Onyx Dragon (Book 1) (18 page)

The men gasped and chattered amongst themselves.

“Malik,” The leader spoke the man’s name, “step forward, infidel.”

Another man timidly stepped forward, drawing angry stares from nearly half the men in the company. The other half seemed to hang their heads in shame. The Druaga did not feel shame from the guilty one, only the same sense of trickery.

The younger man spoke this time: “You!” he said, pointing to one of the other men who glared at Malik. “You will carry out his punishment. Cut off his head. You others, draw your swords.”

The entire company of men drew their weapons, half of them still glaring angrily at the guilty one, the other half reluctantly gripping their weapons in fear.

The older man drew his sword as well, “Now,” he spoke. “We all have free will. Those who wish to follow me and be free...
make your choice now!”

With that last word, the younger man slew the soldier who was called forward to carry out the execution. The men shouted in confusion, the reluctant ones catching on quickly. They turned to their own comrades, dispatching them quickly and without mercy.

Seconds later, the angry men were dead, and the reluctant ones fell to their knees.

“My brothers,” the older man spoke. “We are now free. Malik has told me of your plight, and I and Azim are with you.”

He went to his knees as well, praying, “Imbra, my Lord, if you hear us, protect us and give us the strength to be free of this false God. Forgive us for our insolence. We beg of you to show us a sign.”

Imbra...

The Druaga leader knew the name well. So these people were followers of Imbra? They must be allies of the Dragon. Who was this false God? This Lifegiver? This must be the darkness of which the Dragon spoke.

Curious and excited to meet new friends, the Druaga leader stepped forward.

Farouk saw the small creature first, watching the cloaked figure emerge from the tall grass. The remaining men in his company drew their weapons, but remained kneeling.

“By Imbra!” Farouk exclaimed. “What is that?”

Azim laughed, seeing the irony of asking for a sign and then seeing this creature walk out of the weeds.

“My brother,” Azim said, “Imbra has heard you.”

The Druaga leader walked up to Farouk as he kneeled. He bowed in respect at the Jindala Captain and spoke to him in his silent tongue.

We saw. We know of your true God, and we serve him as well as the Dragon. If you are truly servants of Imbra, then we will fight with you. Join us and we will battle this Lifegiver’s forces together.

“Who are you?” Farouk asked.

We are the Druaga. We have served the Firstborn since the beginning.

“Who is this Dragon?”

The Dragon is the life of this island, just as Imbra is the life of your own land. They are brothers, members of the Firstborn. Serving one Firstborn means to serve them all.

“Then we are of the same heart,” Farouk said. “Imbra has been my life. If this Dragon is his brother, then he is my life, as well.”

The Dragon will welcome you, and give you strength. He has given you the will to resist your master.

“And I am grateful.”

Join us and you will have the power to free yourself and return to Imbra.

“We are one with you, my friend, ” Farouk said. “We will join you.” Then, to his men, “Come, brothers, we will follow the small people and fight for our freedom.”

The men agreed, chanting, “Imbra!”

With this meeting, Farouk felt a renewed sense of strength. He and his men would prove their good nature and help the people of this Kingdom fight the Lifegiver. Farouk would give his life for his people to be free, and to see the Lifegiver fall.

The Dragon, he now knew, was the key.

Erenoth charged the golden robed men, being wary of their lowered spears. He dodged their thrusts, tearing into them, grasping them in his jaws, and flinging them about. As they scattered and reformed into a wall of spears, Erenoth breathed jets of flame. Though enveloping them fully, the flames seemed to have little effect at first; the men simply continued to jab and thrust their spears, shrugging off the pain until the flames finally suffocated them. They fell one by one, burning to dust.

The men in the lines farther back continued to advance, quickly making their way toward the gates while avoiding the fearsome Erenoth. The Priest attacked them as well, scattering and panicking them with his flames.

Above, he could hear Eamon shouting orders to the men inside, beckoning them to fire their arrows at the chaos below. The Jindala fired back, hitting many of the men that lined the walls. Archer after archer fell, adding to the growing number of bodies outside the gates.

And the Jindala continued to come.

“Erenoth!” the Prince called. “Get out of there!”

Erenoth obeyed, taking flight amidst the surrounding Jindala, and soaring above them to safety. He spat out several more jets of flame before returning to the wall, setting many of the remaining golden robed warriors on fire.

He landed next to Eamon, who was now accompanied by both Wrothgaar and Brynn.

“The men in the golden robes are impervious to pain,” Erenoth told him, “but they can be killed.”

“Berserkers,” Brynn said, recalling an experience from his past. “Warriors who can ignore pain and fight on until they are killed.”

Wrothgaar agreed. “Yes, I’ve fought similar warriors in our battles against the islanders. Savage beasts.”

Eamon aimed at the head of one of the men, sending the arrow straight into the berserker’s head. The man continued marching forward for a few seconds before falling to the ground.

“Disturbing,” Eamon remarked. “Brynn, order your men to fire at their heads or hearts. The more lethal the injury, the better.”

“Right,” Brynn agreed, turning to his men to relay the order.

The archers on the wall began firing at the golden robed men, aiming for vital spots. Their arrows struck true, bringing the berserkers down one by one. Yet, still they came.

The entire Jindala army was gathered in front of the gates, still numbering well over a thousand. Arrows flew to and from their ranks, thinning them only gradually. The archers of Morduin would soon run out of arrows, and the fight would have to be continued by melee. It was an inevitable outcome, anyway, as the city gates were already weakened by the sorcerer’s spells.

Soon, the Jindala would break through.

Maedoc watched the battle from his tower. Siobhan paced nervously back and forth throughout his chambers, losing hope as the Jindala seemed to overwhelm her troops.

