Onyx Dragon (Book 1) (13 page)

“A messenger from the Queen?” he asked. “With what message?”

Olga stood, letting her veils glide across his face. “He would not say. He will only speak to the Jarl.”

Ulrich grudgingly sat up, his head pounding like a thousand hammers. He looked to his bedside, found a flagon, and drank deep. When he had finished, he slowly stood, groaning with every movement, dropping the flagon to the floor.

“Send him in.”

Olga called out to the messenger, who entered Ulrich’s tent. The King of the North glared at him, making the man uncomfortable.

“What is the message, boy?” Ulrich demanded.

“King Ulrich,” the messenger began, “my Queen sends her greetings and invites you to meet—“

“On with it!” Ulrich growled.

“She has sent her elite guard, the Mordumarc, to investigate the attack on your nearby settlement. Her royal seer says that the attackers were men from across the sea who have arrived on the island to enslave its people...yours included.”

Ulrich laughed, “Who are these men?”

“I do not know, sir, but it seems that the Southern Kingdom has fallen, and the invaders are here to ensure that the North falls as well.”

Ulrich grunted in indifference, “So?”

The messenger cleared his throat, continuing, “Your son, Wrothgaar, traveled to Morduin to ask for the Queen’s aid, and she has granted it. In return, Wrothgaar has been asked to accompany the Prince on a quest to Dol Drakkar.”

“To the dragon tower?” Ulrich asked. “Why?”

“I am not sure,” the man answered, “but Wrothgaar agreed and they are on their way, if not there already, as we speak.”

Ulrich folded his arms across his chest. “That’s his choice to make,” he stated. “But it’s my choice to make the next move. Where are these enemies now?”

“No one knows for certain, but the Queen has invited you to the castle to discuss a military alliance. One that will benefit us both.”

“Hmmm,” Ulrich replied. “I will consider it. But, for now, I will take my warriors and hunt down these invaders. We will have our vengeance.”

“Very well, sir,” the messenger said. “I would suggest traveling south to Morduin. The enemy will undoubtedly attempt to take the castle. If the castle is not under siege, we may begin negotiations.”

“We hunt first,” the King said, “then we will travel to Morduin. Tell your Queen to be expecting me, and that I accept her offer. We will unite. But I will, of course, have terms of my own which I will discuss with her personally.”

The messenger smiled, bowing in respect to Eirenoch’s new ally.

“Very good. I will return to Morduin and inform her of your request. I take my leave.”

“Stop!” Ulrich commanded him. “Who is this seer, and what is the medicine he gave you?”

“His name is Maedoc, the Queen’s brother. I do not know the nature of the medicine. Perhaps your shaman will know.”

“Fine,” Ulrich grunted. “Go.”

The messenger bowed once more and left the tent. Olga bounced over to the King to stand at his side.

“Be careful, Jarl,” she warned. “These enemies travel with a great and powerful weapon. A monster of unknown origin. I can feel it, and it chills my bones.”

Ulrich regarded the old woman briefly, then sniffed the air.

“Have you had a bath lately?”

Wrothgaar leaned against the black staircase, dozing off after what seemed like hours of waiting. Finally, the door opened, and a robed figure stepped out.

“You may enter now,” the Priest said.

Wrothgaar stood, following closely behind the Priest as he was led downward into the inner sanctum of the temple. He marveled at the plain, yet somehow elegant, decor of the chamber.

Eamon sat upon an ornate throne, just waking up, it seemed, as Wrothgaar entered. A tall man with black armor and twin swords stood beside him.

“Behold,” the man said. “The Onyx Dragon is reborn.”

The six Priests bowed, throwing back their hoods and cloaks, revealing their true nature. Each Priest had the shape of a man, but looked vaguely reptilian. Their skin was covered in grayish-black scales, their faces slightly elongated, and their eyes were a deep, glossy black.

