Eclipsing the Darkness (The Dragon Chronicles Book 5) (30 page)

The arrow streaked through the haze, striking the stalker in the head with a thud. It groaned and collapsed onto the stone, lifeless. Faeraon motioned for them to remain still as he scanned the immediate area for any other stalkers. After a few seconds, he nodded, and the group continued on.

“Good shot,” Eamon said.

Hamal grunted in agreement as he took the lead once more. After only a few steps, he stopped and turned.

“My blade speaks to me again,” he said. “There is something ahead.”

“We are getting close the temple,” Traegus reminded him. “The temple opens up into the pyramid.”

Hamal shook his head. “No. This is something more immediate, and it’s almost as if my blade recognizes it.”

Eamon glanced at the Serpent’s Tongue. Though he knew it was aware of something, the sword did not appear to be interested—if that were possible.

“I think the stalkers are the least of our worries,” Faeraon said, “frightening as they are. I am sure that Absu has more pets around to guard his throne.”

Hamal nodded. “Pets,” he said. “Yes, pets.”

“You have been imbued with the power of Imbra,” Eamon said, “just as I have the Dragon’s power. We should fear no beasts; natural or unnatural.”

Faeraon suddenly held up his hand to silence them. He moved closer to the wall of rubble, training his ear to the east. “Something is coming,” he said. “I can hear its footsteps.”

The remaining three stood, staring off into the haze. It was beginning to billow and spread, as if something large was coming their way and pushing the haze to the side. Faeraon dashed across the road to get a better viewpoint. Eamon could see nothing but the movement of the haze, but could feel a slight, rhythmic rumbling.

“Footsteps,” he said; “heavy footsteps.”

As the four rose to greet their new stalker, a frightening groan echoed from the haze. It was long, deep, and drawn out; like the sound of an old woman drawing her last breath. It ended in a gurgling sound that brought chills up Eamon’s spine. Then, there was a growl so deep that it shook the ground and stung his ears like daggers.

The footsteps quickened and became louder. Whatever it was, it had sensed their presence and was coming after them. There was no hiding now. Hamal stepped to the front of them, his sword held out before him.

“My friends,” he said. “This is why I am here.”

“What are you talking about?” Eamon said. “We are all in this together.”

The three stood beside Hamal, their own blades poised and ready for whatever would emerge from the dust. Eamon’s heart quickened in anticipation. Traegus seemed to be trembling with excitement—or fear. Faeraon glared, his teeth bared in battle rage.

Then, it came.

A huge humanoid shape materialized from the gloom. It was black, heavily muscled, and stood at least twice the height of a man. It wore only a white linen kilt, a golden belt, and golden gauntlets around its massive wrists. It was the embodiment of terror, but the most striking feature was its head.

It bore the head of a jackal.

“It cannot be,” Hamal exclaimed as the beast roared, displaying its clawed hands.

“
What is it?
” Eamon shouted.

Hamal turned to him, his eyes filled with revulsion. “Atuzoth,” he whispered. “The Gatekeeper of Hell.”

They all stood fast, preparing for battle. But Hamal stepped forward, stoically raising his blade.

“Stay with us!” Eamon shouted. “We can defeat him together!”

He heard Faeraon’s bow being drawn, and Traegus mumbling a spell. Hamal ignored his plea, continuing forward. “Go!” he shouted back. “This is my destiny. This is why I was summoned.”

Eamon started to charge, but Faeraon stayed him. “No, my friend,” he said. “He is right. This is why he is here. It is his battle. We have ours.”

“Come, Eamon,” Traegus said, dragging him away.

Eamon hesitated, not wanting to leave his friend behind. But he was pushed into the shadows by his two companions, and directed away from the creature. He could only pause to look back with a heavy heart. He saw Hamal bravely walk toward the demon, his eyes closed, and his sword held high in honor of Imbra.

As the trio fled, the last thing Eamon heard was Hamal’s battle cry.

Chapter Twenty Seven

As the battle raged on into the late afternoon, the allied armies had managed to thin the Jindala forces out to a more manageable number. The two forces were evenly mixed together, creating a chaotic mix of friend or foe, making it difficult for anyone to find their peers. The rebel Jindala, who had long ago escaped the Lifegiver’s grasp, found themselves targeted by those of both sides. Their only hope of avoiding confusion—the lack of turbans—eventually became useless as the Jindala themselves did the same.

