Onyx Dragon (Book 1) (11 page)

“Yes, Captain,” Daryth said.

“We return home, men,” Kuros commanded. “Quickly now!”

A column of smoke rose from what used to be the city of Taryn. Fergis saw it from the eastern side of the forest. Now he was torn between returning to Morduin or investigating the burned out city. There was no indication whether the Southward group of Jindala had strayed from their path and attacked Taryn, or if this was a separate group altogether.

Either way, whatever had sacked Taryn would have to be large enough to defeat Kaelos’ cavalry, and his city troops together. With an army of over five hundred, Taryn was one of the most secure cities in the kingdom.

“Captain,” a soldier addressed him, “there are two sets of tracks here. Even our untrained eyes can tell them apart. One group came from the North and headed toward Taryn, and one group from the East. It looks like they crossed this area at different times, as the Eastward tracks look a few days older.”

“What do you think, Brynn?” Fergis asked the younger man.

Brynn thought for a moment. “If the Jindala sent an army large enough to destroy Taryn, then whatever is heading toward Morduin must be twice as large. I would prefer to fight them one at a time. I say we ride for Taryn. The rangers and the city guard can hold off the other army until we arrive. If we can eliminate this threat, the battle at Morduin will be less difficult.”

“Agreed,” Fergis said. “Mount up! We head for Taryn!”

The Mordumarc departed, riding West through the forest, uncertain as to what they would encounter at Taryn. Whatever had destroyed the fortified city was a powerful foe, and it must not be allowed to reach Morduin.

Eamon found himself in a round, extravagantly decorated room. There were twelve tapestries spaced evenly on the walls, each one depicting the Twelve Houses of the Sun. The roof was dome-shaped, with a large chandelier of familiar blue globes lighting it and casting a soothing blue glow throughout. There were windows, but their glass revealed only shadows beyond.

In the center of the room, standing silent, was a large man. Like Erenoth, and Eamon himself, the man was dressed in black. His armor bore the horns and scales of a dragon, with the helmet forged into the shape of a dragon’s head. Upon the forehead of the helmet, long spikes protruded upward, similar to the spires that once adorned the temple’s tower. On his breastplate, the symbol of the Order was depicted in silver. The pauldrons, gauntlets and grieves were also adorned with patterns of silver and each had fearsome looking spikes to accent their appearance. The whole suit of armor gave its wearer the appearance of a dragon, much like the depictions of the former Kings in the temple’s antechamber.

The man himself was heavily muscled and brutish in appearance. His hair was long and black, his eyes were cold blue, and his face bore the scars of thousands of conflicts. Despite these features, he still retained an air of nobility.

The man looked up at the Prince and slowly approached him. Eamon felt a sense of sadness rush over him, empathizing with the loneliness the man must feel trapped in this limbo. As he lowered his head, he could feel the man embrace him gently. Eamon nestled his head into the man’s arms.

“My son,” the Dragon spoke, “I have waited long for this day.”

  Eamon allowed himself to weep, feeling the powerful bond between father and son that had been missing his entire life.

“I have been lost,” Eamon said. “I have lived my life not knowing who my real father was. Garret was the only father I have ever known.”

“Garret is a good man,” the Dragon said, looking into his son’s eyes. “I am grateful to him for making you the man you are. I see his strength in you. Strength that could only come from a man who raised you as his own. I have watched you all these years, my son, hiding amongst the townspeople when I was strong enough to walk the Earth in this form. I am very proud of you. You have grown into a fine warrior, and will be a great King.”

“I fear that I won’t have the strength to lead them in this battle,” Eamon protested.

The Dragon let go of Eamon, stepping back to examine him.

“You are the son of the Dragon,” he said. “You are stronger than all of your brothers before you. More of my blood flows within you, along with all of my strength, and all of my compassion. You have the power to lead the Knights of the Dragon, and to destroy this invader before he destroys our world.“

“I do not know how to choose these Knights, father,” Eamon said.

“You have already chosen one,” the Dragon reminded him. “Wrothgaar is a mighty warrior and will be a great Knight. He will fight at your side until the day he dies.”

“Whom will I choose for the others?” Eamon asked.

“That is up to you. You will know when you meet them. Choose wisely, for with each choice there comes great responsibility. Choose incorrectly, and that Knight may fail you.”

“The Priest, Erenoth,” Eamon said. “How will he fit in?”

“Erenoth will travel with you,” The Dragon answered. “He will advise you as best he can. He is also a formidable warrior, and has other abilities that will be of great aid in battle.”

“What abilities?” Eamon asked.

“You will see,” the Dragon said, smiling. “He is my eldest child, my trusted advisor, and his power is great. But without your leadership, he can be nothing but a Priest. And he cannot be one of your Knights. He must remain free to perform other tasks that your Knights cannot.”

“I will lead him as I can,” Eamon said. “But will he honor my rule ?”

“Yes. He will obey you as he obeys me, but will advise you when it is needed. Use him well. His power will be of great use to you.”

The Dragon paused, unsheathing the beautifully decorated sword at his side. “This,” he said, “is the Serpent’s Tongue. With it, you will wield the power of the Dragon. But I must give you the right to bear it, myself. Kneel before me.”

Eamon kneeled before the Dragon, apprehensive but willing to receive his blessing. The Dragon raised the sword above him, bringing it down lightly on Eamon’s shoulder.

“By my will,” the Dragon spoke, “I bestow upon you my power, my sword, and my armor.” He then placed the sword on Eamon’s other shoulder. “From this day forth, you shall be known as the Onyx Dragon. May those who serve me, serve you as faithfully.”

Eamon felt a sharp pain as the blade cut into his shoulder. He flinched, but stayed in place, realizing the Dragon was transferring his power. The pain of the cut grew more intense, and he felt the flood of energy throughout his body. It was healing energy that permeated every particle of his body, shielding every tissue, and strengthening every bone.

