Eclipsing the Darkness (The Dragon Chronicles Book 5) (7 page)

Jodocus smiled warmly, placing his hand on Torak’s shoulder. “It is not your appearance that makes you human, friend. It is your soul. Look at me. I look human, but I obviously am not. We are both children of the stars and the Earth. Yet we live amongst men, doing as they do, thinking as they think. It is no surprise that you would fall victim to their wants and needs. You are as human as you need be, as you are here now seeking atonement. One who was truly evil would never do so.”

Torak nodded, knowing the truth of the druid’s words.

“Khalid, Farouk, and Azim were all Jindala once,” Jodocus said. “Khalid had even murdered the innocent in the name of the Lifegiver. But, he is now one of the greatest priests to have ever served the Dragon.”

“Khalid was blinded,” Torak said. “I knew exactly what I was doing.”

“Did you?” Jodocus asked. “Is that what you truly believe?”

Torak thought for a moment. Perhaps the boy was right. His motivation in bringing the Lifegiver into this world was to take revenge on those who had spurned him. Even his choice to destroy Allora and do ghastly things to her body was motivated by revenge; revenge against her rejection.

“You are guilty of pride,” Jodocus said. “Not evil. Pride is a human emotion; one of the most powerful.”

Torak collapsed into a seating position, cradling his head in his hands. He began to sob, prompting Jodocus to move his hand up to the man’s head.

“You are most human,” the druid said. “More human than you know.”

The shaman looked up at the boy, who remained smiling. “Thank you,” Torak said.

“No,” Jodocus replied. “Thank you for helping us. You have proved that you do, indeed, have a soul. And it is one of great compassion. That is a rarity.”

“No one can know of my presence,” Torak said. “Especially not Allora or Faeraon.”

Jodocus nodded. “I understand,” he said. “I will not tell anyone that I saw you.”

“You and the moorcat are the only ones who know I am here.”

“Farouk knows you’re here,” Jodocus said. “As does Traegus. But we know why, and we will not interfere.”

Torak nodded. “Thank you, friend.”

“Safe travels, Torak,” Jodocus said. “We will watch over you, as you watch over the others. Do not hesitate to call upon us if you need help. Goodbye.”

As Torak raised his head to say goodbye, the druid faded from sight. He chuckled to himself, knowing how the druids had the habit of appearing and disappearing without warning. He had done so on many occasions himself. Like them, he always found it amusing.

In the silence of the forest, the shaman chuckled, settling back for a good night’s sleep.

Chapter Seven

The united kings stood in a line along a ridge overlooking a nearly abandoned city on the edge of the Great Desert. Below, the sparse population of Jindala soldiers went about their business, preparing the city for the arrival of their own forces; forces that were likely meant to retake the cities of Thyre and the other surrounding kingdoms. Though barely aglow under the light of the rising moon, the fires placed about the city gave the kings a rough estimate of the number of soldiers stationed there.

Though once a densely populated city-state, what remained now were empty buildings, abandoned houses, and demolished temples to Imbra and the other Firstborn. The soldiers were using it for a military base, as its many buildings would serve quite well as barracks and war rooms. Even the surrounding towers, originally meant for spotting approaching traders, would serve as effective guard posts.

If only they were empty.

“Brynn, Daryth!” Eamon called.

The two knights stepped up from the mass of soldiers behind the kings, awaiting their king’s orders.

“Take out the guards in the two nearest towers,” Eamon said. “We will follow with a quiet charge down the cliff side.”

Mekembe chuckled. “As quiet as a massive charge can be,” he said. “Perhaps a small force should be sent to infiltrate the city in order to open the gates.”

Eamon nodded, noting the placement of archers on the walls. “Good idea,” he replied. “Daryth and Azim can lead a smaller squad. They are both adept at stealth.”

“I have four men that can join them,” Hamal said.

Mekembe looked back at the tribal warriors among his own army. “The tribesmen are very quiet,” he said. “They are hunters after all. I will send six of them.”

“That should be enough,” Ulrich said. “And what an excellent viewpoint we have.”

“Yes,” Cannuck said. “What a stroke of luck they occupied a city as unguarded as this one.”