As Wrothgaar stood in awe at the six draconian Priests, Eamon stood, sword in hand, and smiled at him.

“My friend!” he said. “I have been reborn. I do not feel like I am the same person I was before. The Dragon has given me his power, and it has changed me.”

He descended the platform and stood before his friend. To the Northman, Eamon seemed like a different man, with new found confidence and strength. Even his armor was different, appearing more like the armor of Eirenoch’s past Kings; elegant and dragon-like. His eyes reflected a deeper sense of wisdom than was there previously, and his voice was more commanding.

“You, Wrothgaar,” Eamon began. “I offer you the Dragon’s blessing as my First Knight. Do you accept?”

Wrothgaar nodded. “I accept,” he said, “and will bear the title with honor and pride.”

Eamon smiled. “Kneel before me, my friend.”

Wrothgaar knelt before the Prince, bowing his head in respect. Eamon unsheathed the Serpent’s Tongue and rested it on the Northman’s shoulder.

“In the name of the Dragon,” Eamon began, moving the blade to Wrothgaar’s other shoulder, “I Knight you, Wrothgaar, son of the North, and protector of the kingdom of Eirenoch. Rise.”

Wrothgaar stood, feeling the rush of emotions he was now burdened with. He had never dreamed of receiving such an honor, especially from a former enemy. His father would be proud.

Slowly, Wrothgaar’s skin began to crawl as various pieces of black dragon armor formed themselves over him, protecting him at key points. His existing armor was melded into the new pieces, giving it an appearance that was suited to the Northman’s preference. He was now protected with the Dragon’s power, while still retaining the appearance of a Northman.

Eamon turned to Erenoth, who awaited his orders, “Erenoth, you will accompany us on our journey.”

The high Priest bowed. “As you wish, my Lord.”

“You Priests,” Eamon said, turning to the draconians. “You will remain at the temple and tend to the grounds. The temple must be reopened so that the people may worship if they wish. See to it that anyone who approaches is welcome.”

The draconians bowed, hissing their agreement.

“Now, Wrothgaar, Erenoth, our road awaits. We will return to Morduin. The enemy lies in wait near the castle, and more of them are still at sea. I have the feeling that our forces have dwindled and we must waste no time. We leave immediately.”

Jodocus watched Taryn from a distance. He had arrived shortly after the final charge of Kaelos and his cavalry. Though concerned with the lives of the innocent people that lived in the town, it was not his duty to intervene. The balance dictated that he remain an observer and only intervene when the balance was upset. Of course, the Defiler’s presence most definitely upset the balance.

He had left a small trinket on the battlefield outside the city walls, knowing that a man of Eirenoch would find it. It was a talisman of great antiquity and power, one that would shift the balance slightly in the bearer’s favor. The claddagh, forged in the fires of the Dragon’s breath, would protect its wearer from negative energy.

The Druid had seen the young warrior of the Mordumarc find the claddagh. He had seen how its power protected the man against the Defiler. He could not explain, however, how the warrior was able to kill the unnatural beast. He did not know the nature of Brynn’s sword; where it was forged, or whether it was magic or otherwise. All he knew was that the blade had killed a creature not of this world. He would have to keep an eye on the warrior when he could and find out more.

“The enemy has made the first move,” Siobhan declared to the ranger scout, “and the second, and the third. We strike back this time.”

The scout nodded in agreement. “Yes, my Queen,” He said. “Our squad of rangers is prepared to ambush the caravan at your order. We need but return to Cael Pass.”

“Ride back to your Captain and tell him he has my orders. Destroy all Jindala on sight.”

  The scout bowed, departing the throne room. Maedoc approached the throne, his face grim.

“This is a distraction,” he said. “Why would the Jindala send a diplomatic envoy when they have already attacked?”

Garret offered an explanation, “They may have spread their armies out all over the country to lie in wait. Once they are in place, they would send their envoys to negotiate a peaceful surrender. If we do not surrender, the armies that are in place converge on the castle and attack. Their previous attacks may have been to weaken our outside defenses.”

