Into Oblivion (Book 4) (27 page)

Ulrich pointed at the ports on the black ship. “You see those ports?” he said. The archer nodded. “Fire into them with flaming arrows. Keep shooting until you hear something explode.”

The young man grinned, grabbing a flaming timber from the railing. Ulrich stood behind him, guarding him from any enemies that strayed too close. The archer lit an arrow, carefully firing it into the smoke. The faint glow of the arrow’s flaming tip sailed straight into the nearest port.

“Nice shot!”
Ulrich said, tapping the head of his hammer on his free hand. The approaching Jindala warrior that had threatened to attack quickly changed his mind, running off to find easier prey.

The archer fired two more arrows. Still, nothing.

“Sir!” the archer shouted. Ulrich turned, seeing that the ship had cleared the smoke and was quickly turning about to fire.

As Ulrich watched, the giant cannons were pushed through the ports, three of them in all. The gunners inside lined them up for a good shot, adjusting their height and direction. The archer knocked another arrow, taking careful aim as he judged the wind speed and force. Then, he let loose.

Ulrich watched the arrow sail in a graceful arc straight to its target. It disappeared into the port, streaking right past the cannon’s shaft. Fire shot out of all the portholes as something inside exploded with all the fury of Hell. The Jarl’s men ducked, thinking the cannons had fired.

“Good shot, boy!” he shouted, clapping the young man on the back. “You get an extra cup of ale for dinner!”

Jadhav felt
the concussion of the explosion from the ship above. Oil and debris began to pour through the giant hole Jadhav’s ship had ripped in its hull, and the sea became cloudy with its blackness. He grinned, seeing that Vedic was grinning, too.

“What was that?” Vedic asked.

Jadhav chuckled. “I’m guessing something exploded,” he said. “Let’s put another hole up there, my friend.”

Vedic obliged, lining the ship up and readying the spikes for another attack.

Jadhav nodded.

“What in the Hell is going on down there!?” the Jindala Admiral demanded, shouting down below deck.

He choked on the smoke that billowed up, and waved his hands to clear it out of the way. There was no answer from his gunners, and the men above were beginning to panic.

“Damn it!” he cursed. “Steersman, ram them! Push straight through the line.”

He grabbed the nearest sailor, pushing him toward the companionway. “Get down there and see what’s happening!” he ordered.

Suddenly, the ship lurched again. The Admiral was thrown to the deck. Jindala soldiers rushed to his aid, pulling him to his feet as the ship began to become unstable.

“Get off of me!” he shouted, pushing them away. “Get us out of here! Full speed ahead!”

He heard creaking from below. The sound of metal grinding against metal was almost deafening. The sound was that of the ship’s doom. Nevertheless, he remained calm, determined to sink as many ships as he could before he met his maker.

Then, his men at the bow scrambled in horror. He shot a quick glance forward, dropping his jaw as a dragon streaked down the length of the deck. A jet a flame blazed from its open maw, setting the men aflame and scorching the iron planks of the deck.

The Admiral ducked as the dragon passed, and then rushed to the front of the ship. From out of the smoke, an endless line of enemy soldiers were flooding the deck, led by a man in armor that looked like the dragon that had just passed him.

“For Eirenoch!” the Dragon King shouted. The Knights of the Dragon shouted behind him, followed by the chaotic screams of the allied forces. The faces of the Jindala were twisted in terror as they saw them appear from the smoke. Eamon raised the Serpent’s Tongue, calling on the power of the Dragon.

He leaped into the air, vaulting the front line and landing among the enemies behind it. He immediately let loose a vicious roar, striking in a series of sweeping attacks. He felt his blade slice through flesh with each strike, and his battle rage built quickly. Around him, the mix of friend and foe was a cacophonous blur of deafening roars and curses.

Behind the enemy soldiers, Eamon could see the commander of the ship. He gritted his teeth, charging forward through the chaos. He struck again and again, slaying those that stood in his way. Wrothgaar’s voice was nearby, and he knew the Northman was right behind him, as he always was.

Eamon growled with rage as he cut through the final few men. He was now clear of the battle and free to charge the
terrified Admiral and his three guards. They rushed forward, swords in hand, bravely defending their lord; who stood cowering behind them. Eamon faked an overhead chop, but then ducked at the last minute as the three guards prepared to parry. He came low in front of the middle guard, thrusting his blade into the man’s gut.

