Into Oblivion (Book 4) (9 page)

“Her link to my world is stronger somehow,” Farouk said. “As is theirs. She died there, and is unable to cross back over because of that.”

“She was never fully here during her… visits.”

“Her remains are there in my world,” Farouk explained. “That is why.”

Faeraon hung his head in sorrow, knowing that Farouk was right.

“My friend Aeli is here at this very spot,” Farouk said. “She is in danger.”

Outside the lair, Aeli stood fast as the ghastly form of the banshee entered the clearing. It was humanoid; shaped as a woman in a billowing, ethereal gown. Her appearance, however, was less than elegant. The tendrils of ghostly cloth swirled around her as she floated forward, her clawed hands held out before her.

But it was her face that sent chills up Aeli’s spine.

The banshee’s eyes were hollow and black; a stark contrast to her glowing form. Her mouth was a jagged hole of spiked teeth that was open wider than any human maw Aeli had ever seen. Around her shriveled head, her hair coiled and flapped like glowing, white flame.

As Aeli stared on in horror, the banshee opened its maw wider, releasing a deafening shriek that tore through the forest like blast of dark magic. The Druid crouched, turning away in an effort to shield Jodocus from the horrifying sound. She could feel the keening sting her ears and rattle her entire body. It was truly the agonizing scream of the tortured dead.

“Mama!” Jodocus shouted over the turmoil. “Call the forest!”

Struggling to keep her eyes open, Aeli stood, pushing the young boy behind her. She held her staff out before her menacingly, calling on the power of the Dragon to protect the two of them. As she felt the energy gather in her body, the banshee struck. The ghostly form shot forward, its long claws slicing the air before the Druid.

Aeli waved her staff in a wide arc, blasting the banshee back with the Dragon’s power. With her free hand, she raised saplings between them, causing the banshee to howl in frustration.

“Hide in the lair, Jodocus!” she shouted, watching as her beloved boy bounded off to hide at her bidding.

When Jodocus was safe, Aeli stood tall, facing the fearsome entity. She suddenly remembered one of the last things that the old Jodocus had told her.

If you fear, you will fail.

She squinted through the tears as she thought of her mentor, feeling her sorrow transform into energy. The fear she felt melted away, and her vision began to clear.

Aeli raised her staff once more, focusing her power on calling the spirits of the forest to aid.

“I know you,” she whispered as the banshee drifted through the saplings to attack. “Come to me, Allora.”

“Faeraon,” Farouk said. “I must return to my realm. Aeli is in danger.”

Faeraon nodded, confused as to how the Druid would return. “Very well, my friend,” he said.

“I will return. I promise.”

Aeli thrust her staff into the ground, releasing the energy into the forest around her. The shock wave spread, penetrating the trees and the brush, awakening the spirits. As the banshee screeched in rage, green orbs appeared around her, slowly floating into the clearing in great numbers.

Aeli released her final spell, sending a blast of green flame at the banshee. The entity screeched, spinning in place in rage. The green orbs seemed to back away, as if they were afraid, and Aeli feared they would abandon her.

She focused her attention back on the creature, who was now slowing her spin and glaring straight into her eyes. Aeli’s fear returned, causing her to back away slowly.

Then, the banshee charged.

Her wails of rage split the air as she shot forward toward the Druid. Aeli dodged, throwing more saplings up to shield herself from the beast’s wrath. The banshee held up her arms, her claws sparkling with dark magic, and released a spell of her own.

Her own
shock wave shattered the saplings, sending shards of wood in every direction with a thunderous clap. The impact threw Aeli off her feet, and she sailed back several yards to land on the ground among the roots of the trees.

“Mama!” Jodocus shouted, drawing the banshee’s gaze.

The green orbs, fearing for the child, raced toward him, surrounding him and penetrating his body. The boy ran toward his mother, standing over her in an effort to protect her. His eyes welled up with tears as he watched the entity float toward him, cackling with maniacal laughter.

The boy’s rage built up within him, powered by the anger of the forest. He screamed as loud as he could, feeling the power of the Earth coursing through his little body. The banshee backed away, her arms held out before her as if to cast another spell.

Jodocus stepped forward, continuing his screaming. The odd sound seemed to frighten the spirit, and she began to lose her form as she attempted to flee. The boy followed her, directing his power at her, dissolving her ethereal mass with his rage.

Then, the spirits attacked.

