The other Northmen laughed, slapping Wrothgaar on the back in greeting.
“Take me to this Onyx Dragon,” Ulrich requested. “I want to meet him.”
“Yes,” Wrothgaar said. “Come, he is anxious to meet you.”
Eamon watched the huge Northman approach, accompanied by his equally huge son. The man clasped Eamon’s hand in friendship.
“I am Ulrich, Jarl of the Tribe of the Wolf.”
“Eamon,” the Prince replied. “Heir to the throne of Eirenoch. It is good to finally meet you.”
“And you as well,” Ulrich said. “I thank your Queen for sending her soldiers to my settlements. I look forward to meeting her.”
“She will be most pleased to meet you,” Eamon said.
“Good,” Ulrich replied. “But I must first see to my men. I’ll meet with you later.”
With that, Ulrich left to rally his men. Eamon searched the vast crowd of soldiers, looking for Garret and Maedoc. The two were conversing a ways away, Garret obviously scolding the seer for disappearing in such a dramatic fashion.
“Maedoc,” Eamon greeted him. “That was quite a spell you cast.”
Maedoc smiled at the Prince. “Yes it was. But not a very pleasant journey teleporting to Ulrich’s army. Also not a very pleasant greeting he gave me when I appeared behind him on his horse.”
“That must have been quite a surprise,” Eamon said, laughing.
“Thankfully, Ulrich is not an impulsive man,” Maedoc replied. “He took it quite well, given the circumstances. I didn’t appreciate the elbow to the face, however.”
“In any case,” Eamon said. “I’m glad you’re safe. You should let my mother know that you didn’t actually blow yourself to bits.”
Maedoc nodded. “I will do so now,” he said. “Will you accompany me, Garret?”
“Of course,” Garret replied. “I must return to her, anyway.”
The two men left and headed toward the castle. Eamon was left to wander among the soldiers, who were looting the dead enemies and tending to the wounded.
“Help the surviving Jindala as well,” Eamon said. “As for their dead, let them rot.”
Wrothgaar turned to the Prince. “There is an old tactic the islanders used against foreign enemies,” he explained. “They would impale them on spears and put them on display near the borders, and along the roads. It was gruesome, but effective. Given the sanctimonious nature of the Jindala, such a display would be horrific in their eyes.”
Brynn winced. “It’s horrific to me,” he said. “But, I agree. The enemy must know that we will not allow them to enter our lands. Perhaps the sight of their men displayed like scarecrows will make an impression.”
Eamon clapped Brynn on the back. “Agreed,” he said. “We’ll line them up near the Eastern cliffs, and as far south as we can get to the border. They will think twice before attacking my Kingdom again.”
Daryth stumbled through the piles of dead bodies that lie on the field. He did not see any rangers among them, thankfully. The guilt he felt for not staying with them was overwhelming, but the absence of their bodies was a small comfort.
Kuros approached him from a group of men nearby, seeing the young ranger struggle with his deeds. He put a hand on Daryth’s shoulder and regarded him with pride.
“You saved many men today,” Kuros said. “I do not know where you got the new bow, but it was a gift given to you for that purpose. You destroyed the Defiler, probably the same one who killed our brother rangers. That was impressive, Daryth.”
“I should have stayed with our company. It is my duty to serve the Queen as a ranger, not as a foot soldier.”
“You know as well as I do that your duty dictates service in whatever way you are needed. In the heat of battle, you must be a soldier. An effective one. You were that, my friend. Do not disparage your deeds. If you had not slain the beast, many of our friends would be lying here among the dead.”
Daryth considered Kuros’ words carefully. He knew that although he was a ranger, his primary role was as a soldier of Eirenoch. It was his duty to protect his land by any means necessary, even if that meant breaking protocol.
“See the Prince?” Kuros asked, pointing to Eamon. “He looks at you now. He saw your deed and approves. I wouldn’t be surprised if he asked you to serve the throne in another capacity.”
Another capacity.