He withdrew immediately, spinning around on one knee and slashing at the legs of the guard on the left. His blade severed it at the knee, and Eamon thrust his blade behind him to block the remaining guard’s stabbing attack.

He felt the two blades connect, and spun again, rising to his feet and slashing upward. He sliced the guard open from gut to throat, kicking his gushing body to the deck. He stood still for a moment, slowly directing his gaze at the Admiral. The man was backing away, though held his sword out defiantly.

“Onyx Dragon,” he hissed. “You will never make it to Khem.”

“Oh?” Eamon replied, walking toward him and allowing his armor to shrink back until his face was visible. “And why is that?”

The Admiral began to laugh hysterically. Without a word, he lifted his sword to his throat. Before Eamon’s eyes, he ended his own life in the most brutal fashion possible. As the choking man sank to his knees, Wrothgaar appeared at Eamon’s side. He was just as puzzled as his king.

“I do not understand these people,” he said. “So willing to die for a devil that cares nothing for them.”

“He cares only for their spirits,” Eamon replied. “Not their souls.”

The two men turned as the chaos behind them died down. The men were cheering their victory, and the last of the enemies were tossed overboard. Through the chaotic caterwauling, the king heard his name shouted from over the side of the ship.

He peered over the edge, seeing Jadhav standing on top of his ship. His friend raised his arms to his side in a questioning gesture, smiling widely.

“Did you happen to notice that the ship is sinking?” he shouted up. “Perhaps you should disembark.”

Eamon chuckled. “We will do that.” He said. “Men! Back to our ships!”

Chapter Twenty Five

Farouk returned to Southwatch after transporting Khalid back to Tel Drakkar. The priest had been in a state of shock since the departure of the Dragon, and would need time to recover. Farouk felt the man’s sorrow, as he, too, once served the Dragon. Farouk owed the Firstborn everything. Without him, the Druid and his brother may have suffered some other fate. A blasphemous end, perhaps. But the Dragon had called to them, and welcomed them into his arms.

For that, he was grateful.

Farouk looked over the remains of the demonic force. The Alvar had laid them to waste with the help of the Rangers and the Druaga. The bodies were left where they fell, as they would eventually fade away as the abyss called them back. It was a small matter.

At the top of the tower, he saw a single figure standing there. She was looking down at him. He could tell, even from this distance, that there was a look of hope on her face. He smiled, holding up his staff.

Allora faded from sight, appearing in front of him in an instant. She approached slowly, full of hope, her eyes never leaving the gem.

“Is she…?” she stammered.

“I have the Mother Spirit you are looking for,” Farouk replied. “She is safe, and when the time is right, she will belong to you.”

Tears welled up in Allora’s eyes, and she covered her mouth with her slender hand. She lowered her head, moving her hands up to her eyes.

“I have waited for so long,” she sobbed. “And I owe you everything.”

“We will defeat The Lifegiver together,” Farouk replied. “All of us, Theia included. Then, all will be well. Your world will live again, and one day you can return.”

Allora stared into his eyes, smiling with hope. “Thank you, Farouk,” she said. “You will always be a friend to my people.”

“I would be honored,” he replied, smiling. “And I will be honored to fight at their side.”

“I will join the battle,” Allora said. “When we are ready to travel to the mainland, my magic will have fully returned.”

Farouk nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Let us join Traegus and lay out our strategy.”

He stepped forward, taking her hand, and the two of them made their way to the tower.

As the day was quite pleasant and beautiful, they decided to walk.

With two additional ships in their fleet, the allies set sail for the mainland. The many transports from the island had joined them, and the ships were now fifty one in number. With a line of warships at the head, the fleet would be unstoppable, and the battle would be joined in full force.

Eamon stood at the bow, his arms folded, and his sights set on the distant shore. There lay the coast of Thyre, and King Tregar’s army. They would join him there, and ride for Khem to meet the assembled armies of the world.

It would be a glorious sight.

He smiled to himself as he pictured the scene in his head. The land surrounding Khem would be a sea of warriors, spread out for miles. What a fearsome sight that would be for The Lifegiver.

Yet, deep down, the king knew that it would spell the end of the Firstborn; all of them. Their sacrifice would be necessary for the fate of the Earth and all forms of life upon it. The world would go on without them. New gods would be born, new heroes would arise from the wake of battle, and one day, he hoped, his own son would inherit his crown.

His own son.

Eamon,
a voice said. He knew it was the Dragon.

“Yes, Father,” he whispered. “I hear you.”

