Eclipsing the Darkness (The Dragon Chronicles Book 5) (32 page)

Eamon noticed a strange smell in the fog. It was musty, as fog would be, but there was an underlying scent that reminded him of the thick, sterile smell of the discharge from person to person when walking across a thick carpet and touching them on the shoulder. Was it the smell of lightning? Did lightning itself have a smell?

Shaking his head, he continued on. He gripped the hilt of the Serpent’s Tongue, nervously tapping his thumb on the pommel. The silence that surrounded them was uncomfortable, and even their cautious steps seemed to echo and resound like rocks falling in a cave. There was no reason for the echo; nor was there a reason for the silence. Eamon assumed they were still in Khem, just outside the eastern wall. They had just moved to a different section.

Curious, Eamon moved to the edge of the wall, peering between the crenellations to the ground below. Only there was no ground; only the same thick gray fog that surrounded them. Either the ground was obscured by it, or they were in some strange, outer dimension. Eamon shuddered, returning to his friends.

“Where are we, Traegus?” Eamon asked.

“We are in the Lifegiver’s domain,” he replied. “We are nearing the entrance to the pyramid.”

“We could see the pyramid from the outside. It didn’t look like this. It was sandstone, like the rest of the city behind us. The entire complex looked normal.”

Traegus nodded. “As it should, to the eyes of the people, that is. In reality, Absu’s realm is a dark place, made to appear as paradise to those who are unaware of his true nature. The Prophet, and the Lifegiver’s other dark servants, would have seen the reality. They would be the only ones allowed to enter.”

“And since we know the truth,” Eamon said, “we see it, too.”

Traegus smiled, nodding. “Yes. And everything will appear to us as it truly is.”

“Then let us continue,” Eamon said, starting forward again.

Faeraon and Traegus glanced at each other, falling in step behind him.

Hamal shuddered as Atuzoth’s red eyes appeared in the gloom. The creature had escaped from the rubble fairly quickly, and was now in pursuit again. The avalanche had been ineffective, as Hamal suspected it would be. The creature was a true denizen of Hell, not a simple enemy conjured by sorcerers or priests. It would take more than stone to destroy it.

Hamal’s stomach began to churn as the monster stepped through the wall of dust. At first he thought it was fear, or revulsion, and he breathed deeply to strengthen his will and steady himself in the face of battle. But soon, as the churning reached a painful level, he realized it was something different.

Mahaguratu
vibrated in a rhythmic pattern in his grasp. It was not a steady oscillation as before, but something more specific and with purpose. It was trying to communicate with him, or warn him; he couldn’t be sure. The oscillations corresponded with the throbbing he felt in the pit of his stomach, and the heavy pounding of his heart. His skin tingled almost to the point of burning, and now his eyes began to ache as well.

He backed away, moving toward the staircase to the east that led to the pyramid complex. It was there that the creature had appeared, and Hamal believed that his blade was leading him there; but why? Atuzoth was the guardian of Hell, not the Lifegiver’s creation. Why was it guarding the entry to the pyramid complex?

The pounding of Atuzoth’s feet on the stone shook Hamal out of his trance. The beast barreled toward him with increased speed, intent on stomping him into the road. Hamal summoned his courage, gripping his sword as he prepared to strike. As Atuzoth took one final leap, claws out, Hamal spun to the side, chopping downward at the creature’s forearm. It came off with a gush of black blood, sending Atuzoth into a screaming rage. It slashed with its remaining claw, blindly and furiously. Hamal took the aggressive stance, rushing inward right into the monster’s path, thrusting his blade into the tightly muscled gut.

His sword pierced the black flesh, striking bone and sinew. Hamal withdrew, stepping back as Atuzoth thrashed and howled. He struck again, slashing at the monster’s leg, but Atuzoth jumped upward, landing on top of a crumbled wall. The creature glared at him menacingly; steaming saliva dripping from its maw and burning into the sandstone below. Hamal chuckled.

“It seems your master is all out of pieces to play,” he taunted.