“Siobhan,” Maedoc spoke, “perhaps it’s time to get you to safety. You can slip out through the caverns with an escort and ride for Kernow. They will protect you there.”

“No!” she protested, “I will not leave my people. They are terrified that the enemy will break through the gates and flood the city. If they must suffer this outcome, then I shall suffer alongside them.”

Maedoc sighed. “Perhaps I can be of assistance,” he said. “I have spells that can aid the troops.”

“My brother, you are no warrior. If you go out there, you could die as well.”

“I was sworn to protect this Kingdom with all the power at my command,” he reminded her. “If I sit idly by while our troops are overpowered, then what am I?”

“You are our seer,” Siobhan said. “It is your duty to see, not to fight.”

“I have no choice,” Maedoc said. “I will aid them as I can, with or without your consent.”

Siobhan regarded her brother lovingly. “Do what you must,” she said. “But know you put our Kingdom at great risk. We have only survived through your guidance, and your absence would only doom us to rule blindly.”

Maedoc nodded. “If I die, I will die knowing that I did what I could.”

The Queen said nothing, returning to her pacing. Maedoc retrieved his staff, picked up three scrolls, and left the study in haste. The Queen would be safe in the tower, guarded by the many glyphs that the seer had placed for her protection. Maedoc, on the other hand, would be defenseless, having used up a great portion of his power to place the magical wards.

He would use whatever power he had remaining to defend the city.

The gates of Morduin continued to crumble as the Jindala forces battered them with their weapons. Stones fell from their places in the walls, weakening the structure even further. Eamon knew that he would need to distribute his forces directly behind the gates.

“Archers!” he shouted. “Remain on the walls! Everyone else, follow me to the gates!”

The Prince and his Knights led the charge down the stairs, gathering behind the gates in a last ditch effort to defend the city. The gates would soon be destroyed and the Prince’s forces were all that stood between the Jindala and the innocent townsfolk.

“Erenoth, prepare to burn them if they break through!” Eamon called.

The Priest transformed, taking his place at the front. Wrothgaar, Brynn, and Angen stood beside Eamon.

Angen.

The Prince regarded the older Commander, seeing the strength and resolve in him. He had proved himself a valuable leader, a fearsome warrior, and an honorable man. He would be a great Knight.

“Angen,” He said, going to the man, “kneel.”

With a questioning glance at the other men, the Commander did as he was asked.

“You have served your Queen faithfully,” Eamon complimented him. “Your skill in battle has been an asset to our Kingdom for decades. I now offer you Knighthood in the Order. Do you accept?”

Angen bowed his head. “I do, my Lord. With honor.”

The Prince
knighted him there in the courtyard, in front of the entire assembly. Angen received the honor, gasping as his armor was transformed to that of the Order. Angen regarded his new armor in awe, feeling its strength and power fuse with his own body. Now, The Onyx Dragon and three of his Knights stood side by side, preparing for the coming onslaught.

Just then, Kuros and his rangers arrived from the West side of the city, taking defensive positions in the army’s flanks. The ranger Captain acknowledged the Prince with a nod, signaling that he was ready.

Eamon switched to his bow, awaiting the Jindala’s break through the gates. As the Prince knocked an arrow, he looked up to see Maedoc quickly shuffling onto the gate housing. The seer was expressionless, moving as if under a great burden. His robes blew in the wind, making him appear ethereal and ghostly. He stopped, raising his staff, calling upon the powers of the Dragon.

As the spell was cast, Maedoc turned toward Eamon and his army, waving his staff over them. The air around the assembled troops began to glow with a comforting blue light. Slowly, the men who were injured were healed, their wounds closing and their bleeding subsiding. Those who lay in the streets dying and
helpless suddenly sat up, pulling Jindala arrows from their armor and tossing them aside.

When the spell was finished, Eamon’s forces were nearly replenished. Though many dead still remained, those who survived were at full strength once more. Eamon raised his bow to Maedoc in thanks. The seer simply smiled and turned back to the enemy below. He chanted in the Dragon’s tongue, reading the words from a scroll that Eamon knew would turn the tide in their favor. With one final look back to his Prince, the seer walked forward, tumbling over the edge of the wall.

“No!” Eamon called after him. Wrothgaar stopped the Prince with a hand to the shoulder.

“Wait!” The Northman said.

Then, a massive boom echoed throughout the city. The force of the explosion threw back hundreds of Jindala who gathered around the gate, sending chunks of flesh flying through the air. What was left of the gates crumbled, revealing the massive hole left by the explosion.

The Jindala forces, now several hundred fewer, poured into the gates, and into a wall of flame. Erenoth breathed his fiery breath from side to side, incinerating the hapless enemies as they scrambled to get out of the way. Those who were caught in the flames ran through the gates, flailing and screaming. The rangers cut most of them down with their bows, the rest put out of their misery by the sword. The remaining enemies waited outside the gates.

“Charge!” The Onyx Dragon commanded.

The forces of Morduin charged out the gates, clashing with the enemy outside. The rangers followed, some drawing their swords, others firing their bows into the chaos. Daryth followed the foot soldiers out the gates, firing as he ran.

Eamon saw the streaking arrows come from Daryth’s bow; flying as fast as lightning, and never missing their targets. Daryth was a master archer; perhaps even better than Brynn, but the Prince had never seen him fire so fast, or with such fury.

The men cut through the Jindala forces swiftly, their raging war cries echoing throughout the basin. With the combined forces working together, they were an unstoppable army. Morduin’s guards cleaved their way through the enemies with sword and spear. The rangers filled them with arrows. Daryth, however, remained close to the Knights, firing continuously, striking enemy soldiers with every shot.