His armor began to change as well, and new pieces began to form themselves onto his body. They were segmented and plated, like the Dragon’s own armor, having spikes and overlapping scales. The armor was lightweight, strong, and gave him a similar appearance to Eirenoch’s former Kings. He was now fully protected in the Dragon’s armor, and no mortal weapon could harm him.

When the ritual was complete, the pain faded, and Eamon felt the Dragon’s will flowing through him. He felt stronger, faster, and more focused. It was as if his Father had given him the life force he had been missing. And indeed he had. Without the Dragon’s blessing, Eamon was just a man. But now, as the Dragon gave him his power, he was something more. Something better.

The Dragon withdrew the sword.

“It is done,” he said, grasping the sword by the blade and extending its pommel to Eamon. “Rise, my son, and take the weapon of all the great Kings before you.”

Eamon took the sword from the Dragon’s hand, watching as its perfectly balanced blade reshaped itself into a curve. It now resembled Eamon’s own sword, but retained its intricate, dragon shaped handle. He could feel the blade’s power within him, as if it were an extension of his own soul. With the sword in his hand, he could feel the very life of the Earth empowering him, blending with his own newly acquired senses. He felt invincible.

“The blade is unbreakable,” the Dragon added. “It was forged in the fires of the center of the Earth itself. It will resist magic used against you, and can wound any creature that it strikes. It will serve you well.”

“Thank you, father,” Eamon said, staring at his own reflection in the blade. He looked different somehow, but he couldn’t tell why. He unstrapped his own blade, letting it fall to the floor, and strapped the Serpent’s Tongue to his belt.

“I see that you do not understand everything as of yet,” the Dragon said. ”But you will, in time. Do not doubt this. All will be revealed to you when the time is right.”

Eamon sighed. “Very well. But tell me, what is this presence that threatens the world? Maedoc says you are unsure.”

“I do not reveal everything to human seers. I know what this menace is, and I fear that my power is not strong enough to defeat him again. It is pure darkness and death personified, a stark unbalance that threatens to bring chaos to all reality. I did battle with it eons ago, and cast it back into its own reality, closing the portal. But somehow it was able to open the portal again and come fully into this world, bringing with it others of its kind.”

Eamon nodded, familiar with the story. “Why do the Jindala follow it?”

“They believe it is the God Imbra, another of the Firstborn. But, it is not. Imbra is trapped in the Earth as well, and cannot return to his people unless he is freed. He can only communicate as I do, through dreams and prophecies. Were he here, and at my side, we could vanquish this foe easily.”

“Surely the Jindala would know that their God is not the one who leads them,” Eamon suggested.

“They do not know because they are blinded by its power. He has seduced them, making them believe that it is He, Imbra. But there are those among them who are losing faith, whose wills are strong enough to see through the disguise. Their loss of faith grows stronger as they travel farther from the Jindala’s homeland. Those resistant Jindala in our land have already begun to feel its influence fading. I have given them the strength to do so.”

“I must find them,” Eamon said. “They may be of aid. They would know how to defeat their own armies.”

“Now you are thinking like a King,” the Dragon said. “But be wary. The being’s servants walk this land as well. They are powerful monstrosities, known among the Jindala as Defilers. They are like the leader, feeding on the living energy around them. They grow stronger with every attack, and only killing them will return the Earth’s energy to its rightful place. But there is another among them in our lands that you must also consider. It is he who brought the Lifegiver into the world, and his power is great. Killing him will turn the tide in this battle.”

“I understand,” Eamon said.

“I have faith in you, my son,” The Dragon said, embracing Eamon one last time. “Now go. My power is fading, and I cannot maintain this form much longer. I will extend a small amount of my power to speed your way back to Morduin. Your horses will run tirelessly and with greater speed. You will arrive much sooner than you would have. There is no time to waste.”

“Thank you, Father,” Eamon said. “I will not fail you.”

“I know, my son. But you must be careful. The battles ahead will be unlike anything you have ever faced before.”

The Dragon watched as Eamon faded from his sight. He smiled, knowing that Eamon would be the greatest King Eirenoch had ever known. His son would destroy the darkness and restore the balance. He knew it in his fading heart.

The Dragon let himself fade back into his body, feeling the warmth and comfort of the form he had inhabited since the beginning. He could rest now, and regain his strength. Then, if it became necessary, he could extend some of his power to the other Firstborn.

Chapter Eleven

The Mordumarc reached Taryn by late afternoon. As the men cleared the edge of the forest, the conquered city came into view. Its houses were burning, its walls crumbled in some areas, and the Jindala had desecrated the flag of Eirenoch.

Fergis took out his spyglass, extending it to full length, and peered through it. He saw several Jindala soldiers rounding up civilians and gathering them in the town square. Hundreds of dead bodies lay about the streets, some slaughtered by weapons, others by more sinister means. There was still fighting going on in small pockets of town, indicating that the guards were still resisting.

Outside the city, the bodies of dead Jindala littered the plains, possibly the victims of a cavalry charge by Kaelos. That’s good, Fergis thought. Kaelos wasted no time making his point. He wondered if the man was still alive. He returned his attention to the town square.

“They’re rounding up the civilians,” Fergis growled. “They’ve already executed hundreds of them.”

“They will pay!” Brynn promised.

“Men!” Fergis shouted to his troops. “Our brothers and sisters are in danger. We must protect them and retake the city at all costs! Prepare your weapons.”

As the men dismounted and began unloading their packs to reduce weight, Fergis returned to his spyglass. He saw no men outside the city gates. A mounted charge would be useless. The best tactic would be to approach the city silently and try to rescue the surviving civilians before they were executed.