Onyx Dragon (Book 1) (14 page)

“There is no need to fear,” Azim said. “The only question is what to do next.”

“We could flee,” the soldier suggested. “Flee to the castle and ask for sanctuary.”

Azim grunted. “They would not welcome us,” he reminded the soldier. “I do not think they would believe that we would surrender so easily.”

“Go back to sleep,” Farouk told the soldier. “When Azim and I have a plan, you will be the first to know. Let the others know that they need not fear. We will be free. What is your name, soldier?”

“Malik,” the soldier answered.

“Go, Malik,” Farouk said. “Speak only to those you trust. We will think more on this in the morning.”

He clapped the man on the shoulder, giving him the comfort he needed. The soldier snuck away, disappearing into the night.

Azim regarded his brother curiously. “We both should have known how the other felt,” he said. “I am sorry I did not speak of this sooner. I should have trusted you.”

“I am the leader, my brother. It was I who has failed. How can I lead my men if I cannot even speak to my own brother?”

He saw understanding in Azim’s eyes. His younger brother would forgive his silence, and the two would work together to free themselves from the Lifegiver’s grip. They, and the soldiers who had also lost their faith would finally be at peace.

“We will speak no more of this tonight,” Azim said. “In the morning, we should continue to the castle. By the time we arrive, we may have an idea of how to proceed.”

“Agreed. Goodnight Azim.”

“Goodnight, my brother. May our Father bless you and give you the strength to do what your heart tells you.”

“I have faith that he will,” Farouk said, laying back onto his bedroll. “I can feel him watching over us.”

Azim said nothing, but drifted off to sleep. Farouk lie awake for several more minutes, enjoying the night and the cool, moist air that permeated his very soul. Soon, he slept more soundly than he ever had before.

Chapter Thirteen

Brynn and his new company of soldiers departed Taryn in the morning. The men would ride
east to the nearest keep, summoning the soldiers there to the castle. Though not officially their Captain, the men had faith in Brynn, and followed his orders without question. They had all witnessed his prowess in battle and could think of no other man more deserving of their obedience.

There would be some question, however, as to whether the soldiers at the keep would likewise accept him as Captain. But whatever the outcome, Brynn had his new company of willing and proud soldiers. The Mordumarc would be born again. The Queen would grant him their service.

After an hour’s ride, the keep appeared in the distance, its plain grey stone barely visible in the morning mist. Brynn urged the men forward, pushing their horses faster to meet the soldiers posted there. He hoped that the enemy had not gotten there first.

As they approached, they saw the veteran soldiers practicing their drills outside the keep. At their head, an older soldier led them, shouting orders and keeping the men in line as they stood in formation.

The soldier turned to face the company as they rode up, eyeing Brynn suspiciously.

“Well met, Major!” Brynn greeted him from horseback.

The man smiled as he recognized the young warrior.

“Brynn!” he shouted, giving the young man a clap on the back as he dismounted. “Where is Fergis?”

“Angen,” Brynn began, “I am afraid Fergis and the others are dead. Taryn has been sacked, and the Mordumarc are no more.”

Angen pursed his lips in anger. “What?” he growled. “Who has attacked?”

“Intruders from across the sea,” Brynn explained. “They are spread out all over the Kingdom, from what I know, and I think they are converging on the castle. They attacked Taryn yesterday, killing Kaelos and his cavalry. Many citizens were murdered, and the soldiers there are few.”

“How did these enemies get past our posts? What of the rangers?”

“I do not know, my friend,” Brynn answered. “We had two rangers with us in the North. We sent them back to their company to give word, but I have no idea whether they ever made it.”

“How could an army small enough to slip past us have destroyed Taryn’s military?” Angen asked.

“The enemy travels with strange beasts. Unnatural things that draw the life out of everything around them. I killed one of them at Taryn. I do not know how.”

“You know how,” Angen said, eyeing Brynn’s blade.

“Right,” Brynn agreed. “My father found this blade in the banshee’s lair. Obviously, it’s more than just plain steel.”

“Who are these men?” Angen asked, looking past him at the soldiers he had brought.

“These are the Taryn city guards. Half of them, anyway. They are the most skilled horsemen in the city. I left a garrison of archers there to protect the town in their absence.”

Angen nodded. “Good, good,” he said. “They should be sufficient. I do not believe the enemy will return. As for you, by my right as Commander of this outpost, I hereby promote you to Captain. The men are yours. We will return to the castle. I will prepare my men to depart immediately.”

Brynn nodded, mounting his horse. “For Morduin!” he called to his men.

The Jindala caravan approached Morduin by noon. The city’s signal fires were lit, telling the men that the Queen was aware of their presence. They remained at the mouth of the rocky crags that surrounded the city, scanning the layout of the castle. From what they could see, once they entered the crags and approached, there would be no way out. The city was well protected.

No matter, Achmed thought. With a sizeable army behind them and another stationed on the shore West of the castle, their victory would be swift.

“Hold!” Achmed commanded. “We will wait until our companions arrive behind us. Then we will approach for negotiations.”

“They may not be as easy to convince as Queen Maebh,” his lieutenant said. “Queen Siobhan is more like her father, from what the Prophet says. She will not be swayed so easily.”

“Agreed, Kathir,” Achmed replied. “But when our army approaches, she will have no choice. The Defiler will lay waste to her armies, and her only option will be to surrender. Some victories must be achieved by the sword and not the tongue.”

Kathir laughed. “I can’t wait to wet my blade with their blood.”

“Patience, my friend. You’ll get your chance.”

