Eclipsing the Darkness (The Dragon Chronicles Book 5)

by Shawn E. Crapo

  The past was the past, and now was the time to unite.

  “Then we shall stand together,” Farouk said.

  “I am ready,” Khalid said. “This won’t be my first time battling an Enkhatar.”

  Farouk heard Dael chuckle atop his mount, bouncing his sword in his free hand. Farouk grinned, turning back toward the black fog that ascended the hill from the forest below.

  “This is it,” Jodocus said. “The end of the Enkhatar.”

  “Get to the air,” Erenoth said to the priests. “Scout the area. Attack from above when you can. Destroy any stragglers.”

  With a growl, the dragons took to the air, carrying their passengers into the clouds above. The black fog whirled, almost seeming to reach up to grab them as they ascended. Then, it thickened; becoming darker and separating into three columns of darkness that slowly rose before the defenders. The sound of swords being drawn rang in Farouk’s ears, and his heart quickened.

  The final battle was near.

  Adder’s men fired unceasingly into the mob of undead that fled before them. His own bow sang again and again as he buried arrow after arrow into their flailing bodies. Whatever had spooked them, had done it so effectively that they were oblivious to the dozens of arrows that protruded from their flesh.

  The Alvar switched between sword and bow, either firing at the flanks, or catching up to them and fighting face to face. Despite their dwindling numbers, the wights fought back furiously. Even the skilled Alvar were hard pressed to keep them at bay.

  Adder himself circled around, trying to reach the front of the horde to cut them off. A dozen of his men were close behind, bounding through the weeds and underbrush to keep up with their captain.

  “Hurry!” Adder shouted, his sword making short work of the wights that strayed from their path. “Keep them herded. Drive them toward the open plains!”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Jhayla’s small company approaching them from the opposite side. She too had realized that keeping the enemy together was the best course of action. He smiled, admiring her mirrored tactics.

  A blast of green light erupted from behind the enemies, lighting up the forest in its eerie glow. He knew immediately that Aeli and Allora had followed them. With their magic behind the horde, and the rangers and Alvar keeping them together, driving them all out into the open would take no time at all.

  Apparently, everyone had the same idea.

  A creek appeared ahead, shallow but swift. Adder led his men across it, leaping over the muddy rocks. The wights, having no sense of direction or awareness, tumbled down the steep sides to the sludge below. They squirmed and shrieked as they struggled to get back to their feet, still desperately clawing their way to the north, and stomping each other into the mud.

  Adder leaped into the shallow water, driving the outer groups inward with flawless strikes of his sword. As the undead fell, the cold water became black with their blood, and chunks of undead flesh began to float away in the current. Again, bursts of green light signaled the druids’ efforts to drive them forward. Jhayla appeared in his sight again, driving the wights on her side toward the center. Her own squad followed close, slicing the undead to pieces and herding them like macabre cattle.

  Jhayla made her way through to Adder’s side, her twin blades clearing a path for her officers to follow. Together the two of them crippled the fleeing creatures, all while keeping their eyes on the Alvar archers to avoid their streaking arrows.

  Then, as Jhayla passed in front of him, a wight pounced down from the top of the bank. She spun to the side, slashing at it with her blades—running right into the grasp of a second attacker. Adder rushed forward, finishing off the pouncing creature as Jhayla growled in pain. As he turned, she stumbled away, clutching her shoulder; her face a mask of agony and rage. Adder’s heart pounded as his anger burst forth. He charged, cutting her attacker in half with a blood-curdling howl.

  Enraged, the ranger rushed to her side, grabbing her around the waist and pushing through the weeds to drag her away.

  “Adder,” she cried, sulking in anguish as her partner led her to safety. “Damn it.”

  “Calm down,” Adder assured her. “It will be alright. It’s not that bad.”

  She continued to mumble as Adder pulled her up the bank toward the Alvar line. They continued firing their barrage of arrows as the last of the wights disappeared up the opposite bank.

  “Keep going!” Adder shouted. “Destroy them all!”

