Onyx Dragon (Book 1) (26 page)

Khalid examined the locking mechanism of the cage. It was very simple, not much of a challenge for a former thief. He pulled his dagger from his belt, thankful he had not offered it to the man as a bribe, and began picking the lock.

He turned the blade within the lock’s cylinder, listening for the audible click that would indicate it was picked. When he heard it, he opened the door, motioning for the children to stay put.

“I will check to see if it is safe for you to go,” He instructed them. “When I tell you, run home. Do you know where your homes are?”

The children nodded.

“Good. Now wait here.”

The Sheikh stood and casually walked into the town square. Outside a nearby shop, a man, probably the town smith, eyed him suspiciously. Khalid smiled and waved, believing that the man would look the other way. When Khalid was satisfied that no one else was watching, he returned to the cage.

“Go children!” he said. “Run!”

One by one, the children emerged from the cage. They all ran in different directions, disappearing from sight. Khalid watched them go with a glad heart. The man at the shop stopped, then made his way into the square toward Khalid.

“What are you doing?” the man asked. “Who are you?”

Khalid grabbed the man’s sleeve and pulled him into the shadows. “My name is Khalid,” he explained. “I am an enemy of the Jindala. I was instructed to free the children. I have done so, and now I must go.”

“No,” the man said, “not now. When the guards return, they will question us. They have to be killed.”

“I only have a dagger,” Khalid said, showing the weapon.

“Are you skilled with a sword?” the man asked. “I have weapons in my shop.”

“Yes, of course,” Khalid said. “Do you have a scimitar?”

The man thought for a moment. “I have similar weapons,” he replied. “Come. Come in and take your pick. Quickly now.”

Khalid and the man dashed across the town square, ducking into his shop. The forge was not burning, which was to be expected, but Khalid knew that most smiths usually had plenty of weapons around, stashed away from sight.

“I forged these last year,” he said, pulling a few curved blades from underneath his bed. “They are like scimitars, only smaller and lighter.”

“Katana,” Khalid said, recognizing their design.

The smith smiled. “Yes,” he replied. “Katana. You know your weapons. Take your pick.”

“These are fantastic, sir,” Khalid complimented him. “You do marvelous work.”

The man nodded in thanks.

Khalid selected a finely crafted sword, the only one with a full tang. It was wrapped in leather and engraved with Druidic symbols. It was not only beautiful, but perfectly weighted, balanced, and sharper than the swords of Khem.

“Alright,” the smith said, pulling out a smaller, curved weapon. “We will go back out. When the guards return, you will address them. Tell them you caught me setting the children free.”

“Good, good,” Khalid agreed. “But what of the other guards in the city?”

“The Thieves’ Guild is always watching,” the smith said. “When they see us kill the guards, they will spread the word through their network. The entire city will revolt. We’ve been waiting for this.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

The two men returned to the town square. The smith had hidden his blade in his tunic and kneeled on the ground before Khalid. The Sheikh trained his sword on him, waiting for the guards to reappear. When he heard the sounds the approach, he began his role playing.

“Infidel scum!” he cursed the smith. “You will be executed for your treachery!”

The guards rushed to Khalid’s side, looking at the empty cages and then to the prone man.

“I caught this scum setting the children free,” Khalid hissed. “Take him away.”

The guards complied, but eyed Khalid curiously. He was new, they thought, but he was clearly one of their own. Despite his somewhat ragged appearance, he still retained his air of Jindala royalty.

“Who are you, Sheikh?” one of them asked. “I have not seen you before.”

“I am Khalid,” he answered. “I was sent to make sure your occupation is going as planned. Now take this man away immediately.”

Hesitantly, the guards surrounded the smith, preparing to put him in chains. Khalid held his breath, waiting for the smith to act.

“Remember,” the smith said. “The Thieves’ Guild is always watching.”

Khalid attacked, slashing two of the men in the back with his katana. The smith pulled his weapon and thrust upward at the nearest guard, disemboweling him in the street. As Khalid charged one of the nine remaining guards, they suddenly stopped, their faces blank and lifeless. One by one, they fell to the ground.

Behind them, Khalid saw several figures dressed in black cloaks standing with daggers drawn. The smith stood, smiling at Khalid. The dark figures bowed quickly to the smith and disappeared into the shadows.

“You see,” he said. “Always watching.”

Khalid laughed. “They watch well,” he said, “and move quickly. Just like the assassins of my land.”

“We can take it from here, Khalid,” the smith said. “We thank you. Now go before you are targeted as well. Keep the sword as a gift of thanks.”

“Yes,” Khalid agreed, “I should go. My destiny awaits. Thank you for the gift. Good luck to you and your people.”

“Good luck to you, as well.”

“By the way, what is your name?” Khalid asked.

“Angus,” the smith replied. It was a name that Khalid would remember.

Khalid turned and ran to the nearest alley. It would be a difficult trek through the now busy streets. He would have to avoid being spotted by either side if he was to escape safely. Carefully, he wound through the houses and buildings, staying in the shadows—not an easy thing to do in white robes.

Despite everything, Khalid knew that if he did not survive, he would still be rewarded in the afterlife. He had redeemed himself to Imbra, and, he hoped, to the people of Gaellos. There was still much work to be done, though, Khalid knew. He would travel to this temple and await further instruction from Imbra. There, his new path would be revealed to him. He only hoped that he would make it.

For the first time in his life, Khalid felt free.

The Knights of the Dragon lined a crest on horseback near the border of the South Kingdom. Ulrich was with them. The assembled armies of Morduin, Taryn, Kernow, and the Northmen were behind them. Brynn and Azim’s archers lie hidden in the nearby cliffs, about fifty yards ahead of them.