The green energy shot forth from the boy’s body, impacting the banshee and swirling around her. She screeched again; this time in agony. Jodocus held his hands up, gathering his own energy into a spell of innocent rage.

The boy’s magic exploded toward the banshee, blasting it into oblivion. Her final screams echoed through the forest, fading away slowly as she sparkled into nothingness. When she had faded fully, dust and bones fell to the ground.

Jodocus continued screaming until he ran out of breath. He stepped forward slowly, his rage subsiding as he saw the banshee’s remains. A small, fragile skull lay atop a pile of dust and broken bones, inscribed with strange symbols that the boy, somehow, recognized.

Ignoring it for the moment, he turned to go back to his mother, hoping in his heart that she was only asleep. He saw her lying on her back, her staff only a few feet away. Sniffling, he ran toward her.

But he was stopped short by a cold wave of energy that spread out around her.

“Mama!” he called. “Mama!”

Shadowy figures seemed to reach through the fabric of space and time, snatching her arms up and dragging her limp body away. Jodocus screamed, running after her as she was pulled into a dark void that opened up behind her body.

“Mama!” Jodocus shouted again, his voice trembling with panic and anguish.

Then, Aeli was pulled through and the portal was closed.

“MAMAAAAAAAAAAAA!” Jodocus howled, now left to himself in the darkness of the forest.

Alone and afraid, the boy collapsed into the brush, bawling in sorrow as the night wore on.

Chapter Eight

The Knights of the Dragon gathered in their meeting hall at Faerbane. The ornate table was set for a feast honoring Lord Ferrin and Lord Galen
, and their continued military support. The knights were seated three to each long side, Lords Ferrin and Galen at one end, and an empty chair at the other end where King Eamon would sit upon his arrival.

The gathered knights and their guests were loud; exchanging tales and laughing heartily. Galen, being happy to see his daughter, Brianna, was the least vocal. He quietly listened to the stories of the knights’ conquests, smiling every time her name was mentioned. He was glad to see that Brianna was honored and respected just as much as the others. In fact, all of the other knights seemed to hold her fighting skills in the highest regard. There even seemed to be a rivalry between her and
Azim as to whom was the better archer.

As the king entered the room, the gathering stood. Eamon held his hands out in greeting, his smiling face beaming with joy.

“My friends,” he said. “Welcome home. I trust your time has been well spent.” The knights shrugged, indicating a not-so-much attitude. “Ferrin, Galen, it is good to have you here.”

He clasped hands with each of them in turn, motioning for them to sit. The king then took his place at the head of the table.

“As you all know,” he began. “The Rangers have been busy in the kingdom as of late. We have had reports of wild men from the island roaming freely in the countryside. Daryth has led the Rangers well, and they have quelled much of the hostilities without too much bloodshed.”

He nodded to Daryth, who gave a gesture of thanks.

“Furthermore,” Eamon continued. “Brynn has chosen a new company to take the place of the Mordumarc. Thanks to him, our elite cavalry rides again. And let me say, Brynn, you have chosen them well.”

“They are the best our land has to offer,” Brynn replied. “Just as worthy as the former Mordumarc themselves.”

“Yes, they are,” Eamon complimented. “And Angen’s leadership as commander of our infantry is not to be ignored. Since he took command, our troops have become more disciplined and effective than ever. Even the rebel Jindala have been impressive and loyal.”

“If not for Angus and his forge,” Angen said. “Our troops would be wielding toothpicks and forks.”

The knights laughed. Eamon clapped his hands, signaling the servants to bring in the many courses that would comprise their feast. The goblets were filled, and plates were loaded onto the table.

“Azim and Brianna have done well to organize their mounted archers,” Eamon continued. “And without Wrothgaar, the Northmen would not be so… shall we say… civilized.”

Wrothgaar broke out into laughter. “My father keeps them in line,” he said. “We can’t forget his leadership.”

“I am thankful for his leadership,” Eamon replied. “And his friendship. From what I hear, the lands to the north of Gallot have been built up quite well. Three villages so far?”

“Yes,” Wrothgaar replied, stuffing bread into his mouth. “Full stonework and fortifications, thanks to the help of the Druaga and the priests of Tel Drakkar.”

“Ah, yes,” Eamon added. “Speaking of which, Dael tells me that Khalid has embarked on an important quest alongside the Dragon. We should all wish them well on their journey.”

“Where did they go?” Angen asked.

