Onyx Dragon (Book 1) (3 page)

“Why are they here?” Garret asked. “And why would they attack the Northmen?”

“Unknown, my friend. Unknown. Perhaps these attackers have a history with the Northmen. One that stems from past conflicts on the mainland. Or, perhaps, the settlement was simply in the way. Leave this here with me and let me consult the Dragonstone. I will find what answers I can.”

“Good,” Garret answered. “The Queen will be anxious to hear any information you can give her. So will the Northman who brought us this item.”

Maedoc raised his brow. “Keep the Northman here,” He advised. “If my guess is correct, this event will further increase any kinship that has been built with the tribes. As King, Eamon will need all the allies he can obtain. The Northmen would be a valuable addition to our military forces. They may be needed in the future.”

Garret wasn’t quite sure what the old man meant, but he had learned never to question his wisdom. Without a word, he left Maedoc’s study and gently closed the door behind him.

Maedoc remained seated, turning the pouch over in his hands. There was something strange about the writings. Though he could read them quite plainly, he felt that the symbols themselves weren’t quite right. As if they were more archaic than what he had seen in the past. He couldn’t explain it.

Setting the pouch on his desk, he turned to a pedestal in the corner. Upon it, a large object sat covered in black silk.

The Dragonstone.

Maedoc approached it, gathering his energy, letting his thoughts converge and coalesce into a single point. He removed the silk covering to reveal an orb that blazed with the energy of the Dragon itself. He reached out to touch it, letting the energy flow through his body as he placed his hands upon the glassy surface. It was a feeling of pain and knowledge at the same time.

Maedoc’s grey mane was tossed about his head as the magic gathered and flowed out of the orb. Blue flames circled him, black smoke billowed from nowhere. He moaned in agony as his spirit became one with the Dragon, feeling the connection strengthen until it was complete. Only by surrendering his will could he communicate with the ancient forces that once ruled the Earth, and only through pain could he get the answer he sought.

That was the price of knowledge.

With a deep breath, he focused his intent, then asked his question, the very words of which shot pain throughout his body as they echoed throughout his chambers.

“Who challenges the power of the Dragon?”

Eamon and Wrothgaar strolled casually through the streets of Morduin, enjoying the bustle of activity. Everywhere, people were happily going about their daily lives, haggling with merchants, playing their musical instruments, and enjoying the tales of the troubadours who entertained on every corner. No one gave Wrothgaar a second look. Apparently they were not at all uncomfortable with his presence.

The Northman noted the taverns, shops, and houses that lined the neatly paved streets and how they each had their own character, despite being similar in appearance. He felt at peace, not only with the city itself but with the people as well. He was especially glad to have met Eamon, who was not at all as he assumed a Prince would be. Eamon seemed like an honorable man, one who would die defending his people, and would do so with pride. He had met the nobles of other countries, but none of them had the compassion, or the capacity for honor, that this young Prince possessed. He knew they would be good friends.

“There is a blacksmith shop that is empty now,” Eamon said, pointing toward an abandoned building. “Govran was the best blacksmith I’ve ever known. His swords were of the highest quality and were beautiful as well. That’s the sign of a good weapon. He died last winter, leaving no apprentice to take his place. He will be missed.”

“My Uncle Thorgrymm was a blacksmith as well. He forged my axe, and many others before his death.”

“How did he die?” Eamon asked.

“His wife caught him with another woman,” Wrothgaar answered, grinning. “He died smiling.”

Eamon considered the story for a moment, finding it humorous but not sure whether he should laugh or hold his tongue. Before he could decide, the Northman chuckled, and the Prince eventually joined him. He was glad to see that the Northman had a good sense of humor, and hoped that characteristic was common among his people.

The Prince showed Wrothgaar all of the important sites of Morduin in turn, each possessing its own interesting tale and appeal. The Northman delighted in the stories he was told, and looked forward to knowing more about the people of Morduin. It was a pleasant city, and the people were joyful and accepting. Wrothgaar knew he would grow to love them as his own.

“Come,” Eamon said after the tour. “Enough time has passed. Surely Maedoc has found out something.”

“Lead on,” Wrothgaar said. “I look forward to meeting him, though I’m not sure how to address a seer. Is that what you call him?”

“Sage, seer, shaman...” Eamon said, trailing off. “Just call him Maedoc.”

The two men continued on through the streets, circling around to return to the castle. Wrothgaar eyed the taller tower he had locked his eyes upon outside the gate. That was where they were heading. The Northman might have guessed that a man who dabbled in strange, arcane knowledge would pick the tallest tower to make his study. Once he finally became insane from conversations with demons and other frightening spirits, he could end it all very quickly by throwing himself out of the highest window.

“Maedoc it is,” Wrothgaar said.

“There is troubling news,” Maedoc warned the Queen in a harsh whisper.

Siobhan leaned in closer to her elder brother as he lie propped up on his bed. He was fatigued from his communion with the Dragon, as was usually the case. But it wasn’t the fatigue that concerned the Queen, it was to be expected, it was the fear in his eyes. She had never seen him this way.

“What is it, Maedoc?” she asked. “What have you find out?”

Maedoc attempted to sit up, groaning as he swung his feet onto the floor. Siobhan helped him with a firm hand, standing to gain leverage.

“The Kingdom is in great danger,” He began. “The Dragon senses an imbalance in the Earth, and the travelers that your sister has welcomed are the source. They have overrun her cities. They have murdered civilians, disarmed the military, and have enslaved the children. The Southern Kingdom has fallen.”

Siobhan gasped. “Why have I not heard this until now?” she demanded.

