Onyx Dragon (Book 1) (21 page)

Many of the Jindala had been set upon stakes; their bodies impaled and put on display. They were beginning to show signs of decay, and flies were gathering to lay their eggs in the decomposing flesh. Such a horrific sight would unsettle their new friends. They decided that the best course of action would be to approach the city from the West, and signal their presence some other way than direct contact. The battlefield would be avoided, lest their new friends be stricken with fear and revulsion.

With one last look at the carnage, the Druaga turned to go back to Farouk and his men. Passing the caravan campsite, the leader stopped, listening to the wind. There were faint sounds of men approaching from far to the East, and the Druaga felt a great evil among them. Farouk and the others were between them and the Druaga themselves, and with the rebel group’s diminished numbers, they would likely be slain if they were forced to engage.

Deciding that a battle was imminent, the Druaga made haste back to Farouk’s camp to prepare. They would warn Farouk of the coming danger and prepare themselves for battle. The time had come for the rebel force to prove their loyalty.

Jodocus sat upon a stone, completely shielded from sight, as Tyrus and his one hundred men passed. Why the Sultan had chosen only one hundred men the Druid could only guess, but these men seemed different than the others. Changed somehow. The men’s faces were expressionless, staring straight ahead blankly. They felt soulless as well, as if their will had been completely removed. They were automatons.

The Sultan marched behind the men, driving them on like cattle, cursing and threatening those that stepped off rhythm or fell behind. The Druid could feel the man’s innate evil. It felt like pure darkness itself; the same as the Defilers. This was no ordinary man, Jodocus reasoned. He was something more, something different. Though obviously born of this world, he possessed a negative energy that unsettled the Druid. His presence was an imbalance.

The man would have to be destroyed.

As the Jindala army passed, Jodocus flinched as Tyrus looked his way. The man seemed to sense his presence. The Druid shielded himself further, concentrating his energy on a more powerful spell. Though the Sultan returned his attention to the road ahead, Jodocus knew the man could still feel him nearby.

Eventually, this group would run across Farouk and the Druaga. Though the Druaga were powerful warriors, and carried enchanted weapons, the men would be no match for the Sultan’s company. They would need an enchantment of their own, and Jodocus would have to make a choice as to who would wield it.

Perhaps a meeting was in order. A meeting between himself and the two brothers. Then, when he could lay his hands upon their hearts, he would be able to make a better choice.

Farouk and Azim continued watching the fields around them. The Druaga eventually returned, seeming to materialize from the grass itself. The leader came to Farouk, detailing what they had seen.

The caravan has been destroyed by Morduin’s rangers. We recognized their arrows.

“That is good news,” Farouk said. “They were meant to be a ruse to distract the Queen.”

A logical plan. Fortunately, the rangers were aware of this. Further ahead, near the Eastern gates, another battle occurred. The Jindala army was defeated. We believe the survivors fled to the Eastern coast.

“Back to the camp,” Azim said.

The Druaga leader nodded, then continued.

They are returning as we speak. A confrontation is inevitable. You must prepare for battle.

Farouk sighed. “It is time to prove ourselves,” he said to Azim, who nodded in agreement.

Agreed. But be wary, a powerful man walks among them.

“Tyrus,” Azim said, naming the mysterious Sultan that instilled fear in the hearts of even his own men. “He is second only to the Prophet. His cruelty is well known. A powerful adversary, and a heartless leader. Tyrus the Blackhearted we call him.”

Fitting. His new army will cross into Cael Pass soon. We must make ready.
He must not be allowed to reach Morduin.

“We will stop him,” Farouk said. “Or we will die. Either way, we will do so with our own free will.”

Farouk held out his hand, palm facing downward, in a gesture of brotherhood. Azim clasped it, and the Druaga leader did as well.

For the Dragon

“For the Dragon,” Azim and Farouk repeated.

“Ah yes, the Dragon!” a voice said behind them.