Atuzoth continued to glare, the red eyes burning into Hamal’s very soul. Hamal held out his sword, turning it in his hands, taunting his enemy further. The blade was glowing blue, charged with Imbra’s power. He could feel it coursing through him, as if the blade was imparting it to him. But he realized that it was not the sword that carried the power; it was Hamal himself. Smiling, he returned Atuzoth’s glare, feeling the energy build up inside him. His muscles tightened, his eyes became sharper, and the world around him seemed to slow down.

Without thinking, Hamal shot forward, slamming his fist into the wall. The stone shattered instantly, crumbling and toppling Atuzoth to the ground as he burst through the other side. The creature landed on its feet, growling and turning to charge again. Hamal leaped into the air, seeing Atuzoth charging slowly, as if time had somehow altered itself with Hamal’s attack. While in midair, Hamal turned his blade downward, gripping it with both hands. He spun just as Atuzoth passed beneath him, and jammed his blade at the beast’s broad back. His weight carried it through the creature’s spine, bursting through its chest with a spray of foul blood, cutting downward as Hamal descended to the ground.

Atuzoth fell to its knees as Hamal hit the stone. It remained there as he calmly walked around to glare face to face. The red eyes were dim, the fanged mouth was gaping, and its breathing was labored and gurgling. Hamal laughed.

“This is my kingdom,” he hissed, “and I have returned to reclaim it for my fathers, and my lord, Imbra.”

Atuzoth cackled weakly. “Imbra burns in my domain,” it said. “His suffering has only begun, and will continue until the universe is reborn again.”

Hamal narrowed his gaze. Was this true? Was Imbra burning in Hell? Had all the Firstborn been condemned to an eternity of suffering?

“Imbra is with the Great Mother,” he said. “And you will return to your pit, where you belong.”

Atuzoth laughed again, straining to make the sound. “You will join him when the rest of the world belongs to Absu; when the universe itself becomes his domain. He
is
the Creator, and the destroyer.”

“You speak lies,” Hamal said. “Your attempt to deceive me is pointless. The reign of Absu has come to an end, and you will be cast back into the darkness with him.”

“Then speed my passage,” Atuzoth said, lowering its massive jackal head. “And I will wait your arrival.”

Without hesitation, Hamal obliged.

As the sun began to sink in the west, the battlefield remained alight with the bursting of magic, and the many fires that raged amidst the combatants. The janni, who had laid waste to the efreet, flamed brightly against the dark blue of dusk. Among them, Farouk fired his spells, joined in his effort by the shaman. Together, they had brought hope to the allies, and with the arrival of the Priests of Drakkar, the enemy was being driven back.

The collective magic of the priests had given the soldiers a second wind that rejuvenated and revived them. Against their renewed strength, the massive horde of Jindala had dwindled. No more than a third of them remained; but those that still stood fought with all of the zeal they had from the beginning. It seemed there was no stopping them short of slaying every last one.

Until the entire bulk of the enemy force collapsed to the ground.

The allies stood stunned. Many of them were frozen with their swords poised to strike; others were pulling their blades from the flesh of their enemies. Silence fell over the thousands of soldiers, who were immobilized and in shock. Only the sound of the dragons’ wings and the rushing movements of the janni could be heard.

Farouk sheathed his blade, hearing Torak do the same. The shaman had his head lowered, and his eyes darted around the battlefield as the fallen Jindala began to stir. The allied soldiers stood above them, looking at each other in confusion as their former enemies rose unarmed and seemingly changed.

“What is happening?” Farouk heard many of the soldiers ask.

He moved ahead, pushing through the crowd. All around him, the Jindala were dazed, but their blood lust had been quelled. Some were helped to their feet by the allied men, others huddled together in terror. The Priests of Drakkar tended to the wounded—friend and foe alike—and the Alvar assisted them in alleviating their fears.

Torak’s expression caught Farouk’s attention. The shaman seemed at a loss, and his face betrayed a sense of confusion.

“What is it, my friend?” Farouk asked him.

Torak shook his head. “I felt as if a great veil of blindness had been lifted,” he whispered. “There was utter hate and blind obedience among the Jindala, and then it was gone. They were being controlled, as if they were puppets, and then their master let loose their strings.”

Farouk nodded. “That was the way it felt for me when I set foot on Eirenoch,” he said, “though it was not quite as dramatic as this.”

He then raised his staff in the air and conjured an orb of calming blue light that drew the attention of the entire assembly of men and elementals alike.