Eamon scanned the valley below, awaiting the approach of the Jindala army. From their angle, the Jindala would only see the Knights and the Northman, and would confidently march forward. They would be oblivious to the massive army behind the crest.

“I can hear the thundering of their boots,” Wrothgaar said, training his ear to the wind. “We should see them any time now.”

“The Defilers will be hidden,” Brynn said. “But will appear when they are needed. Keep watch when the Jindala stop fighting and move away. That’s when they come.”

“When you see them,” Eamon said. “You and Daryth take them down. And Daryth, keep your distance.”

“Right,” Daryth agreed.

“They will undoubtedly have a sorcerer with them,” Azim warned. “They travel with the larger armies and masquerade as negotiators.”

“I’m familiar with them,” Eamon said. “One of them appeared at Morduin.”

“If a sorcerer is with them,” Azim said, patting his bow, “I will take him down.”

“From this distance?” Daryth asked. “I hope you’re a better shot than I am.”

“I’ve had some practice,” Azim said, grinning.

Ulrich cleared his throat. “Can we stop the small talk?” he joked. “I like to have a few moments of silence before I kill.”

Wrothgaar laughed. The others soon followed.

After a few minutes had passed by, a cloud of dust appeared in the distance. The Jindala army had taken the route that Angen had predicted, and were now approaching steadily. Even from this far away, the Knights could see that the army was immense. They had quite the battle on their hands.

The Onyx Dragon rode forward and turned to address his Knights.

“My brothers,” Eamon began, “this battle is for our lives, and our freedom. We must not falter, or be fearful. Our places in history have been assured. We are the Knights of the Dragon. We wield his power, and we will not fall to this evil. We will destroy every last man who marches on our lands, and send him to Hell!”

The Knights raised their weapons, shouting their war cries. Ulrich joined them, delighting in the thought of the upcoming battle. Eamon remained in front of the line, awaiting the battle.

The Jindala slowly approached, their full numbers coming into view. There were at least three thousand, possibly more. Eamon’s combined forces numbered almost two thousand. Then there were the archers.

“Archers!” Eamon called, raising his sword.

The Jindala stopped their march a hundred yards from the archers’ positions. Their front lines were occupied by berserkers and spearmen. Eamon could see a small gathering of nobles in the rear. Near them, a large wagon was pulled by horses.

“Loose!” Eamon commanded.

The archers let loose their arrows. Ahead, the Jindala took cover, all except for the berserkers. The arrows rained down on them, dropping dozens of them with the first volley. Eamon smiled, realizing that Brynn had instructed them to aim for the heads.

“Fire at will!”

Round after round of arrows flew to their targets, striking them with full force. With a shouted command behind them, the Jindala began to march forward.

The archers continued their firing, and the Jindala archers began to fire back. Many of their arrows came close to the crest, but none could reach Eamon or his Knights as they stood boldly in defiance.

Eamon raised his sword again, calling to the mass of horsemen behind them, “Cavalry!” he yelled. “Prepare to charge.”

“Garret,” The Queen spoke as the man paced her bedroom yet again. “I’ve been talking to Maedoc about my sister.”

“Yes?” Garret said. “In what way?”

She sat up on her bed, motioning for Garret to sit beside her.

“The Jindala have been using her to ease their take over. She assures the people that nothing is going on, despite the thousands of troops that occupy the cities. Because of her, the people are unwilling to speak their minds, or stand for their freedom. She must be removed.”

“What are you saying, my love?”

She paused, looking deep into his eyes. “Would you do anything for me, Garret?” she asked.

Garret rose, and knelt before her. “I would traverse the depths of Hell for you, Siobhan. I have devoted my life to you.”

Siobhan smiled, rubbing the top of Garret’s head. Tears began to well up in her eyes.

“I need you to perform your duty as you did for the King.”

“You want me to kill Maebh?” Garret asked.

“It is the only way the people will stand up and fight. Please do this for me, my love. It breaks my heart to ask you to murder, but you are the only one I trust. If she is to die, then I would rather it be by your hand.”

Garret was stunned, and remained silent. He couldn’t bear the thought of sticking a knife in the back of Siobhan’s twin. It would be like killing her.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Siobhan assured him. “That’s why you must not look at her. She won’t look like me anyway. Not anymore.”

“It was always her eyes,” Garret said. “They will always be your eyes, no matter how the rest of her appears.”

“Do not despair. For when you return, I will be here, and you will be with me.”

Garret stood, holding out his hands to receive her. “Come to me, my love,” he said.

Siobhan rose to meet him, accepting his embrace. She began to cry, and Garret held her as she did. Killing Maebh would be a difficult task, Garret knew, but the Queen wished it. And he knew in the back of mind that it was the best and most logical course of action.

Obviously, Garret was the most logical person to perform the duty. He had started his career as an assassin, after all, and no one in the history of the Kingdom had been better at it.

“I will do as you wish,” Garret said softly. “Queen Maebh must die.”

“Hold!” Eamon shouted. “Archers, shoulder your bows and follow the cavalry!”

The Jindala quickened their pace, the gap between the two armies growing ever narrower. When the onslaught was within fifty yards, Eamon gave the order.

“For Eirenoch!”

The Knights charged, cresting the hill seemingly on their own. The Jindala Berserkers licked their lips in anticipation, and the leaders in the rear laughed. Only a small group of Knights challenged them. The Immortals would tear them to pieces.

“Cavalry!” Eamon yelled as they neared the front lines.

Behind them, a thousand horsemen charged over the crest, flowing over the rocks like water. The Jindala stopped their march, panicking at the sight. Eamon let loose his fury, calling on the power of the Dragon. His strength became doubled and his changed appearance instilled fear in the hearts of the Jindala.