Daryth took a deep breath as he saw the prince approach. Eamon pushed past the men crowding the battlefield, never taking his eyes off of the ranger.
“Daryth,” Eamon addressed him. Kuros moved aside, letting the Prince through. “You have proved yourself a fearless and skilled warrior today. I am proud to have you serve the throne, and I offer you Knighthood. Will you accept?”
“Yes, my Lord,” Daryth replied. “I accept.”
“Kneel,” Eamon commanded, the other Knights moving up to stand beside their new brother. Daryth knelt, bowing his head as the others did. The Onyx Dragon rested the Serpent’s Tongue on the ranger’s shoulder, Knighting him on the battlefield.
“Rise, brother,” Eamon said, finishing the ritual.
Daryth rose, feeling a strangeness overcome him as his ranger’s robes transformed into dragon armor. His cloak and hood became dark grey and black and shimmered with the power of shadow. His inner layers transformed into plated armor pieces, lightweight and silent as they moved with him.
Though now a protective shell of dragon skin, his armor still retained some resemblance to his former ranger gear. Its shadow magic would blend in with the forest, or the rocks, but would protect him in open battle as well.
“You are now Daryth, Knight of the Dragon, protector of the forest, and of Eirenoch. Welcome.”
The other Knights welcomed him with clasped hands and congratulations. Daryth glanced over to Kuros, whose pride was threatening to burst forth.
“I am only the warrior I am because of Kuros,” Daryth said. “He has been my mentor, my friend, and my father since I was a boy. Without him, I would have become a thief, or a pirate perhaps.”
The Knights laughed, watching as the older ranger smiled in pride. Brynn knew how Daryth felt about Kuros, having felt the same way about Fergis. The older man had been the father that Brynn never had, but now he was gone. He was glad that Daryth did not have to suffer the same loss.
“I am proud of you, Daryth,” Kuros said. “The Prince has taken away my best archer, but has made him a Knight. I couldn’t have asked for a better fate for you, my friend. Prince Eamon, he will serve you well.”
“I know he will,” Eamon agreed. “Come now. Let us celebrate our victory, and make further plans. The Jindala are still out there in great numbers.”
The men made their way back to the castle, offering aid to those who were too injured to walk on their own. Though the forces of Morduin had been dwindled, their new allies, the Northmen, more than made up for it. With their help, the Jindala would be expelled, and the battle could be fought in the South.
Chapter Fifteen
The defeated Jindala army, still numbering several hundred, had fled eastward to the shore. To their surprise, the ships that had brought them to the island were no longer at sea. The only sign of their presence was the endless amount of debris that floated upon the surface of the water and washed up on shore. Something had destroyed their fleet.
Lost and leaderless, the soldiers made camp, fighting amongst themselves, and praying to the Lifegiver for guidance. Their only solace was the fact that they were still alive, and that their comrades still inhabited the Southern Kingdom. Perhaps traveling along the shore to the South was the answer. They could join with other companies, or offer to serve the Sheikhs there who had no armies to lead. Either would be acceptable, and much better than wandering aimlessly.
Tyrus found the men camped on the beach as he materialized. The men who saw him appear jumped up and snapped to attention. The others, seeing them do so, slowly and grudgingly joined. The Sultan looked them over, expressing
his disgust with a disapproving look.
“I am sickened by your sloth,” he scolded them. “And by your defeat. These people worship a powerless beast that lies buried in the Earth. And you fled. Fled to save your own pathetic lives. The Lifegiver will not be pleased. You did not give your lives as you promised. You were supposed to fight to the death!”
“But you fled with us,” one soldier said, “and were defeated as well.”
Tyrus glared at the man, insulted by his insolence. The Sultan grabbed him by the throat with his remaining hand, squeezing, and bringing the man’s face close to his.
“How dare you insult me?” he hissed, tightening his grip, his nails digging into the man’s skin. The soldier struggled to break free as the Sultan lifted him from his feet and into the air, kicking his legs, and gasping for breath.