The men of the camp stood in surprise as an old man wandered into their camp. Farouk and Azim both looked to the Druaga leader, seeing him unconcerned. Apparently, he knew the old man.

“Greetings, friend,” Farouk said.

“And to you, Farouk,” The old man replied. “I am Jodocus, Druid of Eirenoch. I am here to help you.”

“Tyrus the Blackhearted approaches Morduin,” Azim said. “We will intercept him before he reaches the city.”

“Ah yes,” Jodocus agreed. “But if you do so, you will die.”

“Tyrus is a dangerous man,” Azim said. “But he is still just a man. The others are just men as well. Defeated men at that.”

Jodocus sat, motioning toward the Druaga leader. “Your friend here can probably sense that Tyrus and his men are more than that. He could feel Tyrus’ presence from several miles away. Tyrus emanates great evil and power. He is just as deadly as the Defilers, if not more so.”

Farouk and Azim looked to each other. The older brother spoke, “Then he has become more powerful than he was before. The Lifegiver must have changed him before he arrived on this island. He was nothing more than a ruthless diplomat with a sword.”

“His nature has indeed changed since you saw him last,” Jodocus confirmed. “I can feel his darkness just as I felt the Defilers. I knew as soon as he stepped foot on the island that he possessed great negative energy. I felt the balance shift as he did so.”

“So how do we fight him and his troops?” Azim asked.

Jodocus went to Azim, placing his hand on the man’s heart. “You, my friend,” he said, “are a warrior at heart. You are a weapons master, deadly with any blade or bow. I will place an enchantment on your weapons. One that will strengthen and empower them.”

The Druid then placed his hand over Farouk’s heart. “Farouk, you are a man of natural energy. You are a warrior as well, but your strength lies in balance and logic. I will give you this medallion, which will protect you and your men from Tyrus’ magic.”

He then pulled a jeweled medallion from his cloak, placing it around Farouk’s neck as the man bent to accept it.

“Azim,” he said, “place your weapons upon the ground.”

The man did as he was told, unsheathing a beautiful gold and steel scimitar and placing it on the ground. He then unstrapped his bow and laid it beside his sword. He stepped back, watching as Jodocus approached and examined the weapons.

“Very impressive,” the Druid remarked. “You have taken very good care of your tools.”

Azim nodded, glancing at Farouk. “A practice I learned from our father.”

The Druid held Azim’s sword in his hands, running his fingers along the blade, his eyes closed in contemplation.

“This weapon has killed many men,” Jodocus said. “But, you have never spilled the blood of the innocent.”

“Something we both learned from our father,” Farouk explained. “He was an honorable warrior. Azim takes after him in every way.”

“A good lesson to learn,” Jodocus said. He then turned the sword downward, plunging it into the ground. The men watched him intently, staring wide-eyed as they waited for him to continue.

Jodocus gripped the pommel tightly, lowering his head to concentrate. Around the blade, the short grasses began to wither, dying off in an ever widening radius. The men could see faint, green wisps of energy flowing toward the blade and disappearing into it as it was charged with the spirit of the Earth itself. When the ritual was finished, Jodocus opened his eyes, drawing the blade from the ground and holding the sword up for all to see.

The scimitar, still just as beautiful as before, now gleamed with the life force of the Earth. Jodocus proudly offered the weapon to Azim, who took it graciously. The feel of the sword was even more perfect than before, being absolutely balanced and somewhat lighter. Azim nodded in thanks, returning the blade to its sheath.

Jodocus then picked up the bow, feeling its smooth, ivory surface. He then gripped the bow, bending it in his hands, and forcing his innate powers of nature into its depths. The string began to glow red, and the carvings along the bow’s length took on a golden shimmer. When the glowing subsided, he again opened his eyes and handed the weapon to Azim.

“Your bow now holds the power of fire,” the Druid said. “Any arrow knocked within this bow will impart the destructive power of flame on its target. Use this power wisely—you’re in a forest, after all.”