The kings chuckled at Cannuck’s humor. He was right. The city was down in a valley that was basically situated in a wide open area. The surrounding lands, though rocky, were flat and easily traversable. And the cliff on which the kings now stood was at just the right angle for a quick charge.

Taking the city would be easy.

As the other kings prepared their men for the infiltration, Eamon watched Brynn and Daryth descend the cliff and take their places behind boulders that were embedded halfway down the slope. Each of them carefully tested the wind direction and speed, drawing back their bows in unison and awaiting the perfect moment to loose.

Brynn shot first, as his target was the first to stop. The arrow disappeared into the night, and Eamon turned his attention to the guard. As he watched Brynn’s target, he heard the twang of Daryth’s bow. Then, Brynn’s arrow met its mark, dropping the Jindala guard like a sack of stones. Eamon smiled, turning to Daryth’s target, who also dropped without even a groan.

“Excellent shots,” Mekembe whispered. “Your knights are skilled archers.”

“Those two, especially,” Eamon grinned. “Brynn and Daryth were both trained well. I am not so good.”

“A king need not be a good archer,” Mekembe said. “That’s what knights are for.”

Eamon grinned again. “Gather your men, Mekembe. It’s time to open those gates.”

Daryth and Azim led their group of ten men down the slope, taking care to stay in the shadows. Fortunately the landscape was dotted with boulders that had tumbled down the cliff, affording them many hiding places to make the distance in short sprints from one rock to the next.

Along the way, they all took notice of how many archers were atop the walls. The side they approached had twelve; evenly spaced among the battlements. None of them were particularly attentive, it seemed.

Daryth raised his hand to halt the men, pulling Azim close to speak.

“One for each of us,” he said. “But I am not sure about the other walls. There may be archers placed close enough on either side to draw attention if we kill the ones near the corners.”

Azim nodded. “That is a good point,” he replied. “But our focus is to eliminate those on this side to give our army time enough to close in before the alarm is raised. We need only get the gates open by the time they charge down the hill.”

“Right,” Daryth said. “But we need to find a way in. I’m assuming the gate mechanism is just inside.”

“Leave that to us,” one of Hamal’s men said. “We can tell them to open the gates for us. They would think we were Jindala soldiers.”

“Good,” Azim said. “We will be close behind. Kill any guards immediately inside the gates, then we will fire on the archers.”

Hamal’s soldier and one companion rose and began making their way toward the gates. They both covered their faces with their turbans, untucking several scarves in their clothing to match the colors of the guards they had seen. Apparently, these two had come prepared for mimicry.

“Impressive,” Azim said.

The two men approached the gates confidently, making no attempt to conceal themselves. To anyone else, they appeared as two Jindala hunters returning to base after an evening of scouting. Despite Daryth and Azim’s doubts, they managed to make it without raising any suspicion.

Azim craned his head to hear their shouts as they announced themselves to the guard posted above the gate. After a short exchange, the guard shouted to his companions inside the gate and the massive wooden doors creaked opened. One of Hamal’s men looked back, indicated with a nod that they were ready.

“Now!” Azim whispered.

The remaining men raised and drew their bows, loosing with lightning speed. Every arrow hit its mark, clearing the wall of all archers. Azim immediately turned and summoned a fire arrow, shooting it in a low arc toward the cliff face.

“Go!” Mekembe shouted, seeing the signal arrow burst against the rocks.

Two hundred men scuttled down the slope, racing toward the open gates. Eamon, Mekembe, Cannuck, and Hamal led the charge, with Ulrich and Jadhav leading their own men to flank the city in case the Jindala decided to flee.

As the small force passed, Daryth and Azim joined them. The remaining men blended in with the charge, and their shouts rose in a slow crescendo as they neared the gates.

Inside, Hamal’s men guarded the gate mechanism. They were immediately surrounded by swordsmen, and targeted by the archers that lined the remaining walls. They moved about quickly, avoiding the arrows that streaked down toward them, fending off the swordsmen until their allies finally began to flow through the gates.

Daryth and Azim immediately fired up into the crowds of archers that began to gather on the inner walls. Arrows flew upward and downward in a dizzying cloud of death, prompting those who bore shields to stand guard near the allied archers.

“Up the stairs!” Hamal shouted to his men. “Take down the archers on the wall.”