“This is the price of disobedience!” the Sultan growled, ripping the man’s throat out and tossing him to the ground. The remaining soldiers cowered from him, begging for forgiveness as the wounded soldier choked and gagged on his own gushing blood.
Tyrus walked among them as they knelt prone, seeing them tremble as he passed.
“Draw your weapons,” he commanded. “Now.”
The men stood, drawing their swords, looking to each other in confusion.
“I need one hundred men,” Tyrus said calmly and with a smile. “Decide quickly. May the best men win.”
The journey west was uneventful for Farouk and the remainder of his force. With twenty four men left, and the Druaga with them, the company of rebels was well prepared for anything they would encounter. The Jindala Captain had no doubt they would be able to reach Morduin without any problem.
Farouk and Azim both found the Druaga interesting and pleasant, almost child-like in their views. Though quite obviously deadly, the strange little people maintained an air of innocence that was quite a contrast from what the men were used to. Even when hunting and foraging, the Druaga showed respect for both the land, and the animals they killed. They would thank the trees for their firewood, the vegetation for its fruit, and the animals for their sacrifice. It was a refreshing change from the wasteful ways of men, and Farouk and his men felt that learning this way of life would be beneficial to their survival, and their piety. Imbra would be pleased.
Though the Druaga never spoke out loud, they communicated with all of the men through telepathy, and understood the Eastern language that all of the men spoke. They were, apparently, fluent in all human tongues, and quite possibly the languages of nature itself.
One of the most interesting topics discussed by the little people was the Druid, Jodocus. Farouk found himself intrigued by a man of such great responsibility and honor. The concept of Druidism was new to him, and he hungered for more knowledge of the discipline. Azim was happy to see his brother’s interest.
The younger man himself was fascinated by the Druaga’s stories of the Priests of Drakkar, and their history of aiding the Kings of Eirenoch. Their description of Erenoth, the High Priest, was similar to the stories of Sulemain, the first prophet of Imbra. The two shared many characteristics, other than the Priest’s ability to transform himself into a dragon. Sulemain had the power to shape shift as well, but preferred more mammal-like forms, such as great cats, wolves, and horses. Either way, he couldn’t help thinking that Imbra and the Dragon were connected in ways that he could only imagine.
He was also particularly interested in Prince Eamon, whom the Druaga referred to as The Onyx Dragon. Being the son of the Dragon himself made the man divine. He was a demigod, and similar to the ancient Kings of Khem, who, themselves, were descendants of the gods.
He would learn more of this Dragon.
Soon, the rebel company reached the forest north of Cael Pass. The Druaga leader informed them that they were approaching Morduin, and that they should be wary of the rangers who guarded the area. The men listened in awe as the Druaga described them; warriors who used stealth and subterfuge to protect the forest and maintain the natural balance.
Azim compared them to the Keynakin of Khem, warriors who, before the coming of the Lifegiver, had protected the land of Khem from foreign invaders. They were long since gone, having been disbanded and murdered by the Lifegiver himself. Something told Azim that the accusations of blasphemy were not warranted. The Keynakin were formed by Imbra himself thousands of years before, and the long line of men who had served in their ranks were men of legend to be revered and honored. Such a contradiction was confusing to the man, to say the least.
As the men marched forward, the Druaga leader motioned for them to stop. The creature and his warriors bounded off into the grass, leaving the rebels to wonder.
“He must sense something,” Farouk guessed.
Azim nodded, looking ahead to see. “We are nearing the city, they may be warning the guards of our approach.”
“We are still a great distance,” Farouk said. “I think they are scouting ahead for the rangers. If they are guarding the path to Morduin, they will most certainly attack when they see us.”
“Then they are warning the rangers, perhaps,” Azim concluded.
“I feel the presence of death. I do not know why, but it’s very strong.”
Malik came to speak to his Captain, crouching beside him. “I feel it, too. There was a great battle here.”
Farouk nodded his agreement. “We will wait and see. They will return.”
