Eclipsing the Darkness (The Dragon Chronicles Book 5) (19 page)

He pounced on a group of wights that slipped past him, smashing them all to the ground and tearing them apart with his claws. Behind him, he heard a loud roar, and the telltale sounds of dragon fire. He finished off his victims with a blast of flame, and turned to see Erenoth strafing the chaotic ranks of the enemy. Jodocus was mounted on his back, throwing small balls of fire at the flying creatures that still swooped in the sky.

Khalid galloped in his direction, trampling the clawing undead as he tore through them. The dragon landed near him, firing flame in a sweeping arc. Wights screeched and howled as they were set aflame, and Khalid finished them off with his claws as they passed, flaming, around him.

“Khalid!” Jodocus shouted. “You’re a dragon!”

The priest laughed—as well as a dragon could—and joined Erenoth in his rampage. They were completely surrounded, in the air as well as on the ground, and there seemed to be no end to the enemy’s numbers. But still, they plowed through the gangly, twisted mass of undead, tearing, slashing, and biting them into a bloody, chunky pulp. Above the battle, the other priests of Dol Drakkar swooped around, incinerating the aerial creatures or strafing the ground with their flames. But still the creatures came, spreading out over a wider area, and closing in on the temple.

Khalid hoped the rangers and the Alvar were enough to protect it.

“Adder!” Aeli called to the ranger as his company poured into the temple grounds.

The ranger captain turned her way, rerouting in her direction.

“Have you seen Jodocus?” she asked, frantically. Adder nodded, grinning.

“He’s fine,” he said. “Erenoth saved him.”

Aeli breathed a sigh of relief. “Where is he?”

“He’s still on Erenoth’s back,” he replied. “In the midst of the battle. Don’t worry. Erenoth will take care of him.”

Aeli nodded, letting Adder pass and direct his company to take positions within the shadows. Farouk emerged from between two buildings, followed by Jhayla and her company. The druid shouted for them to disperse, and cast a spell over them. He then made his way over to Aeli.

“Are you and Allora alright?” he asked.

“We are fine,” Aeli said. “Allora is around here somewhere.”

Farouk nodded. “Good. Khalid has taken dragon form. He and Erenoth are holding the wights at bay. I suspect the Enkhatar will come soon.”

“What are they waiting for?” Aeli asked.

Farouk paused, putting his hand on Aeli’s shoulder. “They are waiting until our fear is at its highest,” he said. “Once they sense the villagers’ fears, they will come. They feed upon it.”

“Then we shall have to alleviate those fears,” Aeli responded. “I will find Allora, and we will look after the wounded. Please look after Jodocus.”

Farouk smiled. “He is in good hands,” he replied. “But I will.”

Aeli turned, her own fears growing as she searched the temple grounds for Allora. She could help but picture the old Jodocus in her mind; how he looked at her before he did battle with the Devourer. He had known her terror, and had sacrificed his own life to protect her. Her fear had killed him, she thought. Her fear had been his downfall.

She must not fear.

If you fear, you will fail.

“Not afraid,” she said. “Not afraid, not afraid.”

Somehow, even her own words rang untrue in her ears.

Chapter Eighteen

Orange streaks of sunlight appeared on the eastern horizon as the gathered army marched on. Throughout the early morning hours of travel from the fortress, the men had grown in number as small tribes of nomadic warriors wordlessly blended in with the existing soldiers. The allies had stepped aside to let them in without question; knowing that despite their past differences, and the fact that they may have been enemies at one time, they now had one common purpose.

Survival.

If they were to die, then they would do so as brothers.

Eamon felt the growing sense of camaraderie in his heart as he marched alongside Traegus and Shemya. The feeling was almost overwhelming; it was definitely tangible. Their numbers were strong—nearly twenty thousand—and the presence of the many kings of the Earth had strengthened their resolve. They were a force of many different cultures all united under a single banner, and all resolved to give their lives in defense of everything they loved.

This would be humanity’s final stand against the darkness.

Treagus had been silent for quite a while. Eamon could sense the wizard’s mind working, as it always did, and he had said nothing to disturb the wizard’s thoughts. However, his curiosity was growing, and the fact that Traegus’ face was expressionless was a bad omen.

