The Ascent (Book 2) (10 page)

“I have no doubt that Azim will wield it with honor,” Jodocus remarked. “He is a noble man with a great spirit and a pure heart.”

Farouk silently thanked Jodocus for his words, knowing that Azim’s purity of heart was quite obvious, especially to the Druid. Jodocus had previously held Azim’s own scimitar, sensing that it had never spilled the blood of the innocent.

“The sword of Sulemain is a powerful weapon,” Farouk added. “And Azim’s heart would be pure enough to unleash it.”

“It is true, my child,” the Great Mother agreed. “Azim was born to wield it.”

Farouk smiled and nodded.

“Jodocus,” the Great Mother addressed the Druid. “Eamon needs your guidance. Go to him when you are able. He is in Bray. He will ask about a dragon that was spotted in the sky. I have no answer to give other than that I do not sense any life coming from this creature.”

“I don’t understand,” Jodocus replied.

“The Druaga may know,” the Great Mother said. “They may have had a hand in its appearance. Seek them out if need be.”

“I will tell him,” Jodocus replied. “And I thank you for speaking to us. It has been a great honor, as always, to be in your presence.”

The Great Mother then turned to Farouk, approaching him and placing her hand upon his chest. Farouk swallowed, feeling the power of her touch flow through his body.

“My child,” she said. “I will give you the power to break one of Kronos’ bonds. He has the strength to break the rest. I wish I did not have to send you on this task, but I have no choice. I do not wish to summon a star to fall from the sky. Such an object would cause too much destruction and I cannot bear to kill any more of my children.”

“I understand, Mother,” Farouk said. “I am honored to do your bidding.”

“I will imprint the location of Kronos’ prison into your mind. This way, you will not need a map to reach your destination. Be wary, Farouk. You will face many dangers along the way. The Northmen are suspicious and may mistake you for a Jindala. But their shamans will know that you are a Druid. Do not hesitate to demand to speak to them if you cross paths with their warriors.”

“I will remember this,” Farouk said. “Thank you.”

“And lastly, remember that once you reach Kronos, your task is complete. You may return with my blessing. Kronos and his warriors will know what to do from there.”

“If I am asked,” Farouk said, “am I to reveal my mission?”

“To the Northmen, yes,” the Great Mother replied. “Kronos is their Grandfather. The Father of all of their gods. If they know you are there to free him, they will be sympathetic to your cause, and may aid you in some way. But you will have to convince the King of the North, Cannuck. He is a shrewd man, but is fair and reasonable.”

“I understand,” Farouk replied.

“Very well, my children,” the Great Mother said. “I grow weary and must rest. The Lifegiver has drained me beyond my ability to commune for long periods of time.”

“Thank you for your wisdom,” Maedoc said, bowing in respect. Jodocus bowed as well, prompting Farouk to do the same.

“Goodbye, my children,” she said, fading from sight with a subtle sparkling of earthen magic.

The three were left to recover from the powerful presence of the Great Mother. Such communions were taxing on the soul, even more so than a communion with the Dragon. The Great Mother was the source of all life, and even in her weakened state, her power was overwhelming. Farouk, being a novice at such awesome rituals, was moved beyond words. He stood frozen, contemplating the encounter, and desperately trying to make sense of his feelings.

He felt the hands of Maedoc and Jodocus upon him. It was a great comfort. The two sensed his confusion and his outpouring of emotion. They both remembered the way they felt after their first communion with the Great Mother and knew that Farouk would need assistance coming out of it.

“Easy now, my friend,” Jodocus said. “Sit if you need to. The Great Mother is a powerful spirit, indeed, and her presence can be hard to get used to.”

Farouk sat with the help of the others, crossing his legs and rubbing his face with his hands. “I am...awed beyond words,” he gasped. “And apprehensive as well. This task is so much to bear.”

“We will speak of it later,” Jodocus said. “For now, it is best that you rest and regain your strength.”

“Yes,” Maedoc agreed. “I will remain if Jodocus doesn’t mind. I will provide you with some tools you can use on your journey.”

“It would be most appreciated, Maedoc,” Farouk thanked him.

“Let’s go inside now, Farouk,” Jodocus suggested. “I will prepare a tonic for your nerves. Maybe some lotus tea would be nice?”