The Druaga searched what was left of the caravan’s campsite. There were the charred remains of what looked like wagons, and several bodies lie strewn about. Some of them had been shot with arrows; the rest had been killed with swords. The Druaga recognized the arrows as those of Morduin’s rangers. The Guardians had been victorious in this battle.
Leaving the campsite, the Druaga scouted ahead into the entrance of the crag basin. There were hundreds upon hundreds of bodies, both Jindala and Morduin soldiers alike. Men and women were there, searching among the bodies for their loved ones, some simply gathering weapons and other spoils.
Many of the Jindala had been set upon stakes; their bodies impaled and put on display. They were beginning to show signs of decay, and flies were gathering to lay their eggs in the decomposing flesh. Such a horrific sight would unsettle their new friends. They decided that the best course of action would be to approach the city from the West, and signal their presence some other way than direct contact. The battlefield would be avoided, lest their new friends be stricken with fear and revulsion.
With one last look at the carnage, the Druaga turned to go back to Farouk and his men. Passing the caravan campsite, the leader stopped, listening to the wind. There were faint sounds of men approaching from far to the East, and the Druaga felt a great evil among them. Farouk and the others were between them and the Druaga themselves, and with the rebel group’s diminished numbers, they would likely be slain if they were forced to engage.
Deciding that a battle was imminent, the Druaga made haste back to Farouk’s camp to prepare. They would warn Farouk of the coming danger and prepare themselves for battle. The time had come for the rebel force to prove their loyalty.
Jodocus sat upon a stone, completely shielded from sight, as Tyrus and his one hundred men passed. Why the Sultan had chosen only one hundred men the Druid could only guess, but these men seemed different than the others. Changed somehow. The men’s faces were expressionless, staring straight ahead blankly. They felt soulless as well, as if their will had been completely removed. They were automatons.
The Sultan marched behind the men, driving them on like cattle, cursing and threatening those that stepped off rhythm or fell behind. The Druid could feel the man’s innate evil. It felt like pure darkness itself; the same as the Defilers. This was no ordinary man, Jodocus reasoned. He was something more, something different. Though obviously born of this world, he possessed a negative energy that unsettled the Druid. His presence was an imbalance.
The man would have to be destroyed.
As the Jindala army
passed, Jodocus flinched as Tyrus looked his way. The man seemed to sense his presence. The Druid shielded himself further, concentrating his energy on a more powerful spell. Though the Sultan returned his attention to the road ahead, Jodocus knew the man could still feel him nearby.
Eventually, this group would run across Farouk and the Druaga. Though the Druaga were powerful warriors, and carried enchanted weapons, the men would be no match for the Sultan’s company. They would need an enchantment of their own, and Jodocus would have to make a choice as to who would wield it.
Perhaps a meeting was in order. A meeting between himself and the two brothers. Then, when he could lay his hands upon their hearts, he would be able to make a better choice.
Farouk and Azim continued watching the fields around them. The Druaga eventually returned, seeming to materialize from the grass itself. The leader came to Farouk, detailing what they had seen.
The caravan has been destroyed by Morduin’s rangers. We recognized their arrows.
“That is good news,” Farouk said. “They were meant to be a ruse to distract the Queen.”
A logical plan. Fortunately, the rangers were aware of this. Further ahead, near the Eastern gates, another battle occurred. The Jindala army was defeated. We believe the survivors fled to the Eastern coast.
“Back to the camp,” Azim said.
The Druaga leader nodded, then continued.
They are returning as we speak. A confrontation is inevitable. You must prepare for battle.
Farouk sighed. “It is time to prove ourselves,” he said to Azim, who nodded in agreement.
Agreed. But be wary, a powerful man walks among them.
“Tyrus,” Azim said, naming the mysterious Sultan that instilled fear in the hearts of even his own men. “He is second only to the Prophet. His cruelty is well known. A powerful adversary, and a heartless leader. Tyrus the Blackhearted we call him.”
Fitting. His new army will cross into Cael Pass soon. We must make ready. He must not be allowed to reach Morduin.
Onyx Dragon (Book 1) Page 15