“Khalid simply said, ‘into oblivion,’ according to Dael. I am not quite sure what he meant, but we all know the Dragon.”

“And if I know Khalid,” Azim said. “It probably involves stealing something... or someone.”

“You may be right,” Eamon replied, laughing.

“I have no time for thieves,” Ferrin joked, winking at Azim.

The knights chuckled, knowing full well that Ferrin was, and had been for some time, the Grandmaster of the Thieves’ Guild. Though, of late, the need for their skills had waned, the guild still operated in the trade business. Their skills at negotiation and spotting a scam were unmatched. Besides, their training was conducive to the development of the woodland warriors, most notably the Rangers.

“Your Majesty,” a voice said from outside the door.

Eamon motioned for the young messenger to enter. “What is it?” he asked.

“Lord Maedoc has arrived, Sire.”

“Ah!” Eamon exclaimed, standing. “Show him in.”

Before the messenger could turn to leave, Maedoc entered. He was dressed in his usual blue robes, his hair tied back in a gray tail, and his beard wild and unkempt.

“Maedoc!” Eamon greeted him. “It’s good to see you. You don’t visit often enough. Please join us.”

Maedoc smiled, sliding a chair next to the king.

“I have come to deliver news of the mainland,” Maedoc said, grabbing a plate and clearing his throat as a servant served him food. “I have spotted what appears to be some kind of blockade in the shipping lanes between Eirenoch and Cereta. A line of Jindala ships is heading this way.”

Eamon nodded, finishing his mouthful of food. “Do they appear to be assembled for an attack?”

Maedoc shook his head. “Not likely,” he replied. “They are ill-equipped for a land assault. I would say they are merely preventing us from launching our own attack on the mainland.”

“Once our ships are prepared to sail,” Angen interrupted. “They’ll mow through them like a shark through guppies.”

“That’s what I fear,” Maedoc said. “The Jindala know that we are allied with the pirates and the Radja. Why they would assemble a simple blockade is beyond me.”

Brianna cleared her throat. “It’s a ruse, likely,” she said. “Something to distract us while The Lifegiver sends something here under our noses.”

Ferrin nodded. “It’s a good tactic,” he said. “And a familiar one. The Lifegiver sent the Enkhatar around the south end of the island while we were all focused on the Prophet’s arrival here in Faerbane.”

“What else is there to send?” Daryth asked. “We’ve already stood against the Enkhatar, and Jodocus destroyed the Devourer.”

“The Lifegiver now has the Sword of Sulemain,” Azim reminded them. “So there will be another beast to deal with.”

“Yes, yes…” Maedoc said. “Sulemain will lead the Enkhatar. But I doubt he will come here. The Enkhatar will be needed in other places. The majority of nations have rebelled and are building their forces to attack. Even now, Cereta rallies its people to line the borders. The Jindala have been expelled from Anwar.”

“How did that happen?” Eamon asked.

“Another mysterious assassination,” Maedoc replied.

Eamon sat back, looking to his knights for any ideas. When no one offered anything, he continued. “We must find out who this assassin is.”

“I do not think his or her identity is important,” Maedoc said. “It is best to leave the matter alone, I think. We have more pressing concerns.”

“Let the assassin do his job,” Galen offered. “Who cares who he or she is? They are doing us a great service by eliminating our enemies.”

“I suppose so,” Eamon said. “Still, I can’t help thinking that this assassin has more to do with this battle than the murder of Jindala nobles. Perhaps Traegus could shed some light.”

“Traegus is busy at the moment with other matters,” Maedoc said. “Strange things have been occurring in the north. The Rangers have reported a strange presence, and Farouk was asked to investigate.”

“What was this strange presence?” Eamon asked.

“Unknown,” Maedoc replied. “But I believe it may be connected with the banshee somehow. It’s the only explanation I can think of, as I feel nothing but a minor disturbance. The Druids are more attuned to this sort of thing. I am merely a diviner and seer.”

“Could Traegus find out more?” Eamon asked.

“Possibly, but as I said, he is busy with other things.”

“What sort of things?” Wrothgaar asked.

Maedoc grunted. “Strange things…”

“Pull!” Traegus shouted to the Druaga engineers. “You’re almost there.”

The tiny servants pulled on the ropes that suspended a large, flat, iron cage in a vat of glowing, pink water. As they pulled, the cage rose out and the Lich’s excitement grew. When the cage had cleared the top of the vat, Traegus pulled a lever that controlled the arm that suspended the rope. The arm swung away from the vat, taking the cage with it.