The men relaxed and unstrapped their gear, making themselves comfortable as they waited. The army behind them would arrive before the next morning, and their own group would approach the castle. Kathir hoped that Siobhan would live up to her reputation, and reject negotiations. The man’s bloodlust warranted battle. He was a warrior, not a diplomat.

As the rest of the men settled in, Kathir remained standing, scanning the peaks of the cliffs that rose before him. Though the mist shrouded most of the rocks, he swore he could see movement from the corner of his eye.

“What do you see, Kathir?” Achmed asked.

“I’m not sure,” Kathir answered, still looking to the rocks. “Something moving, perhaps.”

Achmed looked for a moment, seeing nothing.

“Your eyes deceive you,” he said. “You’ll feel better after some rest.”

“I suppose so,” Kathir agreed half-heartedly, taking one last glance before joining the rest of the men.

Kuros and the rest of the rangers watched as the members of the caravan disbanded, ate a light meal, and lounged separately. He wondered what the strangers were waiting for, which prompted him to send a scout to the East, behind the caravan. They were waiting for something, and Kuros wanted to know what.

The Captain had received the order to attack shortly before returning to Cael Pass, and now his men were in place. After he saw the scout disappear behind the caravan, he turned to Daryth.

“Take down the armed man by the Northern spire,” he said, pointing out the man who seemed a bit more aware than the others.

Daryth knocked an arrow and pulled back his bow, waiting for the man to stand still. When the man stopped to urinate, Daryth let loose. The arrow soared through air, striking the man dead in the base of the skull. He dropped to his knees, and slumped forward to the ground. Kuros then gave the signal to attack.

Achmed had not seen Kathir fall. Nor did he see the arrow that struck him between his own eyes. The rest of the caravan jumped in response, rushing to rearm themselves. As they frantically searched for the archers that had killed their leader, a flow of green-cloaked men melted out of the rocks and descended upon them like a pack of wolves.

Swords and daggers clashed in the afternoon sun as the rangers made short work of the caravan. Mostly diplomats, the invaders were no match for seasoned warriors of the wilderness.

After the last man had been slain, the rangers gathered around their Captain. Kuros acknowledged their victory and looked his men over to ensure none were injured. When he was satisfied, he turned to the wagons.

“Search the wagons for anything of value,” he said, “or that will reveal any plans the Jindala have made. When you are finished, burn them. Leave the bodies where they lie.”

The men complied, making a thorough search. They found nothing of importance, just provisions and water. Taking these for their own use, they burned the wagons, making sure the smoke from the fire could be seen for miles around.

Maedoc gasped in horror as he saw the approaching army from the West window of his tower. They had come from the coast, marching in formation with hundreds of infantry and a company of archers. How an army this size managed to slip past them was beyond him.

Garret had been right; the caravan of diplomats was a ruse to distract them. As the caravan approached the front of the city, the Western
army had managed to sneak up from behind and was now in siege formation. Any attempt to flee from the city through the secret tunnels would be thwarted.

Maedoc quickly went to the Eastern window, seeing the bodies of the caravan strewn throughout the valley, and their wagons set aflame. The rangers had performed well, as expected, and now they were returning to help defend the city walls.

Kuros’ scout had spotted the army that followed the caravan in the East, and the Queen had ordered the company’s return. With one company of rangers destroyed and another nowhere to be found, Kuros and his men were the only outer defense.

During his communions with the Dragon, the ancient being had warned Maedoc that this enemy was crafty, and would appear where they were least expected. There were still groups of them unaccounted for throughout the kingdom, and still more arriving. The Western army, however, was a complete surprise. No sightings of ships had been reported on the Western shore anywhere near the Gulf, nor in the East.

With armies approaching from both the East and West, Morduin was now surrounded.

Eamon, Wrothgaar, and Erenoth made haste Southward. The Prince’s newly acquired senses told him that Morduin was in danger, and that the Mordumarc had met an untimely end. With the castle surrounded, and the Queen’s most skilled cavalry annihilated, the odds were shifting in the enemy’s favor.

The trio rode in the open, deciding that taking the trails would only hinder their progress. There was no time to waste in returning to the castle, and the flatlands would get them there quicker. Eamon was thankful that the Dragon had given their horses the strength and speed to get them home swiftly.

Earlier in the day, they had seen the city of Gallot, standing intact and as proudly as before. Eamon knew the Mordumarc had kept the city safe. As for Taryn, the Prince realized that Kaelos’ army was not strong enough to stand against the unnatural weapon that the enemy had employed.

“Erenoth,” Eamon said to the Priest. “The Dragon says you have powers that would be of good use. I need to know the locations of our enemies.”

The Priest nodded, bringing his horse to a halt. Eamon and Wrothgaar did the same.

“I will be your scout,” Erenoth said, drawing his swords and tightening his cloak.

The Priest knelt down, bringing his twin swords up behind him while planting his hands on the ground. For a moment, Eamon and Wrothgaar were speechless, uncertain as to what the Priest was doing.

Then, Erenoth began to change. The Priest’s cloak transformed into wings, spreading between his fingers and his swords. His skin darkened and scaled, growing thicker and stronger like dragon skin. His boots and gauntlets became claws, curling and sharpening like hooked daggers. Erenoth’s neck stretched to three times its length, and his head elongated to reptilian form complete with horns and dorsal spines.

When the transformation was complete, a black dragon stood in place of what Eamon and Wrothgaar thought was a man. It appeared as the statues at Dol Drakkar; two hind legs, a tail, and arms that doubled as its wings. The two friends looked on in awe as Erenoth stretched his wings and bared his teeth.

With a determined growl, the newly transformed Erenoth shot up into the air, disappearing into the clouds. Eamon and Wrothgaar looked to one another, dumbfounded.