“The messengers you have sent have never returned. Maebh, or whoever has her under their spell, may have imprisoned or executed them. She lies transfixed in her palace, paying tribute to a Sultan who has somehow convinced her that submission is to her benefit. She has groveled to the power of these invaders, and has been blinded to her peoples’ plight.”

“You found this out during your communion?” She asked, settling back down in her chair, her face grave.

“This, and many other things,” Maedoc answered. “The Dragon feels the presence of something he has not felt in eons; a dark spirit that threatens to draw the very life from the land.”

“What is this dark presence? A demon? A wizard?”

Maedoc shook his head. “I do not know. It is something of another world, or Universe. Whatever it is has brought others with it into this world. Dark things that feed on the life energy of everything around them. I can only guess as to their nature.”

“And the Dragon can feel this?” Siobhan wondered.

“Yes. He can feel that these invaders have stepped foot in this kingdom in the North and East. They have murdered innocent people here, as they did in the South. Your barbarian friend’s people have already encountered them. The invaders may have been looking for something specific among his people, but I do not know what.”

“We must do something!” The Queen said. “I cannot allow either kingdom to be overrun. My people trust me. I cannot let them down.”

“I’m afraid there is nothing you can do,” Maedoc warned. “Only the power of the Dragon can defeat this enemy, and he does not have the strength to fight this enemy himself.”

Siobhan sighed. “So, what do we do?”

Maedoc rose, straightening as best as he could. Siobhan rose with him and their eyes met. The old man’s worry was gone, his face stern with determination.

“The Knights of the Dragon must rise again.”

Chapter Three

Candles and incense burned throughout Maedoc’s study, giving it a calm, relaxing atmosphere. The room was decorated with ornate tapestries, wall-sized maps, and strange contraptions that Wrothgaar had never seen before. The Northman stood wide-eyed, mesmerized by the sheer complexity of the decor, and was unable to take his eyes off of a single map that dominated the East wall.

“Is that the whole world?” he asked, pointing like a child.

Maedoc grinned, amused at the huge man’s child-like curiosity. “Yes, it is, my friend.”

“I did not know the world was so big.”

“Few people do, young man,” Maedoc mused. “Few people do.”

Eamon went to the map and pointed out the large island on which the North and South Kingdoms were located.

“We are here,” he said, then, pointing to the Northern area of the mainland, added, “And this is where your people came from.”

Wrothgaar stared, amazed.

“I have never seen a map this large,” he said. “Or one that showed the whole world. I’ve only seen maps of the islands and of my homeland.”

Maedoc motioned for the two to sit.

“The Queen will arrive shortly,” he said. “There is a matter of much importance to discuss. But first, Wrothgaar, I will tell you what you wished to hear.”

Wrothgaar settled comfortably in a soft, plush chair opposite Maedoc, and rested his elbows on the table to listen.

“I have spoken to the Dragon,” Maedoc began, “and what he told me is grave news. A dark force rises in the East, across the sea. The Dragon is not aware of its identity, only that it is a familiar presence. He fears that its influence is spreading to the very corners of the Earth. The Dragon can no longer commune with the land or the sea on his own, and fears that the power of the Firstborn is waning. If this happens, the world will fall to this new power.”

“What manner of creature is this new power?” Eamon asked.

“I do not know,” Maedoc replied, shaking his head. “But the presence is familiar to the Dragon, as I said before. He can feel the utter darkness it exudes, and how it has spread...even here across the sea.”

Wrothgaar leaned in closer. “How does this relate to the slaughter of an entire village of my people?”

“This being’s servants, the Jindala, carry his message and his will. They have overrun cities on the mainland, the Southern kingdom, and they are responsible for the deaths of your tribesmen. I believe they may have been looking for something specific. Otherwise, they would have had no reason to travel that far North.”

Wrothgaar grunted. “I cannot think of anything my people possess that would be of any use to them,” he said, gripping his axe.

“Your axe tells a different story,” Maedoc said. “It is not of this Earth, is it?”

“No,” Wrothgaar said. “It was forged by my Uncle from a metal that he said fell from the sky.”

“Ah yes,” Maedoc said. “Meteors contain iron. Many smiths in the past have forged blades of this metal. Its properties are different from standard iron, having traveled from far places through the void. Perhaps your axe was the reason. A weapon such as that could very well be useful against an otherworldly enemy.”

Wrothgaar said nothing, but simply stared at his axe.

“You said the Southern Kingdom has fallen?” Eamon interrupted.

“I’m afraid so.” Maedoc grieved. “The Dragon tells me your Aunt has allowed these fanatics into her castle. She has fallen under the influence of their envoys, who even now occupy her cities. Her people suffer, and she has done nothing. Her vanity and lust for attention have blinded her. Now she is powerless and under their control. She sits as a puppet upon her own throne.”

Eamon pounded his fist on the table. “Vile whore!” he hissed. “She will pay for this insult, and for the lives of all that she allowed to die!”

“Rightfully so,” Maedoc interjected. “But in due time. We cannot defeat this enemy without the aid of the Dragon. Their power is too great. I know this, Eamon. I have felt the presence of the dark and powerful beings they have brought with them. Creatures that could destroy whole armies at will. No, we cannot stand against them alone.”

“My people will fight at your side,” Wrothgaar interjected. “If they know it’s the only way to survive, they would rally behind me in my father’s absence. We can defeat them.”

“Only with a power of our own,” Maedoc warned. “One even stronger than Wrothgaar’s axe.”

“What power is this?” Eamon asked.

Maedoc stood, shuffling over to a cabinet to fetch a small scroll case containing another ornate map. He uncorked the case and unrolled the map onto the table, spreading it out and placing candles on each corner. He circled his finger over the parchment, chanting silently to himself. Slowly, symbols and writings began to appear on the map, lines and routes showing the path to a point in the center.