As Khalid stumbled down into the rocky valley that held the tower, he began to laugh out loud. This situation, and this journey, seemed amusing and ironic. He came to this island to conquer and to gain power. Now, however, he would join forces with its spirit and help to drive his own people away. True irony, if there was such a thing.
When he reached the temple grounds, he saw that the tower was in complete ruin. He wondered how such a crumbled structure could ever hold a power as great as the Dragon, but had faith in Imbra’s words, regardless. His heart quickened as he scanned the full height of the tower. He was fearful, yet anxious to enter at the same time.
The complex around the tower’s crumbled remains was in ruin as well. However, a straight road led to the main gates of the temple, allowing for quick entry without navigating the ruined city. Boldly, he strode forward, feeling the Dragon’s presence growing stronger and stronger as approached. He saw that the temple doors were open, but did not appear to have been destroyed.
They had been opened for him.
With a deep breath, and a short prayer to Imbra, the Sheikh entered the temple, his destiny awaiting.
Garret knelt before the large chest that sat against the back wall of his chambers. It had been almost thirty years since he had opened it and worn the dark robes of his brotherhood. Though now the Queen’s bodyguard, the contents of the chest marked him as the most lethal and effective assassin the Kingdom had ever known. It was a role he would now resume at the Queen’s request.
He breathed deeply, preparing himself for the coming events that would change his life forever, or end it. He leaned forward, grasping the brass lock that held the chest securely closed. He fished in his pocket for the key, an ornate, skull shaped object that signified his membership in the guild. He placed the key in the lock, sighing as he heard the audible click.
With a few deep breaths, he opened the chest. The embroidered robes he once wore lie folded in the center, perfectly intact as they had been all of those decades ago. Within the chest’s lid, various weapons were mounted, and they gleamed in the candlelight like divine tools of the gods.
He lifted his robes out, standing to let them unfold to their full length. They were perfect and unblemished, as formidable looking as they had ever been, and the wool was still supple and comforting. Stripping off his clothes, he donned the robes, his head flooding with memories of the days long ago that he had worn them for the King.
The robes still fit him, with only the slightest bit of tightness in the midsection. He pulled on the cloak as he looked at himself in the mirror, and felt his heart race as his reflection became that of the ruthless killer he had once been. He reached into the chest once more to retrieve his weapons, strapping on the jeweled saber and belt of throwing knives, and locked the chest forever.
All negative thoughts or apprehension were gone now, replaced by the emotionless demeanor that characterized his profession. Garret was an assassin once more.
With one last look at himself in the mirror, Garret pulled up his hood and slipped out the window of his chambers. He did not say goodbye to the Queen, nor announce his departure in any way. No one must ever know of his mission, and no one must ever know who had requested it. The assassin was on a mission now, and it might be his last. He could not allow himself to be distracted by memories of his love for the Queen, or the tears she would shed at his departure. He was alone now, and his mission was clear.
He must enter Queen Maebh’s chambers, and end her life.
Eamon sat atop the cliffs that overlooked the large encampment of soldiers below. Among them, the various groups that had come together were talking and laughing, sharing stories of their previous battles and other exploits, and passing ale around numerous fires. He was glad to see that even the rebel Jindala had joined in the festivities and had been accepted.
The Onyx Dragon felt confident that he had chosen his Knights wisely thus far. They were all strong, capable warriors, each with unique skills and attributes that complimented each other perfectly. Together, they were unbeatable, it seemed, and the Prince was proud to call them his brothers.
When the moon had reached its peak, Eamon stood, looking out over the lands to the South. In the morning, the army that lay below him would march into the Southern Kingdom and reclaim its cities. Then, when a sufficient force had been gathered, they would march upon the Castle and Eamon would claim the throne. It would be a difficult journey for all of them, he knew, and the horrors experienced would greatly exceed anything they had faced before.
The Defilers were a minor threat compared to what he and the soldiers may face in the coming days. The victories achieved in the North were small. The Southern Kingdom was already fully occupied and there was no way of knowing how strong the Jindala forces were.
Whatever the danger, the Prince was determined. The Dragon had been clear; the two Kingdoms must be united, and the Jindala driven out at all costs. It was a task that Eamon had been born to fulfill, and would not falter or waiver in his promise.
He would be King of Eirenoch, a Kingdom united.
THE DRAGON CHRONICLES
Wrothgaar’s Quest (novella – 2014)
Onyx Dragon
The Ascent
King of the North
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Shawn lives in the great state of Indiana, where he writes and builds websites.
Onyx Dragon (Book 1) Page 21