Shemya attempted to help distinguish them from the enemy as they passed him by casting a spell of marking. When he sensed their allegiance, he turned their robes white in order to contrast with the red of the Jindala forces. It was effective for those who knew the Jindala’s ways, but there were still pockets of allies that remained oblivious.

He would have to protect them in other ways.

“Brothers!” he called to the janni. “Stay amongst the righteous and protect them from the swords of our allies.”

The janni sped away, disbursing themselves among the various groups of rebel Jindala. They would stay among them to signal their allegiance to the armies, and protect them from wrongful death. Though they were small in number, they were valuable in the battle, just as everyone else who had taken up arms against the enemy.

He was relieved at the outcome. The rebels were encouraged by the presence of the divine spirits, and they fought with more ferocity. They would truly make a name for themselves. Now, as the janni lord sped through the battle, he could worry less about them, and focus more on keeping the entire army’s morale to the needed level.

But his fears were tripled when he suddenly sensed the presence of many powerful men among the Jindala. There were at least two dozen sorcerers mixed in with the rear ranks of the enemy force. They had stayed behind the foot soldiers to cast their spells of protection, and now, for summoning.

Several efreets rose from the ranks, spinning and flaming above the heads of the Jindala. They cast fear into the hearts of the allied troops, and many of them fled their presence. Shemya, not wanting to tear his brothers away from protecting the rebels, took it upon himself to eliminate them. He rose to their level, his blazing swords poised. The efreet closest to him turned in his direction, growled in rage, and charged. Shemya met his charge with a wall of spinning blades. The efreet conjured blades of his own, and the two clashed furiously in a cacophony of steel.

Shemya worked his blades in tandem, creating an impenetrable vortex that blocked all of the efreet’s strikes. He allowed himself to be pushed back, making the efreet think he was gaining ground. He sailed back toward one of his brothers, darting to the side just in time for the janni to rise up and strike down the efreet with an upward thrust. The efreet cried in agony as it was impaled. Shemya charged again, spinning in the air, slicing it multiple times. The efreet exploded in a huge fireball, its otherworldly flesh incinerating in midair.

Shemya thanked his brother and sped toward the next efreet. It had engaged a group of Mekembe’s tribal spearmen, and was surrounded by the brave little men. They poked at it, doing little damage, but dodged and rolled away as the efreet’s fiery blades assaulted them. Shemya slammed into it, knocking it back several yards, and charged again with a spinning attack. The efreet was cast to the ground, where it was crushed under the divine hammer of Cannuck. The Northman roared in triumph, and Shemya bowed in respect, shooting off toward the next efreet.

Along the way, he saw a sorcerer begin another spell. As he passed, Shemya swooped down to strike. His blades took off the sorcerer’s head mid-spell, and the magic fizzled into the air. He then spun again, blasting through the ranks of the enemy and cutting them to pieces. The Jindala fled from his wrath, backing away toward another sorcerer that raised his twisted claws into the air. Before Shemya could reach him, the spell was cast, and two glowing balls of red energy shot toward him. He dodged one with a lightning fast swoop, but was struck by the second. The dark energy blasted his physical form, knocking him back, stunned.

Several Jindala charged their spears, their razor sharp tips rushing at him with unbelievable ferocity. Shemya barely had time to dodge the attacks, spinning in the last second to slash at the nearest spearman’s neck. Though his blade connected, the Jindala managed to skewer the janni. The pain was shocking. Shemya rose into the air to escape, his vision suddenly blurring and swimming before him.

What was happening?

He felt the darkness of the spear point rush through him, as if charged by some vile magic that affected even the djinn. Shemya’s brothers rushed toward him, striking down the attacking spearmen to protect their lord. They were a vortex of flame as they surrounded him, protecting him from the suddenly fearless Jindala warriors.

Then, from the depths of the Jindala soldiers, an unearthly hiss penetrated the roar of battle. The Jindala parted, making room for the tall, black-cloaked beast that rose above them. Shemya stumbled to one knee as the creature’s magic began to spread around it. He could only see his brothers struggling to protect him, but could hear the creature’s frightening hissing as it released its power.