“Yes,” Farouk replied. “That sounds good.”

Maedoc and Jodocus helped Farouk to his feet, firmly holding him up as they entered the stairwell into the tower. Farouk was glad for the help, and that both of them were there to counsel him before his journey. It would be a difficult task, for sure, and he would need all the help he could get. He would be traveling in a foreign land, with a climate that was the complete opposite of his homeland. And he would encounter people that would see him as nothing more than an invading Jindala. It was a prospect he did not look forward to.

Never in his life did Farouk ever imagine he would be asked to perform such a difficult task. His life had been fairly uneventful up until now. But he knew his new life would lead him back to a path of righteousness, and he wasn’t one to turn down the chance to redeem himself. The Lifegiver was now, and had always been, the enemy. He would do all he could to help send the being back to its own dimension. His first step was to become a Druid. He did that. Now, he would serve the Great Mother and all of the Firstborn. To do this, he would follow her wishes to the letter, regardless of the danger. He would attempt to awaken Kronos and set him free; a task that would help
to ensure the Lifegiver’s defeat.

Chapter Seven

Morning had broken over the town of Bray. Mist slowly rolled in from the sea, floating among the wooden buildings and swirling gently in the wind. There was a chill in the air, and the townsfolk who had gathered with their weapons held their cloaks tight about them to keep warm.

Along the cliffs that looked over the coast and surrounded the town, Bray’s best archers were lined up. Within their groups, Azim, Daryth, and Brynn stood command. Small fires and barrels of tar were distributed among the men for the upcoming defense. Each man was equipped with dozens of arrows that he could coat with tar and set aflame. The Jindala would meet a cloud of fiery missiles upon their arrival.

At the east side of town, Angen and Wrothgaar manned the quickly fashioned catapult. It was a simple but effective design. Timbers had been tied together into a long shaft, which was then lashed to the supporting piers. The shaft was placed upright, and a rope tied to its basket. Wrothgaar, who stood waiting about twenty yards behind it, would wind the rope around a crank-equipped wheel to draw the catapult back. Angen would then place a barrel of black powder in the basket, and the Northman would release the contraption by letting go of the crank.

Eamon gazed at the catapult with doubt. Though Brynn and Angen had both had confidence in the makeshift weapon, its structure seemed too crude and simple to be very effective.

“We need to test this thing,” the Prince said. “We’ll have to see if it will throw a barrel far enough to reach the ships when they arrive.”

“No problem,” Angen replied. “Wrothgaar, pull it back!”

The Northman nodded, grasping the metal crank and beginning the process of pulling back the shaft. As he cranked, the shaft bent, slowly curving back toward where Angen stood. Though apparently flexible, the shaft creaked and groaned as it neared Angen’s platform. Eamon gritted his teeth, expecting it to snap. To his surprise, the shaft gave enough to line up the basket to be loaded. Nodding, Angen grabbed a barrel full of stones, equaling the weight of the black powder barrels, and dropped it into the basket.

When the barrel was in the right place, he turned and nodded to Wrothgaar. The Northman let loose the crank, quickly stepping back to avoid the spinning handle. The shaft snapped back into the vertical position with a twang, hurling the barrel as far as the eye could see. Smiling, Eamon watched the barrel soar through the air, only to splash into the surf several hundred yards out from shore.

“Ha!” Angen shouted. “It works!”

“Nice job, men,” Eamon said, smiling. He looked to the cliffs, seeing Brynn nodding in the distance. The Prince raised his fist in the air, signaling his approval.

“How many barrels do we have?” Eamon shouted to Angen.

“Eight,” Angen replied. “If our aim is good, that should be enough to sink three or four ships.”

“Excellent,” Eamon exclaimed. “Let’s hope they sail close enough and in the right direction.”

“Let’s hope our dragon friend returns to join in the fun,” Wrothgaar added.

The dragon.

Eamon was still at a loss as to the nature of this mysterious beast. It had been stalking the town, silently killing the Jindala guards, and had attacked the enemy ship. It was obviously an enemy of the Jindala, but whether or not it was a friend to the Knights remained to be seen. Though he had not heard of any wild dragons not associated with the great Dragon himself, Eamon still considered the possibility that this was the case. A wild dragon was not unheard of, after all. There had once been thousands of dragons in the past.