“
Sheath your blades!”
Farouk shouted. “
Your enemy is no more!”

The men lowered their blades, shouldered their bows, and dropped their spears. Farouk could feel a tangible sense of relief from everyone, and could hear their collective chatter. They spoke amongst themselves, and addressed those Jindala who understood them. Farouk was proud of them. It was a relief to see that the allied soldiers did not share the hatred that once drove the Jindala. They had truly banded together for simple survival, and not to destroy. Perhaps, Farouk thought, there was hope for humanity yet.

From out of the crowd, Tregar appeared, followed by Jadhav and Mekembe. The Knights of the Dragon gathered around as well. Their armor was retracted, and their blades were no longer drawn. They too had showed honor and forgiveness. Eamon had chosen them well indeed.

“Is it over?” Tregar asked. “Has Eamon destroyed the Lifegiver?”

Farouk was silent as he stared off to the east, toward Khem. He focused his mind on the darkness, seeking out Absu’s presence. He was there, Farouk knew. Eamon had not yet reached him. But the magic that had held the Jindala in Absu’s grasp was gone. The Lifegiver had released his spell. The Jindala were free.

“No,” he said, finally. “He is simply preparing for battle.”

Chapter Twenty Nine

Through the thick wall of fog, the dark face of the Great Pyramid came into view. It rose to an incredible height, and spanned as far as the three friends could see on either side. Its surface was the same strange gray-black color as the rest of the architecture, with shining purplish runes—taller than a man—Inlaid against the visible face. The symbols were unrecognizable, but were mesmerizing the way they glowed dimly in the fog.

Ahead, the wide bridge led to a massive doorway about halfway up the pyramid’s slope. Odd-looking towers adorned either side, spiked and ghostly in the fog. The entrance was unobstructed by either doors or gates; standing open to the darkness beyond.

“Surely the Lifegiver knows we’re here,” Eamon said. “Yet all is still and silent.”

Traegus grunted in agreement. “Strange, yes,” he said. “But I imagine Absu is reserving his power. He no longer has the Great Mother to feed upon.”

“What say you, Faeraon?”

“He knows we are here,” he said. “There is very little that he does not see, but his awareness is not as acute without his servants. However, our presence is quite obvious. We are not making any attempt to mask our approach.”

“As there would be no reason to do so,” Eamon said.

“Look,” Traegus interjected, pointing ahead to the doorway.

The fog seemed disturbed at the end of the walkway, as if something was moving just inside the door. The three drew their blades, slowing their pace and keeping their eyes trained on the opening. They were still at least fifty yards away, but that was close enough for anything of reasonable speed to catch them off guard. Beyond the threshold, there was nothing; only darkness. But the fog continued to swirl.

“I see nothing,” Faeraon said. “Perhaps it was a gust of air.”

Eamon couldn’t argue; it was possible. Still, he kept his pace, fixated on the doorway with the Serpent’s Tongue gripped tightly. He couldn’t help but feel that something was there. In fact, something
should
be there. Since they crossed into the Lifegiver’s complex, the trio had encountered nothing; no guards, no dark creatures, not even a stray bird flying overhead.

As they reached the doorway, they stopped to examine the stones that lined the opening. They were polished and gray, perfectly square and tightly fitted together. Each stone that lined the sides was carved with a strange symbol or pictograph. Some depicting simple animal figures, others showing geometric shapes. A long, thick slab spanned the top, with a larger stone adorning the very center. Though it was at least twelve feet above the walkway, it was clearly marked with a symbol depicting a large eye within a triangle.

“The Lifegiver’s symbol,” Traegus remarked. “The all-seeing eye.”

Faeraon sighed uncomfortably. “It was the same on my world,” he said. “His minions bore this symbol on their banners. I did not notice the Jindala bearing it, however.”

“The eye closes this day,” Eamon said. “Forever.”

He looked nervously into the passage beyond. It was a squared hallway, carved out of what looked to be a single block of gray stone. The same strange symbols were carved on either wall, painted in sepia tones and accentuated with purple gems in each figure’s single eye. Beyond the end of the hall, there was darkness, lit only by a faint, violet glow. There was a gentle, constant flow of hot air that wafted from inside and kept the entry clear of fog.