As the rebels of Khem ascended the stairs, the archers fled to the far battlements, replaced by swordsmen who flowed from the corner towers. Hamal’s men tore through them quickly, driving them back and over the walls. The fleeing archers were taken down as well, caught in the cloud of arrows that ascended from the outside.

Jadhav’s men had come through, clearing the southern wall of any threats.

On the ground, Eamon and his knights led the charge down the center of the fortress. They were met by a wall of spears of shields, wielded by the elite, golden-robed immortals. The knights clashed with the front lines with a deafening crunch, sending the shield bearers sprawling. The immortals dropped their spears, drawing their swords.

Mekembe’s hammer went into action, smashing the skulls of the immortals that got too close. With every swing, the southlander king splattered a cloud of blood and brains on the warriors around him. Apparently, Mekembe had battled the immortals before.

As the knights and their allies pressed forward, the elite soldiers backed away, overwhelmed by the screaming horde of invaders. Eamon’s sword came to life with the blood of his enemies, and the king grew stronger with the power that was gathered.

Mekembe laughed over the chaos as he watched his new friend unleash the fury of the Dragon. He cleaved his way through the sea of combatants to Eamon’s side, proudly smashing a mutual path of destruction through the hapless Jindala. Never before had he felt such exhilaration during battle, and the feeling of invincibility came over him. Beside such allies, he was invulnerable.

Loud crashes were heard on either side of the fortress as the gates were smashed open. Jadhav and Ulrich’s troops charged in, bearing down on the enemy flanks. The two forces crashed into them, packing them closer together. Behind them, the stone walls of the main fortress stood as a barricade. The Jindala were surrounded.

But, as Eamon feared, the enemies froze as their supernatural weapon appeared.

A massive defiler rose from among the ranks of Jindala. As the allied army stared upward in terror, the enemies backed away to allow the creature room to unleash its dark power. Eamon looked for Brynn among the soldiers, seeing him pushing his friends and allies out of the way. But the defiler had raised its claws and was already beginning its attack. Its black robes swirled around it like a flock of macabre crows, signaling its gathering of power.

Brynn would never make it in time.

Eamon turned to charge into the fray, stumbling forward as the crowd suddenly parted to make room for Azim. The knight had drawn his bow and shouted to the soldiers to clear a path. He loosed his arrow, immediately knocking and releasing another before the first was barely away. The two fiery missiles shot straight for the creature, stopping it in its tracks. It reeled back in pain, flailing its arms around to extinguish the flames.

Finally, the dark form of Brynn sailed toward the creature in a high arc, his mysterious blade poised to strike the killing blow. The allied soldiers watched the young knight vanquish the beast, and cheered as its ghostly head toppled from its body.

But the gathered magic did not dissipate. From out of the shadows, the impossibly tall figures of two more defilers seemed to melt from right out of the stone. Eamon raised the Serpent’s Tongue in the air, shouting for the men to flee.

“Get out of there!” he called over the deafening roar of the defilers’ magic.

Eamon backed away, desperately searching for Brynn, who had disappeared into the crowd. The defilers released their magic, snatching the fleeing soldiers back into their horrifying grip. Men disintegrated and shriveled into nothingness before Eamon’s very eyes. He shouted at the top of his lungs, calling on the power of the Dragon to protect him. He would have to make the charge alone, and strike at the nearest creature before its devastation turned his army into dust.

He started forward, feeling as if he was running through water. The defilers’ magic changed the air around him, making it nearly impossible for him to approach. Nevertheless, he howled into the deafening wind, forcing himself forward.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw the familiar form of Farouk appear from nowhere. The druid waved his hand at Eamon, pushing him back, strengthening the magical hold that had slowed him. Farouk pointed his staff at the creatures, blasting them with a bolt of white lightning that illuminated the courtyard like a thousand suns.

“Stay back, Eamon!” Farouk shouted.

The king slowed his pace, collapsing to his knees as his strength finally gave out. Breathless, he watched the druid cast swirling streaks of energy around the defilers, enveloping them in some kind of strange spell. They froze in place, their dark robes flying apart and burning to ash as the ethereal magic ripped them away. Then, the creatures themselves began to stretch and deform as they were drawn toward the druid’s staff. Like the life force they fed upon, they swirled like clouds of pure spirit, slowly drawn into Farouk’s green gem.