Perhaps they were returning.

Along the ridge, Brynn made his way behind the line of archers to where Azim was standing. The former Jindala stared out over the shore and off to the South. His eyes were squinted in the morning sun, and his face was grave.

“How many ships do you anticipate?” Brynn asked him as he approached.

Azim turned to him, and then looked back over the sea. “The ships can carry fifty men a piece,” he replied. “I don’t anticipate a large force. The Jindala are not aware of our army in Gaellos. The men that will arrive here are meant to support the larger army from Faerbane that was dispatched to retake the city. Their numbers should be few.”

“That’s good news.”

“The only problem will be luring them into the line of fire,” Azim added. “The catapult can only fire in one direction.”

Brynn chuckled, clapping Azim on the back. “It does have its limitations,” he said. “But that’s the price you pay for the lack of materials and time.”

Azim smiled. “I’m sure it will work just fine.”

“I hope so,” Brynn said. “We only have eight tries.”

Azim returned his gaze to the sea, scanning the horizon for any sign of enemy ships. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Brynn was fidgeting, kicking the dirt with his boots.

“What is it, my friend?” he asked the younger man.

“I was wondering what it was that made you doubt The Lifegiver.” Brynn said.

“I had always had my doubts,” Azim replied. “But it wasn’t until I came to this island that I realized how much truth was behind them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Azim began, “Imbra, in our culture, is the god of peace, love, and knowledge. He was always known to be a kind, compassionate entity who helped our people thrive in the face of any obstacle. But The Lifegiver is the complete opposite. He is cruel, spiteful, and cares nothing for life. Everyone knows this, but his power has blinded the people to that fact. It was the Dragon’s strength in this land that allowed my brother and I to see through this mask.”

“How did you each know about the other’s doubts?” Brynn asked.

“It was a younger soldier named Malik,” Azim explained. “It was he who had the courage to speak of it to Farouk and I. We were both afraid to voice our feelings to anyone for fear of execution, even each other.”

“Malik was very brave, then.”

“Yes he was,” Azim agreed. “I mourn his death at the hands of the Defiler, much the same way you mourn the death of Fergis.”

“The bravest are always the ones who are robbed of greatness,” Brynn said, sadly.

“Fergis will be remembered for his bravery, and his sacrifice to save the people of Taryn,” Azim reminded him. “He died with honor and in a manner befitting of a warrior. He died in battle. He will be remembered for that.”

“He was the closest thing to a father I’ve ever had,” Brynn lamented.

“You didn’t know your father?” Azim asked.

“Not well,” Brynn replied. “The only thing I ever got from him is my sword. It was a great gift, but I would rather have had a father.”

Azim put his hand on Brynn’s shoulder. “If Fergis meant as much to you as you say, then he is your true father. Remember him as such.”

Brynn nodded, smiling. “I always will,” he said. “Thank you, Azim. You’re a very wise man.”

“Not really,” Azim said, laughing. “Farouk is the wise one. I’m the warrior.”

Brynn returned to his place in the line of archers. Azim watched him go, realizing how much he liked Brynn, and felt a kinship with him and the other knights like no other he had ever experienced. He was proud to call them his brothers, and would gladly fight with them until the end.

Further down the line, Daryth stood among his own men, keeping watch over the southern arm of the bay. He fully expected the Jindala ships to be cloaked in some type of magic, with only the faint green mist that Erenoth had described signaling their approach. So far, no one had seen anything, and the young knight began to wonder if the ships were even coming.

As he continued to scan the distant waters, something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. He turned westward, where the sky was clearer. Among the clouds, a tiny black dot appeared, moving in a random pattern. The object was diving, rising again, and swaying from side to side.

“What is that?” a soldier asked.

Daryth squinted into the distance, trying to make out the objects shape. “I can’t tell,” he said. “It’s too far away.”

“Could be the dragon we saw last night,” another soldier said.

“I hope so,” Daryth said. “We could use his help.”

Eamon saw the object in the distance as well. He could not make out its shape, but noted its erratic flight. Whatever it was, it was coming toward them, and seemed to be alive. In his heart, he hoped it was the dragon that attacked the Jindala ship the night before. Such an ally was always valuable, especially considering the uneven odds of the combatants.