The allied forces fled from the defiler, streaking past the janni in terror. Shemya rose again, depleted, but immune to the dark magic. He was weak, but he would not allow the dark beast to hinder their escape. He called to his brothers, his voice raspy and troubled.

“Help them escape!” he shouted as loudly as he could.

The janni charged after the fleeing men, guarding their escape. Many of the soldiers fell to the defiler’s power, crumbling into dust with screams of agony.

Furious, Shemya charged.

Daryth drew back his bow, taking aim at the nearest efreet. He loosed, sending the magical arrow into the flaming creature. It burst into a brilliant ball of earth energy as it struck, blowing the fiery spirit into oblivion. He drew and fired again, striking another efreet that battled with Azim. The creature also burst into nothingness, and Azim backed away, turning to join Daryth as he took aim at the remaining efreet.

“Keep firing!” Azim shouted. “I will guard you!”

Daryth nodded, taking aim again. Around him, he heard Azim’s blades clanging against the enemy’s armor. He fired, sending another arrow into the next efreet. It blasted the creature apart as it charged, sending bits of flame outward in a fiery explosion. He searched around for another, seeing several of them off in the distance.

“We need to move!” Daryth shouted. “I can’t hit them from here. Our men are too crowded.”

“Take the lead,” Azim replied. “I will follow you.”

Daryth shouldered his bow and drew his katana, ducking through the battle to find a clear shooting spot. He took down several Jindala along the way, and he heard Azim do the same in his wake. Strangely enough, the allied soldiers were fleeing, running past him in terror. He stopped, searching the battle for the source of their fear.

“Daryth!” Brynn called to him from nearby. “Defilers to the south!”

Daryth cringed. With the appearance of defilers, their hands were tied. Farouk had instructed them not to kill the creatures; saying that they were enslaved by the Lifegiver as well. Did that warrant their destruction? Should they be allowed to kill?

“Get their attention,” Daryth said. “You are immune to their power.”

Brynn nodded, charging off toward them. Daryth turned to Azim, whose face echoed his own concern. “What do we do?” he asked. “We cannot allow them to kill our allies.”

Azim shook his head. “For once, I think we should defy my brother’s orders. This battle depends upon destroying the enemy, regardless of their nature. Besides, he’s not here.”

“Agreed!”

Daryth drew his bow again, leaping onto a nearby rock that jutted up from the sand. Azim joined him, drawing his own bow. The two took aim, disregarding any warnings not to kill the creatures.

“Forgive us, brother,” Azim whispered.

Brynn’s charge caught the defiler off guard. As he entered the void left by the fleeing men, the creature directed its power toward him, curling its claws and baring its fangs as it attempted to draw away his life force. Brynn, unaffected, leaped into the air, thrusting his blade at the defiler’s exposed face. The creature spun out of the way, and Brynn jabbed at the empty air. He landed on his feet, tossing his blade into the other hand, and spinning to back slash the defiler’s leg.

His sword struck home, and the young knight felt the creature’s leg give way. The defiler erupted with a shrill cry, its power dissipating as its concentration was broken. Brynn rolled forward on the ground, coming up behind it and thrusting again into the creature’s back, then dodging a swiping claw. The defiler turned in rage, releasing a barrage of claw attacks at the retreating knight. One last powerful swipe of a claw afforded him the advantage when the attack knocked the defiler off balance. Brynn took the chance, chopping down with his blade, severing the creature’s claw, and spinning to deliver a powerful slash at its gut.

The blade cut open the defiler’s body, dragging dark entrails with it as it finished its arc. Magical arrows streaked in and struck the defiler’s back, pitching it forward right into Brynn’s path. With one mighty swing, he severed the creature’s head, not even pausing before charging the next closest target.

When he spotted the next defiler, he flung his blade with all his might. The sword sailed, end over end, embedding itself in the monstrous, fanged maw. The defiler fell to its knees, grasping the sword that jutted from its mouth, desperately tugging at it with its clumsy, clawed hands. Brynn drew his dagger and sliced at the crooked claws until the defiler swiped at him. He dodged, grasping the hilt of his blade and drawing it free, then spun and chopped downward, splitting the defiler’s skull in two.