Onyx Dragon (Book 1) (16 page)

“Brynn is with him,” the Queen pointed out. “But I do not see the Mordumarc. Fergis is not there, and I do not recognize the other men.”

“Brynn may have split off,” Maedoc reasoned. “We do not know for sure. Perhaps the Mordumarc pursue another group of enemies.”

Siobhan hoped Maedoc was right. Fergis and the other men were her greatest defense, and their presence always meant a higher morale for the other troops. Though she was sure the city guards and Brynn’s new companions were capable, she would feel more comfortable knowing that her elite fighting force was among them.

Without the Mordumarc, the outcome looked grim.

Eamon’s troops clashed with the Jindala who were still outside the crag wall. They were mostly archers, who were no match for a charging cavalry. The horses smashed through them, trampling on their lifeless bodies, while their riders cut them down with sword and bow.

“They have breached the gate!” Eamon called to him men. “Inside now!”

The men rode through the open gates, knocking the Jindala aside as they stormed into the caverns. The huge chamber was full of men, Jindala and allies alike, and the sounds of the battle were deafening.

With their entry, the troops had surrounded the enemy, leaving them no route to escape. At the inner gates, the watch Captain fought on, newly recharged as he saw his allies break through from the rear.

Eamon twirled his sword with skill, simultaneously parrying and attacking. The Serpent’s Tongue came to life, glowing with the life force of the enemy as the Prince slashed and hacked his way through their ranks.

Wrothgaar’s axe chopped through the Jindala like saplings, and the Northman shouted curses at his victims as they fell. Clearly, this was a man who enjoyed battle, and he was an expert.

Brynn and Angen fought side by side, coordinating their attacks in a synchronized, deadly dance. The Jindala were hard pressed to land any blows with the two men working in unison.

Together, the four men and their soldiers were unstoppable, and the Jindala’s numbers quickly dwindled. In the middle of the chaos, the Defiler and the tall man turned to face them. Brynn recognized the Defiler immediately, calling to his companions.

“Watch that creature there!” he shouted. “Stay away from it!”

He rushed through the battle, hacking and slashing his way through the enemies in an effort to get to the monster. He knew he would be safe from its magic, but his companions would not. As he got closer to the creature, he realized that Wrothgaar was right behind him, knocking the Jindala out of the way as he followed.

“Stay behind!” Brynn pleaded. “It can’t hurt me!”

“It won’t use its magic in this small space!” Wrothgaar reasoned, striking a passing enemy in the chest. “Not with all of its allies around.”

Brynn realized that Wrothgaar was probably right. In Taryn, the Jindala had fled when the monster appeared. They were evidently not immune to its magic. Nevertheless, Brynn charged the Defiler, yelling, “Mordumarc!”

The Defiler turned, seeing the young warrior charging. It reared back its head, releasing a stream of blue energy that nearly struck Brynn in the chest. Brynn dodged, countering with a diagonal slash of his blade.

The Defiler fell back, shrieking in pain as Brynn’s sword sliced into its arm. The young warrior pressed forward, rearing back to strike again, but the creature lashed out with its claw. Brynn felt the talons lacerate his shoulder, sending waves of pain down his arm. He fell back, stumbling to the ground among the battling armies.

Eamon saw the attack, and rushed through the fray to aid Brynn. The tall man spotted the Prince and pointed his sword at him in challenge. Eamon stopped, eyeing the man in rage, and turned to charge.

Wrothgaar reached Brynn first, finding him injured but still alive. The Defiler, enraged and in pain, charged the Northman. Wrothgaar stood to face the creature as its claws slashed toward him. He ducked, blocking the blow with his axe handle, and struck. The attack caught the Defiler in the shin, forcing the creature to its knees.

With an unearthly screech, the beast raised its hands, conjuring blue lightning that arced downward around it. Wrothgaar reared back to strike again, calling to his warrior spirit for strength. Then, before his eyes, the Defiler began to fade. The powerful attack chopped through empty air, hitting the hard brick floor, shattering the
stone, and sending sparks flying. Wrothgaar was jarred with the impact, and stumbled forward, unbalanced. Brynn, having risen to his feet again, caught the man, steadying him and urging him on.