Within the cage was a young man’s body, naked and dripping. Traegus rushed over to it, examining the skin, the head, and the torso.

“All repaired and perfect,” he remarked, directing the cage over to a large wooden table.

“Lower it down, lads,” Traegus
said, carefully guiding the cage to rest squarely in the center. “That’s it. Perfect.”

Traegus unfastened the latches on the sides of the cage. Then, he motioned for the Druaga to raise it. As they pulled, the cage rose and separated, leaving only the body on the table.

“Well done, friends,” he said. “Put the cage back and ready the static coils.”

The Druaga took care of the cage as Traegus inspected the body further. There were no signs of the injuries that had been there previously. Over the last year in the amniotic fluid, the corpse had healed and been restored to its youthful, vigorous state. There was no gash in the face, no nasty wound in the ribcage, and no sign that the body had been beheaded.

Eamon’s handiwork had been erased.

“Eogan,” Traegus spoke. “Your body will be my new vessel. With your youth, and my power, we will become the greatest wizard to ever walk the Earth.”

Traegus stood back, watching as the Druaga servants rolled the table underneath an elaborate contraption. It was an odd thing, composed of iron frames that held a heavy iron hoop that was placed above Eogan’s head. The hoop held twelve dagger-like crystals around its edge; the points of each facing a common center that was focused upon the young man’s forehead. Above the hoop, mirrors were placed in various places to catch radiation from an object that would be placed at the very peak of the strange contraption.

Traegus approached the machine, pulling from his robe a heart-sized red crystal encased in a beautiful hourglass frame; it was the phylactery that held his very soul.

“I thank you, my friends,” he said to the Druaga. “I thank you for building this machine. You have followed my instructions well.”

We thank you, Traegus,
the Druaga scientist reiterated.
Without your wisdom, these contraptions would not have been possible.

Traegus laughed at the irony. Without the Druaga, he could never have seen his inventions come to life. He owed them everything, yet they were thankful for his ideas.

“Long have I been hidden in the depths of my tower, afraid to show myself for fear of hatred and prejudice. But now, with the help of this miracle of engineering, I can finally break free of this rotting body and live once again. I can be the wizard I once was thousands of years ago.”

And quite an excellent specimen you have selected.

“Yes, indeed,” Traegus replied. “I only hope that it will not be offensive to those who know who Eogan was.”

I am sure King Eamon will understand that it is you and not Eogan who inhabits this body. It is only a vessel, after all.

“Ah, yes. Such wisdom you speak. An empty shell it is.”

The Lich handed his phylactery to the Druaga, who passed it along to his peers. The last one to receive it climbed the short ladder to the top of the contraption and placed the crystal in its cradle.

“I only wish Jodocus were here to see this,” Traegus said sadly. “I would like to look upon him with my own eyes once again.”

Jodocus is all around us, master. He is always here. He will always be here.

“I believe that,” Traegus replied. “I truly do. But nevertheless, I am ready.”

Traegus handed his staff to the Druaga, who took it humbly. The Lich lowered his hood, unbuckling the bronze mask that he had worn for centuries. The Druaga looked on, unflinching, as Traegus’ face was revealed.

What was once the noble countenance of a native of Eirenoch was now a shriveled, featureless husk of mummified skin and crumbling bone. Traegus’ eye sockets were empty; his eyeballs having rotted away centuries before. What was left of his hair was a wispy sprinkling of cobweb strands, blowing softly in the gently moving air of his tower.

The Druaga bowed in respect, keeping their eyes to the floor as their master disrobed.

“Soon,” he said. “Soon these bones will be laid to rest, and I will be reborn. With my new strength, I will be a better weapon against the darkness.”

Traegus robes fell to the floor along with his mask and hood. The Druaga gathered them up, folding them neatly and placing them on the table next to Eogan’s body.

“Look upon me,” Traegus commanded. “See me for the last time.”

The Druaga reluctantly looked up, seeing the Lich in his full, true form. Like the undead of legend he was; mummified and disintegrating with time.

Your bones will be honored, master.

“I am ready,” Traegus replied.

With the pull of a switch, the contraption came to life. Traegus’ phylactery blazed into light; its blinding rays filling the chamber with the shine of a thousand red suns. The mirrors caught much of the energy, reflecting it into the crystals that pointed toward Eogan’s head.