Azim laughed, taking the bow from Jodocus. “Thank you, my friend,” he said. “We are in your debt.”

“I am here to maintain the balance,” Jodocus said. “That is why I was created. And that is why I help you now. The Jindala and their allies cause imbalance, and my gifts to you are to help restore it.”

“Why have you chosen us?” Farouk asked. “We were once the enemy.”

“The Dragon’s power has broken the Lifegiver’s hold upon you,” Jodocus explained. “That is what brought the Druaga to you, and myself as well. You were meant to be here, you and your men, and for a reason.”

“What reason is that?” Azim asked.

Jodocus smiled widely. “When the time is right,” he said, “you will know.”

The men said nothing, but looked to one another for support. Their fates were now entwined with Eirenoch, and the Dragon himself, and they now felt a new sense of purpose. It seemed that Imbra, powerless to guide them, had sent them here to find a new home, and a new life. It was a life that they were willing to die for.

“Goodbye, my friends,” Jodocus said, sensing their thoughts. “I have faith in your abilities. Destroy Tyrus and set your sights to a better life for yourselves and your people. I cannot interfere directly, as much as I would like to. But the Druaga are vicious little bastards in battle. You’ll see.”

With that, the Druid faded from sight, leaving the men to their fate.

“We have defeated one army of Jindala,” Garret announced. “But they will return. Those who escaped will regroup, possibly with more armies from the south, or from the sea.”

“Their fleet has been destroyed,” Eamon reminded him. “Erenoth saw to that himself.”

Attention turned to the Priest, who paced the floor, his hands clasped behind his back. “I have ensured that the fleet was completely disabled, but as Garret said, armies from the South may march upon us. If so, the city of Kernow may be their first target.”

The Queen interjected. “They are defenseless.” She lamented. “As they are so close to Morduin, they have no troops of their own. If they foresaw an attack, they would flee, and come here.”

“Kernow is filled with willing and able men,” Garret said. “We need more troops to defend a full force attack. Despite Ulrich and his warriors joining us, I fear the Jindala inhabit the South in great numbers. Their armies would overpower us.”

Eamon slammed his fist onto the table, startling everyone in the war room. “We need to protect the border and the coast. Once they are secure, we can take the battle to the Southern Kingdom itself.”

The Knights voiced their agreement, each eager to engage the enemy once more.

“It would make sense, however,” Ulrich said, “to ensure that the North is completely rid of these devils. The other tribes are with us, but they choose to remain at the North Shore. I can convince them to patrol the countryside and ensure the Kingdom is safe while we concentrate our efforts southward. They would most likely agree to come as far south as Gallot. Maybe farther.”

Eamon nodded. “That would be helpful. But who would be willing to guard the East coast?”

“The rangers,” Daryth said, quietly. “The rangers would do it. Though they are skilled enough for open battle, their strength lies in stealth. They would be beneficial along the coast, guarding the cliffs. There are only a few places along the sands to ascend onto the main land. Those passes could be guarded.”

“If they had been guarded in the first place,” Ulrich said, “the Jindala would never have infiltrated the country.”

Wrothgaar clapped his hand over his face, expecting retaliation from the Queen. When he looked between his fingers, he saw her silent with her head lowered.

“You are right, my friend,” she said to Ulrich. “I have been too confident thinking that no one would ever attack my Kingdom. I have ignored the coast altogether.”

Ulrich leaned forward, taking a swig of ale. “I did not mean to offend,” he said. “What is important is protecting the coast now. Unfortunately, there are no port cities with naval vessels. Not in that area, anyway.”

“Bael is well equipped with war vessels,” the Queen said. “Her ships could patrol the Eastern shore.”

“And I can summon the Priests of Drakkar to guard the West coast,” Erenoth added. “They are willing and able to defend the Kingdom.”

“Very well,” The Queen said. “We have our defenses. All that remains is to build our offensive forces and drive the Jindala from the North Kingdom. Only then can we take the battle to the South.”