Maedoc nodded. “I am not a military strategist,” he said, “but that makes sense to me. Regarding our Northman friend, I believe his village was attacked in order to steal a weapon. He carries an axe forged of meteoric iron. Such a weapon would be a great asset to anyone who faces a beast such as the Defiler.”

Siobhan scowled, saying, “it would seem to a waste of time to travel so far just to steal a weapon. How would they even know that he had it?”

“The sorcerers among them,” Maedoc explained, “would sense its presence. Meteoric iron is rare, and emanates a distinctive power.”

Siobhan, satisfied with Maedoc’s answer, then turned to Garret.

“I am at a loss,” she spoke. “How could all of these armies have slipped past our scouts, our watchtowers, my rangers?”

“That is the point of spreading out,” Garret said. “Smaller groups can more easily slip past any watch points. For now, I think it is time to light the beacons and gather our troops.”

Siobhan agreed, sighing.

“I worry for Fergis,” she said. “And for the Mordumarc. I expected some word from them by now.”

“They are no doubt pursuing more enemies,” Garret suggested. “With the Jindala spread out over our kingdom, they have their work cut out for them. They will return.”

Siobhan hung her head in worry. Fergis had been a friend to her since she was a child. He was a good man, and a fine soldier. She could not help thinking that she had sent him to his death.

“I hope so,” she said.

Garret turned to leave.

“I will have the beacons lit,” he said. “It is time to prepare.”

Farouk lie awake in the dark, staring up at the stars. Around him, his men were asleep and silent, with small pockets of chatter here and there. The night was peaceful and quiet, quite the contrast of Farouk’s typical nights. He had not felt so free since he was a child, and he knew his brother felt the same way.

He glanced over at Azim, whom he now realized was also staring up at the stars. He fought the urge to reveal his feelings to his brother, even knowing in his heart that Azim would not be judgmental. It was still too soon. He had to be sure, or he would risk exposing his defiance. He would wait.

He turned his head again, returning to his stargazing. He felt himself becoming more relaxed as he let the energy of the land flow through him. It was a beautiful feeling. Not the feeling of fear that his life as a servant had always imposed on him, but a oneness with the land around him, and even with himself. It was something he had never felt before, and it filled him with hope.

His head was more clear now than it had ever been, and his ability to see the beauty around him was more acute. He was a slave no longer. He was free.

“Excellency,” a voice whispered nearby.

Farouk turned to look toward the voice. It was one of his soldiers. The man had crept up near him, doing his best to stay hidden from the other men. Azim also raised his head to listen.

“What is it, soldier?” Farouk asked.

The soldier lowered his head in shame, fearful that his impending words would spell his doom.

“May I speak freely?” he asked.

“You may always speak your heart, my friend,” Farouk assured him, noticing that Azim had sat up and moved closer to join the conversation.

“What I say would be considered blasphemy,” the soldier explained. “But not telling you would be worse, I believe.”

“Tell me what is on your mind,” Farouk urged him on, waiting for the words he knew were coming.

“There are some of us who do not feel...right,” the soldier said.

“What do you mean?” Azim asked.

“We feel as if the land calls to us. Like we were meant to be here, but not to destroy.”

Farouk looked to his brother, who returned his questioning glance.

“Do you feel this, as well?” he asked Azim.

“I do,” Azim replied. “I’ve felt it since we stepped foot on shore.”

The soldier seemed relieved, relaxing somewhat as he continued, “We no longer feel the Lifegiver’s power. There is something else here that gives us comfort. Something that beckons us from the land itself. It gives us hope, and not desperation.”

“Do not fear, my friend,” Farouk said. “But tell me, how many men feel this way?”

The soldier struggled to think. “Nearly half of us, I would say,” he answered. “But we have been afraid to speak of it.”