“It’s gone!” he shouted. “But don’t
worry; there are plenty of enemies left to kill.”

Eamon dodged and parried the tall man’s attacks. He was surprised at the quickness of his enemy. Though large and muscular, the man had the agility of one much smaller. His fighting method was fluid and graceful, yet furious and deadly. The Prince blocked blow after blow, countering as the man circled and slashed with unbelievable speed.

Eamon backed off to get his bearings. Around him, his men fought hard, thinning the Jindala forces in great numbers. Wrothgaar and Brynn fought together, working in unison to add to the growing pile of the dead. Angen was holding his own as well, urging his men on while cheerfully chopping the Jindala to pieces with his two-handed claymore.

The Prince turned back to his opponent, who patiently waited for Eamon to return to the fight. As he stood in his guarded position, the man spoke in Eamon’s own tongue.

“There is no shame in submission,” he said, grinning, his dark features appearing smooth and flawless. “The Lifegiver is merciful. Surrender and he may reward you.”

Eamon spat at the man’s feet. “Surrender and I may kill you swiftly,” he answered.

“I am twice the swordsman you are,” the man boasted, “and much more experienced. But I respect your skill.”

Eamon laughed, gritting his teeth. With a wide grin of his own, he conjured his inner strength, drawing upon the power of the Dragon. He felt the heat of the Dragon’s ancient blood coursing within him, spreading to his fingers, and penetrating every cell of his body.

Before his opponent could react, Eamon shifted forward with blinding speed, slashing the Serpent’s Tongue down in a diagonal arc. The man howled in pain as his left hand was severed, the fingers still gripping his sword as it fell. He grasped the bloody stump, gritting his teeth and cursing in an unknown tongue.

  Though he did not understand the words, Eamon could guess their meaning. Laughing, he struck again. But the man vanished before his eyes, and his blinding strike sliced through the empty air. The Prince could hear his opponent’s laughter echoing through the cavern, drowning out the dying sounds of battle. He looked around, confused and furious.

“Where are you, coward!?” he taunted. “Come back and die like a man!”

But the man was nowhere to be found. Frustrated, Eamon ran to the inner gates, seeing the last of the Jindala fall at the hands of his men.

At the gates, Eamon turned and raised his sword in triumph. The men cheered, celebrating their victory. They had destroyed the entire Western force before the remaining enemies had even arrived.

“Open the gates!” Eamon commanded.

He could hear the braces being removed from the gates, and watched as the heavy steel doors opened. Inside, Garret stood, sword in hand.

“Good work!” he called to the Prince. “The Queen is safe, but the army from the East approaches.”

“Where are the rangers?” Eamon asked, waving his cheering men inside.

“They are stationed inside the crag wall. They will attack the enemy’s flanks when you give the order. You must take your place at the head of the line. I will join you.”

Eamon patted Garret on the shoulder as he passed. “We could have used you in there,” he said.

“I have been coordinating the defense at the castle gates,” Garret answered. “Otherwise, I would have gladly been there.”

“Good enough. Let’s go.”

The men passed through the corridor into the city, rushing to take a spot on the far wall.

“Angen,” he called to the older Commander. “Take your men to the south side of the wall and prepare the catapults. The Jindala may have brought siege engines. Await my orders.”

“Yes, my lord,” Angen answered.

“Brynn, gather your archers and take position above the main gates. And do not be foolish this time. You cannot stand against a Defiler alone.”

“I can kill them,” Brynn replied. “I killed the one at Taryn.”

“I know,” Eamon said. “But I don’t know how.”

“My Father’s sword,” Brynn replied. “And with the help of a claddagh I found outside the city. I do not know how, but it protected me from the Defiler’s magic. It was almost as if it were left there for me for that purpose.”