Be strong, my son. In the days ahead, you will face death many times. You will be challenged by the forces of darkness; darkness of which no one has ever seen. Do not be anything but my hand. I did not defeat Absu alone, and neither will you. Do not try.

“I am your humble sword,” Eamon said.

Obey the laws of the Universe, my son, and you will prevail. Your friends were chosen for a reason, and were presented to you in the order they were needed. Nothing has ever been a coincidence.

Eamon nodded, accepting the Dragon’s words.

The Keeper has followed you since your birth. He has helped you in ways I could not. He also watches Farouk, and has sent the Druid to the places he is needed. Farouk has the key to victory. You must work with him to use it. Do you understand, my son?

“Yes, Father.”

Good. I go now to my Mother. When you reach Khem, and face The Lifegiver, I will know. I must give myself back to Gaia in order to set the battle in motion. When this happens, you will be the Dragon. Not just the son of the Dragon, but Dagda himself. Do you understand?

“Yes,” Eamon sobbed.

Do not mourn me, Eamon. I will always be with you. We will always be a part of the Great Mother.

“Though I have gained so much, I have lost many things as well. My Mother, the man who raised me…”

Your Mother will be with you always, and she will be happy in the afterlife, as will Garret.

“Tell me the truth,” Eamon said. “Garret is alive, isn’t he?”

There was a pause as the Dragon contemplated the consequences of revealing the truth. But, his son’s happiness prevailed over all.

Yes. He serves the Great Mother.

Of course! Garret was indeed the mysterious assassin. He was eliminating the puppet kings of the world, and he was doing it for the Great Mother herself.

“His work will not go to waste,” Eamon said, a sense of hope coming over him.

Honor him always, my son. It was through the actions of your aunt that your Mother was killed. Garret did as Siobhan asked, without question. He was faithful to her despite what she had asked. But, in the end, he was betrayed.

“I have forgiven him,” Eamon said. “I had a sense of what happened.”

Good. Go now. Put these thoughts aside and focus on your destiny. Grieve no longer. All will be set right. Goodbye, my son.

“Goodbye, Father. May the Great Mother bless you and keep you.”

He felt the Dragon’s presence leave him. The emptiness he felt was strong, but he knew it was there for a reason. It would drive him and inspire him, leading him and his allies to victory. For that, he would endure it.

He would remain strong until the end.

Garret pulled himself up onto the shore. As he crawled up the sand, he choked and coughed on the sea water that spilled from his lungs. He collapsed onto the sand, rolling on to his back to stare at the beautiful blue sky. He chuckled as he realized that he had been killed
again. He had been run through with a divine blade, drowned, and had been resurrected for the second time.

However, his other memories made his smile fade. Everything had come back to him during his plunge into the ocean. He knew now that Siobhan was his love, and that he had killed her. He remember
ed plunging his dirk into her back, watching the life drain from her eyes, and hearing the laughter of her sister as he mourned.

He saw the crazed look in the eyes of his own son as the boy pierced his heart with his own blade; a blade he had given to Maebh when she was a young girl. He remembered looking into his son’s laughing face as he fell into the cold, watery abyss.

And he remembered the boy that he had raised as his own. Eamon, the Onyx Dragon.

Akharu had referred to him as Garret’s king. That would be the truth; Eamon would now be king. He would be king of North Eirenoch, or perhaps he had united the kingdoms. He did not know. Why did he not know that?

And why did the Great Mother not open a portal for him?

He rolled over onto his stomach, pushing himself up and staggering to his feet. He looked around, seeing the gradually sloping shore reach up to a carved staircase in the cliffs. He knew that staircase. He had washed up at the very southern tip of Eirenoch, near the tower of Tel Drakkar. He would go there, seeking the council of the priests. They would know who he was, perhaps, and why the Great Mother had abandoned him.

Slowly, Garret made his way up the stairs. Though he was not an old man anymore, he was tired, weary. The battle with Akharu had drained him, and the wound the demon had given him was possibly to blame as well.

Akharu.

He gritted his teeth as he thought of how the demon had taunted him. He had used Garret’s own emotions against him to try to throw him off. It had worked. Garret had become so unfocused that he had faltered and allowed the demon to defeat him.

No one had ever bested him. Ever.

Grudgingly, he ascended the stairway with one single thought in his head. It was a purpose that would consume him until he prevailed. He would hunt down this Akharu. He would destroy him forever, and send him back to Hell. He smiled maniacally as he imagined the kill.

Akharu had made the worst enemy he could have possibly imagined.