“What is it, Traegus?” he asked. Shemya turned his head downward to listen.

Traegus remained silent for a moment, then looked up to the horizon. “Too much death in the future, my friend,” he said. “Us and them. Both enemy and friend. All for nothing.”

Shemya grunted. “Not for nothing, Traegus,” he said. “Our efforts will not go unnoticed.”

Traegus pursed his lips. “I fear only for the innocent; those whose suffering will be great. It is not the innocent who deserve to fight this battle. And yet, I sense them coming.”

“I feel it, too,” Faeraon said from behind.

Eamon turned his eyes eastward to where Traegus was staring. He saw nothing, yet knew that Traegus was speaking literally. Something was coming, and the wizard could sense it; but it was not what was expected.

“Who approaches?” Eamon asked.

Shemya, towering above even the tallest man, locked his gaze on the horizon. Though Eamon could not see his face, he knew the djinn had sensed something as well.

“There is death ahead,” Shemya said. “But not for us.”

Traegus raised his staff to point off into the distance. “Cast your mind out like a stone, Eamon,” he said. “Don’t try to see them. Feel them. Feel their fear and their pain.”

Eamon did as he was told. He relaxed his eyes, extending his awareness and projecting it ahead of him. As it traveled across the sand, he focused harder. Around him, a growing fog of doom began to appear. He could feel it distinctly, as if it was his own fear. Even though his eyes could see the marching line of Jindala materializing from the haze, there was nothing but that fear and doom. It was a similar sense of dread that he felt when he and his knights charged through the walkways of Bray; it was the fear of the innocent.

The approaching army was not Jindala.

They were women and children.

Eamon gasped as he realized the horror that marched toward them. Even through their fears, he could feel their hatred; their scrambled minds bent by the Lifegiver’s will. They were marching to their deaths, and they were doing so willingly; blinded by promises of paradise.

“Such evil,” Eamon whispered. “There is no hope for them. Ever.”

Eamon heard Cannuck step up beside him. The King of the North glared into the east, obviously sensing the same things. He held out his hand to slow the small group, and then raised his hammer into the air to signal the army to halt. The massive group slowed to a stop, and all fell silent.

“He feels them, too,” Traegus said. “His gifts are strong, as well.”

Cannuck stepped forward a few paces, still glaring at the approaching line. He turned back, patting his hammer on his free hand; his face a mask of disgust and determination.

“The Lifegiver’s evil knows no bounds,” he said. “But he will not have his wish.”

“What will we do?” Eamon said. “They are children. We cannot kill them, no matter what their intent.”

“They will fall today,” Cannuck said. “But not by our swords.”

The High Jarl turned back to face the advancing army; his hands gripped tightly around his weapon. Then, he raised the great hammer into the air, chanting in the language of his homeland. Above, the sky began to roil with dark clouds that were swirling and black in contrast to the dim light of dawn. Winds began to blow, kicking up sand that raged around him as a glow began to emanate from his body.

“
Kronos!
” he shouted. Then, with a mighty roar, he slammed his hammer to the ground.

Lightning arced between the ground and the sky, splitting the clouds with a deafening clap. Eamon and the other kings stepped back, startled by the ferocity. From the sky, hundreds and hundreds of tiny lights descended, massing in front of Cannuck as he called to the gods of the north.

Eamon’s heart quickened as he beheld the noble Valkyries that now stood in formation before their lord. Their beauty was unmatched; their nobility overwhelming. They stood tall, armored in gleaming steel, bearing weapons of divine metals. They had golden hair that flowed like silk, and their eyes shone bright blue like sapphires. Around them, the magic of the air crackled and swirled.

“Maidens!” Cannuck shouted. “We face an army of women and children. We will not draw our swords against them. Carry them from this world and to the gates of Valhalla. Tell the keepers that Odin demands their entry!”

The Valkyries bowed, and the magical mist brightened and swirled. The entire legion rose into the air, their wings blowing up sand and dust.

“Fly now!” Cannuck commanded.