  The Alvar bounded down the bank, running past Adder and his crippled friend. He dragged her toward a large oak, settling in the safety of its knotted roots and pulling her close to ease her fear.

  “Adder…” she choked. “It hurts… why… does it hurt so bad?”

  Adder’s heart sank. He could feel the tightness in his throat growing stronger, and the burning of tears caused his eyes to clench shut.

  “Stay calm, Jhayla,” he whispered. “Aeli will help.”

  Jhayla’s teeth were clenched, and her face was contorted in absolute agony. Adder avoided looking at her; instead, he pulled back her cloak to reveal the wound that the wight had dealt. He gasped, seeing the bloody pits where the creature had torn away small bits of her flesh. Though there was not much blood, and not much damage that he could see, the wound was still festering already.

  “No,” he whispered. He was lost. His knowledge of healing was minimal. All he could do was stop the bleeding until Aeli spotted them. But why was it so painful? It was a minor wound; he had suffered much worse—so had she.

  “Aeli!” Adder shouted into the forest. “Aeli!”

  Jhayla’s moans became louder. Her breathing grew shallow, and her grip tightened around Adder’s arm. He began to sob as he finally looked at her face. She was deathly pale, and her eyelids were darkening to a deep gray; almost black. Though he could clearly see her current state, all he could see in his mind was that little girl he had met in the alley so many years ago. The dirty, thieving little girl with a dagger that had threatened to gut him like a fish.

  He broke down when he thought of that moment, cradling her head in his arms and gripping her tightly. She struggled in his grasp, trembling with the pain and fear that had overcome her. Adder could only give her comfort. There was nothing else he could do.

  “Hold on,” he whispered desperately. “We still have a battle to fight.”

  Jhayla’s breaths were shallow and quick. Yet still she struggled to gaze up into his eyes. Her fear was obvious, and looking at her tore his heart in two.

  “I want to go to Thyre,” she said through her pain. “I want to see the King’s Walk.”

  Adder struggled to grin; only managing to pout. “I’ll take you there,” he said.

  “Promise… promise me.”

  Adder clenched his jaw tightly, stifling the urge to scream in rage. “I promise,” he said, stroking her hair gently.

  “Adder!” a shout came from nearby. He looked up, seeing Aeli stumbling toward him through the weeds. For a moment, he felt a small glimmer of hope. But, upon seeing the look of horror on her face, his soul was crushed.

  “Oh no,” she whispered, crouching down next to him. “Jhayla…”

  Adder laid Jhayla down, letting the druid look at her wounds. Her face trembled as she gasped for breath; small rivulets of black blood forming in the corners of her mouth. Aeli’s face echoed Adder’s own fear, and her eyes met his. They were filled with sorrow and pity. They were filled with doom.

  “Adder,” she whispered. “She is lost…”

  “No!” he protested, tearing his eyes away. He stared down at Jhayla, his head swirling with the thought of losing his best friend.

  “Don’t let her suffer,” Aeli said, gripping his shoulder. “I am sorry. There is nothing that can be done.”

  Adder gritted his teeth, rocking back and forth as his anguish grew. He breathed harshly, growling with anger as he gripped Jhayla tighter. He felt as if his world was crashing down around him. And indeed it
was. Everything that he and Jhayla had built together; their sect of the Guild, their friendship, their mutual respect—it was gone. All of it.

  “Let her go, Adder. End her suffering.”

  Adder growled in protest, pushing Aeli away as his anger clouded his senses. He could hear her stand and creep away into the shadows, but he knew she would be watching. It mattered not; his horror and sorrow came out in wretched sobs regardless. There was no controlling them, no matter how hard he tried. This was the end.

  Jahyla’s shallow breathing stopped. Adder, biting his lip, looked again at her face. Her demeanor was no longer that of his friend, but something dark, lifeless, and terrifying. Though her eyes were dull, and her expression was that of the dead, there was still movement. There were still breaths. Low, deep growls that emanated from her very soul. Tortured pleas from whatever was left of his friend.

  He could not let it go on. He would save her soul. He owed her that.

  Setting her gently on the ground, Adder picked up his sword. He remained on his knees, leaning over her as he raised the blade and faced it down toward her heart.