“What is it?” Wrothgaar asked, approaching from behind.

“It may be the dragon,” Eamon replied. “If so, this may be our chance to find out more about it.”

“It’s the dragon,” said a voice from behind them. The two men turned, seeing Jodocus sitting on the edge of a walkway, his feet dangling far above the swampy surface below.

“Jodocus!” the two men said in unison.

“Hello, my friends,” the Druid greeted them. “I see you have prepared the men here for battle.”

Eamon looked out over the green troops, nodding. “They’re frightened,” he said. “But they have no choice but to defend themselves.”

“They’re lucky they have you to lead them,” Jodocus said.

“Do you have any knowledge of this dragon?” Eamon asked.

Jodocus shook his head. “No,” he said. “But we’ll find out soon won’t we? But, that’s not why I came. You want to know the nature of the new creatures that are in route to the island, yes?”

Eamon nodded. “We overheard a conversation between Jindala soldiers. Azim says these creatures are from our legends.”

“Yes,” Jodocus said. “The Lifegiver is using the fears of the people to break their will. When these creatures arrive, they will strike terror into the hearts of all who behold them. Maybe even more so than the Enkhatar.”

“What are they?” Wrothgaar asked.

Jodocus hopped down onto the walkway beside the two men, landing with a groan. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “That was a bad idea.”

Angen joined them, nodding to Jodocus as he walked up. “Hello Jodocus,” he said.

Jodocus smiled, patting Angen on the shoulder. “The Lifegiver has the power to steal souls,” he explained. “He has performed this ghastly deed to feed on the legends of Eirenoch. Wights, they are called; soulless monsters whose only motivation is to spread the agony that they suffer. Their existence is one of pain and anguish. They feel nothing else, and it fuels their wrath.”

“They can make others like them,” Angen added. “Anyone who dies at the hands of a wight becomes one as well.”

“Correct,” Jodocus said.

“How can we fight such a creature?” Eamon asked.

“Only a priest can destroy them,” Jodocus replied. “Erenoth has the power, and soon, Khalid will as well.”

“What of the priests of Drakkar?” Eamon asked.

“They have the power to dispel them,” Jodocus said. “And when Khalid creates his own priests, they will wield that power too. But only the high priests can fully destroy them. Let them worry about the wights. Your focus will be the Enkhatar. They will pursue the Knights, especially Azim. He wields the sword of Sulemain.”

Eamon furrowed his brow. “Why do they seek the sword?” he asked.

“They are the Keynakin,” Jodocus said. “Or they used to be. They will seek the weapon of their leader, as it is the most valuable to them. It is only by bringing the sword to the tomb of Sulemain can The Lifegiver enslave him as well.”

“That must not happen,” Eamon said. “Such a disgrace would destroy any hope the people of Khem might have. Seeing their true prophet enslaved would spell the end for them.”

“True,” Jodocus said. “Sulemain must be left to rest in peace.”

“Where is Farouk?” Angen asked, suddenly realizing Jodocus’ apprentice was not with him.

“Farouk serves the Great Mother now,” the Druid explained. “She has asked him to perform an important task. It is one that will elevate him above all other Druids in the world.”

“What task is this?” Eamon inquired.

“You must not know,” Jodocus replied. “For knowing his task may endanger him. But when he returns, he will surely share his tale. All I can tell you is that it will be a dangerous task, but the outcome may aid us in this struggle against the darkness.”

“That doesn’t tell us much,” Wrothgaar remarked.

“No,” Jodocus agreed, smiling. “No, it doesn’t. I must return to him to see him off. But first, I came to see you, Angen.”

Angen looked to the others in question, then back to the Druid. “Why?”

“In the near future, you will face the Enkhatar,” Jodocus began. “They wear armor of dark energy that is immune to mundane weapons. To fight them, you will need a more powerful weapon.”

Angen pulled his claymore from its scabbard, holding it protectively in both hands. “I have carried this sword since I was a young man,” he protested. “It has served me well.”

“Of course, my boy. Of course it has. Let me have it.”

Reluctantly, Angen handed Jodocus his sword, hilt first. The Druid grasped the pommel, pulling the sword from Angen’s hand. The point fell to the ground, causing Jodocus to chuckle.