“Jodocus, perhaps,” Wrothgaar said. “He maintains the balance, from what he says. It wouldn’t surprise me if he left it there for you to find.”

Brynn nodded. “Perhaps.”

Wrothgaar held out his hand, clasping Brynn’s in brotherhood. “I thank you for destroying the beast. My people thank you as well. You have avenged them.”

“And the Mordumarc,” Brynn added. “The creature killed them too.”

Eamon hung his head in grief at the loss of Fergis and so many skilled warriors. He knew his mother would grieve as well, having known Fergis her whole life. But even with their loss, the fact that Brynn himself had the power to destroy a creature like the Defiler gave him hope. He knew what he had to do.

“Captain Brynn,” Eamon said firmly, “your bravery and courage are without compare. You would make a great Knight. Will you join us as a Knight of the Dragon?”

Brynn’s eyes opened wide with surprise. He was speechless for a moment, then spoke, “I would be honored, my Lord.”

“Kneel,” Eamon said.

Brynn knelt before the Onyx Dragon, lowering his head to accept his blessing. Eamon placed the Serpent’s Tongue on the warrior’s shoulder.

“By the power of the Dragon, I Knight you, Brynn, savior of Taryn and destroyer of beasts. Rise, brother.”

Brynn stood, feeling his emotions swell up inside him. He had considered it an honor to serve in the Queen’s elite forces, but even that honor did not compare to this. He was now a Knight of the Dragon.

He only wished Fergis was here to see.

As he contemplated this new honor, his armor began to change, melding dragon skin mail with his existing chain and plate. The combination of the two made for a formidable looking suit of armor that reflected his membership in the Mordumarc, and a servant of the Dragon as well.

He clasped hands with Eamon and Wrothgaar in turn, feeling a sense of brotherhood that was even greater than with the Mordumarc. He would proudly serve as a Knight of the Dragon until he drew his last breath.

“Welcome, brother,” Wrothgaar said.

“Now,” Eamon said, “to your post.”

Brynn acknowledged the order. He turned, signaling his men to follow.

“Wrothgaar, you’re with me,” Eamon said.

The Northman, twirled his axe in the air, catching it with a grin. “Always!”

Erenoth breathed jets of flame on the Jindala army as he passed overhead. The enemies scattered in terror at the sight. Even through the chaos, the leaders among them directed their archers to fire at will. Erenoth struggled to dodge their arrows, which were far more accurate than those fired from aboard ship.

Still, he dived and climbed, each time releasing his fiery breath on the approaching enemies. When he was satisfied that his presence and allegiance were known, he began his flight back to the castle to meet with the Onyx Dragon.

When he arrived, he could see the rangers taking position among the nooks and gaps in the surrounding crags, and groups of archers lining the city walls in preparation. He swooped down, hearing the startled cries of his allies as he passed. Some began to scatter or draw their bows to attack.

The Prince shouted above the fray, “Fear not! He is our ally!”

The dragon landed close to Eamon, quickly returning to human form.

“Erenoth!” Eamon greeted him. “What news?”

“There were ships in the harbor, cloaked by some strange magic. They are no longer there.”

“Why did they leave?” Eamon asked.

“They didn’t,” Erenoth replied, smiling slyly.

The Prince laughed. “Excellent,” he said. “Did you spot the approaching army?”

“Yes,” Erenoth said. “The enemy numbers at least two thousand. Mostly phalanx, infantry, and archers in the rear. But the front lines are occupied by far more elite soldiers.”

“Were there any siege engines among them?” Eamon asked.

“None,” Erenoth answered. “Only men.”

“Good,” Eamon said. “To the wall.”

Erenoth nodded, pulling out his bow and taking a place along the city wall. Eamon and Wrothgaar took their places, waiting for the enemy to cross into the crag basin. Eamon turned to Garret, who awaited his orders.

“Sound your horn, Garret,” Eamon said. “Signal the rangers to fire at their flanks when the Jindala are inside.”