  This is not happening, he told himself.

  But it was. There was only one thing he could do now.

  He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and whispered, “Goodbye, my friend.”

  With a thrust of his blade, Adder’s world was shattered forever.

  Chapter Twenty

  An inky blackness surrounded Titus as the metallic dragon soared high above the battlefield. Below him, the heat signatures of uncounted thousands merged into one glowing mass that stretched almost as far as he could see. Though he could discern no individual men—friend nor foe—he knew that somewhere down there was his master.

  Having returned from Southwatch, the automaton carried with him a special object constructed by the Drauga engineers. It was an object that had been inspired by the strange gate that had destroyed Traegus’ island. After over a year of studying the residual effect of the explosion that came from the giant, black ship, the Druaga had constructed something similar; only on a smaller scale.

  But it was powerful enough to aid in the final battle against the Lifegiver.

  From Titus’ own understanding, the object could be used to absorb much of energy created when the Lifegiver was forced into material form, and then released again through Traegus’ own magic to banish the dark entity forever.

  Or so the Druaga hoped.

  It would be useless unless Titus could deliver it, and seeing the unbelievably huge mass of warring men below gave the dragon pause. He scanned the battlefield, taking note of the positions of all of the combatants. As he dropped closer, the differences in the men came clearer. He could see the horde of Jindala that made up the bulk of the men, interspersed here and there with allied soldiers that fought with unrivaled ferocity.

  Among them, Titus could see the kings glowing brightly. Their bodies were alight with the magic of the Firstborn; blessed with heightened powers given to them by their gods. He could see King Eamon and the odd djinn, Shemya, fighting side by side. The magical creature emanated a reddish magic that swirled around him like a fiery silk cloak. Others like him were scattered among the combatants; each one a whirlwind of death and rage.

  He swooped down to get a closer look, shifting his vision to take in the natural light—what there was of it. Despite the noonday sun above, the cloud cover made it seem like night. Nevertheless, Titus could still see his friends; most of them.

  Ulrich and his men followed Cannuck; tearing through the Jindala toward the mass of samurai warriors and their ogre-mage allies. The High Jarl had command of the Valkyries, and they swarmed through the battlefield almost effortlessly; killing everything in their path.

  The Sun King led his warriors toward the other side of the battlefield, cutting the massive Jindala army in two. Though Titus could not discern the reason; he suspected there was a strategy in mind. Whatever the case, the allied men were effective, united, and deadly. Very few had fallen, yet they had cut down at least a fourth of the Jindala horde.

  Still, the number that remained was overwhelming.

  Passing over the gathered allies, he finally spotted Traegus. The wizard was engaged in combat with several spearmen; fighting them off with his sword while blasting them with his staff when he was able. Titus descended, hovering over him and belching fireballs at his attackers. When the wizard was free—for a moment—Titus dropped the object he held in his claws.

  Traegus reached out to catch the falling orb, feeling its heavy weight smack onto his open palm. He held it up and studied it briefly before stuffing it in his robe, and retrieved his staff from the ground. Immediately, his attackers closed in, surrounding him once more. Titus raked them from overhead, scattering them with fireballs. Traegus blasted a circular wave of repulsive magic and backed away, letting his allies take his position.

  Through the chaos, Eamon appeared, bursting forth in his lightning fast sweep attacks to get closer. As a Jindala swordsman charged Traegus, Eamon swept past behind him, cutting the man in two.

  “What did Titus bring you?” Eamon shouted.

  Traegus jabbed his sword at a nearby enemy, felling him with a deep, impaling thrust. “Something we will need at the Great Pyramid,” he replied, “once the Dragon has completed his task.”

  Eamon acknowledged him, standing beside him to keep guard as he caught his breath. “I hope it’s soon,” he said. “My strength is running low.”

  “I would imagine the others are growing weary as well. This might help.”

  Traegus summoned a spell drawn from the energy of the Earth. He tapped the glowing end of his staff on Eamon’s head, releasing the power into his body. He saw Eamon stand straighter; his weariness seemingly dissolving.