The legion lined up in the sky, streaking toward the advancing column of women and children. They appeared as a perfectly-ordered cluster of shooting stars, trailing bright streams of magical energy as they soared toward their targets. Eamon could see the line of reluctant soldiers cringe, kneeling down to plant the butts of their spears into the sand.

The Valkyries spread out as they descended, their magic becoming blinding. As they infiltrated the line, bright flashes of light erupted, and empty armor fell to the ground. The entire force disappeared in the light as it burned through their ranks. All that was left behind were spears, weapons, and random pieces of armor. The divine warriors made one more sweep, emerging victorious.

Then, the entire company rose into the air, gathering in a swirling column of bright light. The clouds opened once more, and the Valkyries streamed into the opening, carrying with them the souls of the innocent. Behind the pile of useless armor and weapons, the Jindala army remained.

Cannuck turned to his friends, raising his hammer into the air once more. “For the Great Mother!”

The battle cries were deafening. The allied army howled at the top of their lungs as they broke into a fierce charge. Shemya began to glow with a magical fire that swirled about him. He suddenly shot forward, appearing as a streak of flame that sped toward the Jindala line. His fellow janni did the same, and the battlefield was alight with the magic of Imbra.

The final stand had come.

The Sun King stood with his young son atop a crest overlooking the battlefield. They had tracked the Jindala for several days, and now watched as their enemy faced the united armies of the world. Though late in joining, the Sun King’s forces were now prepared to do their part. His men numbered nearly ten thousand; consisting of hundreds of samurai from each province, thousands of warrior monks, and the reserve foot soldiers that made up the bulk of his army. With him, as well, were the tribes of ogre-mages that served as the priests of Yin-Kai.

The large creatures had sacked what remained of Khem’s temple complex. The city had been abandoned, and the nomadic tribes of the desert had already begun destroying everything in sight. The ogres were happy to join in the destruction, hurling massive blocks at the remaining structures and knocking over and destroying every statue erected in the Lifegiver’s false likeness.

Tsosobu, the Sun King, had enjoyed the sight, and the fear the Lifegiver must have felt as his city was laid to waste. The journey to the west, close on the heels of the Jindala, was one of pride and great anticipation. They were united with the remainder of the world’s armies; destined to become a force of legend. His own participation, and that of his son’s, would seal his noble descent, and allow his house to remain on the throne for eternity.

He laid his hand on his son’s shoulder, proud to see him stand fearless at such a young age. Though only fourteen, Tatsumi showed promise as a master tactician, and was incredibly skilled and fearless in open battle. He would make an excellent king when the time came.

“We stand here,” Tsosobu said to him, “united as a nation; not a collection of Daimyo and their samurai. We are together for one purpose; to join the rest of the world in expelling this foul creature from our realms.”

“Yin Kai is with us, Father,” Tatsumi said. “I can feel him, and his blessings.”

The Sun King nodded. “Yes. And one day, you may have to lead our kingdom in open battle without that blessing; only the memory of Yin-Kai. But you must never forget the sacrifice he has made to empower us to stand before our enemy. You will rule someday, and this kingdom will be yours to protect. For now, I give you the authority to name our strategy.”

Tatsumi gazed at the advancing force. The Jindala numbered several hundred thousand; perhaps even half a million. They were faceless, featureless, and leaderless, it seemed. They were a horde of nothing but fodder; blinded by promises of paradise, just as the women and children were before them. Tatsumi had seen how they used the meek as shields; the tactic of the desperate and weak. He had seen how the djinn had crossed the battlefield like fiery comets and decimated the front lines. And now, he saw the enemy’s strategy.

They had none.

“They are strong only in number,” Tatsumi said. “They are unorganized fodder. The Lifegiver assumed they would win by overpowering us. That will not happen.”

“Then what shall we do, my son?”

Tatsumi drew his sword. “We will show them that we do not fear. Just as those who face them head on, we will cut them down like dogs.”

The Sun King drew his blade.

Tatsumi signaled the samurai to draw their bows. “We will decimate their flank,” he said. “Then cut their force in half.”

The Sun King nodded, knowing that dividing the Jindala was the best strategy. “Good, good. Give the order.”