeraon smiled, nodding respectfully and rising to leave.
“Rest now, Brynn,” he said as he closed the door.
Sheikh Jaleel gazed at the fortress from the crest of a nearby ridge. The Jindala flag, he noticed, was not flying as it should be, but had been replaced with a plain black cloth. Although he was unsure of its meaning, it was a sign that the fortress had been taken.
He looked up at the stars, hoping that Imbra was watching and would give him a sign. Behind him, he heard the shuffling of his captain making his way up the slope. Ghelia appeared beside him, his face black as he, too, stared at the fortress.
“What say you, Ghelia?” the Sheikh asked.
“It seems that the rumors are true,” he replied. “The armies of the world have united against the Lifegiver.”
Jaleel turned his attention back to the fortress. “We swore an oath to serve the Lifegiver.”
“Yes. But we only did so u
nder the belief that he was Imbra.”
Jaleel nodded. “Then, if these men are here to destroy the Lifegiver, it is our duty as servants of Imbra to join them.”
“Agreed,” Ghelia said.
Jaleel turned, facing the small force of soldiers that awaited his command. He addressed them carefully.
“We face a moral dilemma,” he began. “Though we all swore an oath to serve the Lifegiver, we now know that he is not Imbra himself. Our father would command us to stand against this imposter and send him back to the abyss where he belongs. So, now I ask you; who will stand against the darkness?”
There was a moment of silence before a single soldier finally stepped forward. “I serve Imbra,” the soldier said. “And any man above me who also does so.”
Jaleel smiled. “Then those who remain loyal to the darkness, leave now.”
Not a single man stepped out of formation.
“Very well, brothers,” Jaleel said. “We join the righteous!”
The band of soldiers raised their swords into the air, shouting, “Imbra!”
Jaleel, beaming with confidence, turned and raised his sword into the air. “Forward!”
“Empty those stores!” Angen shouted to the soldiers who searched the storage houses around the fortress. “Gather all the food you can. Do not eat anything until everything is gathered. Everyone else is just as hungry as you are!”
Daryth chuckled beside him. Angen shot him a questioning glance.
“Everyone else is just as hungry as you are!” the younger man mocked.
Angen curled his lips and bared his teeth, growling in mock rage.
“Shut your face, ranger!” he said.
As Daryth burst into laughter, Angen directed the men to the various buildings that appeared to be storage houses. There, they would find food and possibly water to sustain the troops until they marched again. It only needed to be gathered.
A younger soldier approached Angen, holding an odd-looking spherical object. “What do you think this is?” the soldier asked.
Angen took the object, turning it over in his hands. His brow furrowed as he studied it. He shook it, hearing a slight rattling.
“It’s some kind of gourd,” he replied. “Can you eat a gourd?”
“Uh… no sir,” the soldier replied.
Angen knocked the gourd against the soldier’s forehead and smashed it to the ground. Again, Daryth burst into laughter.
“Find something edible,” Angen said as the soldier walked away.
“That wasn’t very nice,” Daryth said, grinning.
“He’ll learn.”
“Captain,” came a call from atop the city wall. Angen turned and looked up, seeing a young soldier trying to get his attention. “Soldiers approaching from the south!”
Angen looked to Daryth, whose face echoed his concern. The two of them bounded toward the wall and mounted the stairs. They joined the other soldiers at the nearest battlement, some of whom had already drawn their bows. Daryth knocked an arrow as well, keeping his bow lowered.
Several hundred yards away, lit only by the light of the moon, was a small army of perhaps two hundred. In their lead, a white-robed figure marched confidently.
“Inform the kings,” Angen ordered. “We may have new allies.”
As the soldier disappeared down the stairs, Daryth turned to Angen in question.
“How do you know they’re allies?” he asked.
“They are making no attempt to mask their approach,” Angen replied. “And from their position, they could easily see that this fortress is no longer under Jindala control. Such a small force wouldn’t dare attack us considering our numbers.”
Daryth nodded in agreement. “Good point.”
“Nevertheless,” Angen continued. “Keep your bows ready.”
Eamon and Hamal rode through the city gates toward the approaching army. Behind them, the archers that lined the walls kept their bows ready. Though cautious, the two men were confident that the soldiers were aligned against the enemy, as Hamal had pointed out that their banners were those of the nomadic tribes, not of the Lifegiver.
A small rocky outcropping in the sand seemed the perfect place to meet the advancing army, and the two men stopped there. Eamon held up his hand in greeting, and Hamal formed a crescent with his arms to signal that he recognized their tribe. The leader returned both gestures, and as he approached, the smile on his face was visible.
“Imbra!” the leader out, raising his sword into the air. Hamal drew his sword, and did the same.
“Come, Eamon,” he said. “We have new allies.”
Hamal rode forward, Eamon following close behind. As they neared, Eamon could see that they wore the robes of desert wanderers, and not the red and steel vestments of the Jindala.