  “Thank you, friend,” the king said. “Do the best you can to help the others. I need to find Ulrich and the other Northmen.”

  “Follow the Valkyries!”

  Eamon grinned, pushing past him to disappear into the battle once more. Traegus reached down to touch the object in his robe. It was warm, vibrated slightly, and seemed to contain the familiar power of the singularity he had encountered on his island.

  So, the Druaga had taken the initiative and constructed something similar; they had known he would need it. Such forethought, he said to himself.

  No wonder he liked them.

  Ulrich found himself face to face with the Sun King and a younger warrior in equally ornate armor. The eastern men acknowledged him with a respectful nod, and the three continued their attacks. Ceor was nearby, and the Jarl could hear his usual growls and howls as he buried his great axe into the surrounding enemies.

  Ogres towered over the heads of men, sweeping their massive blades in wide arcs that threw the dismembered Jindala into the air. Ulrich was in awe of their strength, and was glad to have them as allies. From the corner of his eye, the Jarl saw Cannuck making his way toward them. The High Jarl swung his hammer, bashing it into a swordsman’s back and knocking him to the ground. Ceor rushed forward, stomping and bashing the hapless man into oblivion.

  Ulrich spun, knocking a Jindala away with a fist to the face. Cannuck swung downward with his hammer, flattening the man to the ground. He then howled in laughter, passing by Ulrich and punching him in the shoulder.

  “The gates of Helheim will be crowded this day, friend!” he shouted. Ulrich growled in return, chopping away at the line of enemies that appeared at his flank.

  An ogre passed him by, kicking a Jindala into the air with its massive foot. The man sailed backward, crashing into his allies. The ogre grabbed Ulrich by the tunic, tossing him toward the fallen enemies. The Jarl landed swinging, chopping the fallen men to pieces. He turned, shaking his fist at the ogre, who howled with gruff laughter.

  “Good idea!” Ulrich shouted.

  The ogre howled as it departed the area, pushing its way through the battle like a charging bull. Ulrich fought his way to Ceor's side, avoiding the younger man’s wil
d swings. They were completely cut off from their kin, having been separated from them as they blended in with the warriors of the east, but they fought on together. Ulrich was impressed with the skill of the samurai, and the ornate and beautiful armor they wore. Despite being made of wood and boiled leather, it served them well, and he had yet to see any of them lying dead on the bloody ground.

  “Ceor!” he shouted. “We need to clear this area and get our kinsmen back together.”

  “Right!” Ceor replied, bashing a Jindala’s face with his fist. “Lead the way!”

  Ulrich turned his attention to the area behind him. He could see his kinsmen fighting furiously, interspersed among the Jindala. Cerdic led the younger warriors valiantly, keeping them together and skillfully boosting their morale. Ulrich shouldered his way through with Ceor in tow. They both let loose sweeping attacks, taking down multiple enemies with their swinging axes. He locked eyes with Cerdic, and the younger man charged in his direction, assisting in clearing the way.

  Soon, they were face to face, and Cerdic clapped his Jarl on the shoulder in greeting. “Jarl!” he said, laughing maniacally. “Glory is with us this day!”

  “Indeed!” Ulrich replied. “You’ll make a good leader, boy!”

  Ceor tossed a dead soldier over his head, smashing it into a charging group. The three of them howled with laughter, banding together to carve out a path to the other Northmen. Suddenly, a deafening screech pierced the air, drawing the attention of everyone within earshot.

  From out of the dust that had settled in a gray-brown fog over the battle, a metallic dragon appeared; fangs and claws bared. It plunged into the crowd of enemies, tearing its way through in a chaotic display of fury. Ulrich laughed out loud as he continued chopping his axe around him. As the fleeing Jindala passed him, he cut them like dogs. One after another they fell; split through the side or slashed open to the spine by the Jarl’s deadly blade.

  But then an explosion of pain erupted in his side. He gasped, turning to face a spearman that had jabbed his weapon in a perfectly aimed attack. The man paused when Ulrich growled, and held up his arms as the Jarl reared back his axe to retaliate.