“Prince Hamal!” the man in the lead exclaimed. Hamal dismounted, rushing to the man and clasping his hand. Eamon jumped down, joining the two men and nodding to the leader.
“Jaleel,” Hamal greeted him. “It is good to see you again.”
Jaleel fell to one knee, paying homage to the rightful ruler of Khem. The rest of the soldiers did so as well.
“Please, brothers, stand up.”
“I see you have conquered this fortress,” Jaleel said, rising. “We saw small groups of Jindala fleeing, so I decided to investigate.”
“You are most welcome among us, Jaleel,” Hamal said. “And may I introduce King Eamon of Eirenoch. Eamon, this is Jaleel, an old friend, and loyal supporter of my father.”
Eamon took Jaleel’s hand. The tribal leader smiled, looking at him in awe.
“You are the Onyx Dragon, yes?” he asked.
“I am the son of the Dragon,” Eamon replied. “And I welcome you as well.”
“Come then, Jaleel,” Hamal offered. “Join us in the fortress. I’m sure your men are hungry and thirsty. There is plenty of food and wine to go around.”
Jaleel’s troops snapped into attention as he gave the order. Together, with Eamon and Hamal, the small company marched forward, ready to join the battle against the darkness.
The Keeper, having watched the exchange, smiled.
The pieces were falling right into place.
Chapter Eleven
Sulemain’s horde writhed on the ground in a veritable carpet of black flesh. The Lord of the Enkhatar had halted their march northward, taking position just south of the forest that stood between the shore and Tel Drakkar. Something was there, he knew; something familiar and frightening. It was a source of light, perhaps divine, perhaps mundane, but strange and repellant at the same time.
There was something or someone in or around the dragon temple that the Lifegiver himself feared. Sulemain could feel this. His master had not told him; but the wordless communication between them told the dark knight that great danger lie ahead.
What that great danger was, Sulemain did not know. But, as his master had told him, the Devourer had met its end in this very region. To the north and east, lay the Wellspring; a highly concentrated area of Earth energy where the druid Jodocus had given his pathetic life to destroy the Lifegiver’s greatest weapon.
Surely, the Wellspring was too far away for the Enkhatar to feel. The sensation seemed to be coming from the temple itself.
Or perhaps further north.
Sulemain growled beneath his black iron mask. The two remaining Enkhatar sensed his anger and hissed in response. He was fearful, they knew, and that fact unsettled them. There were, after all, the only three that remained.
Perhaps the wights were not enough.
The Lord of the Enkhatar knelt on the rocky ground, extending his mind in all directions. He called to the filth of the Earth; the insects, worms, and scavenging beasts that fed on rotting flesh and other offal. Soon, he heard the squirming of millions of beetles, maggots, and other unsavory life forms. The wights stopped their writhing as the sound grew louder. Their cries of pain and anguish died down, leaving only the sound of the crawling creatures that approached.
“Come to me,” Sulemain whispered. The other Enkhatar hissed with delight as the slimy mass of scavengers began to surround them. Sulemain raised his gauntleted hands in the air, calling to the dark powers that enveloped the island.
Dark streaks of magic began to swirl around the area, turning around in small vortices that gathered the slimy worms and crunchy beetles into vertical columns of glistening darkness. The worms were crushed together, forming rough shapes of flying beasts. The insects were cracked and smashed into their surfaces, forming living armor that would hold them together. Maggots crawled along their surfaces, piecing together Sulemain’s new soldiers.
The Lord of the Enkhatar growled in pleasure, watching as hundreds of foul beasts turned to pay homage to their creator. They were horrid in form; humanoid yet insect-like. Spikes of chitin adorned their backs, glistening fangs filled their rotting maws, and the shining armor mirrored the moonlight in dizzying and hypnotic patterns.
Now, with the coming of the next moonrise, the march could begin. Sulemain had his beasts, his wights, and his knights.
“Do you feel it, mama?” Jodocus asked as he and Aeli stood atop Tel Drakkar.
Aeli nodded. “Yes,” she replied. “The power of creation has been invoked. It’s appalling.”
Jodocus narrowed his eyes as he gazed southward, his hands gripping his staff as he focused. He could feel the darkness growing, gathering, and assembling into dark shapes. New life forms had been created; they stood out quite clearly from the undeath that was already there.
“I have never felt anything like it,” Aeli said. “Not even from the demons that Malthor brought to Southwatch.”
“Sulemain’s power has grown,” Jodocus said. “The Lifegiver has given him this ability to create life; albeit dark life.”
“We must be vigilant,” Aeli said. “But I want you to stay up here when they arrive.”
“I can help,” Jodocus insisted.
“You can help from here,” Aeli said. “Despite your power, you are still a child. You are needed here; you cannot be spared.”
Eclipsing the Darkness (The Dragon Chronicles Book 5) Page 8
