Eclipsing the Darkness (The Dragon Chronicles Book 5) (31 page)

As Brynn turned to reach his next target, a wave of Jindala swordsmen charged toward him. He blocked the first attack with his gauntlet, backhanding the Jindala so hard that the man’s neck snapped. He parried the next man’s attack, countering with an uppercut punch to his gut. When he withdrew his fist, it was covered in blood, and spikes jutted from the knuckles of his gauntlet; bits of flesh still clinging to their points.

Brynn chuckled maniacally as he realized his armor was becoming fully charged with his own rage. The rushing Jindala attacked reluctantly, staying at a distance and poking at him with their spears. But it was no use. Brynn rushed them with blinding speed, striking at them before they even knew he was there. He slashed and hacked them one by one, going from one to the next with a single string of fluid attacks, making a kill with each blow.

Another wall of Jindala spearmen appeared, rushing at him in unison in an attempt to form a phalanx of spears. They cried out in rage when they neared, but were violently knocked away with a devastating attack from behind. When the chunks of flesh passed by him, Brynn saw Wrothgaar standing there staring at his axe and armor in awe. He too had changed, and the power of the Dragon had fuelled his battle rage as well.

“Good hit, brother!” Brynn shouted.

“I’ve never felt so alive,” Wrothgaar chuckled. “And I’ve never made my enemies so… dead.”

Brynn burst out in laughter, clapping the Northman on the back as the two of them charged toward the next defiler.

Angen and Brianna fought side by side with the janni. Shemya had fallen to the ground in the center of their circles, sputtering and choking as the strange magic of the Jindala spear coursed through him. His flames had been extinguished, and to the knights who protected him, it seemed he was at his end.

Brianna ducked away from the battle to crouch by his side, examining the janni’s wound. Though she knew nothing of their kind, it was quite obvious that the weapon used was unnatural, and had been fashioned for the specific purpose of killing djinn. The rough edges of the wound were festering with dark threads of smoky flesh that lifted and evaporated into the air. It was as if the janni Lord was disintegrating slowly and painfully.

“Shemya,” she said. “If I knew how to help you, I would. But I know nothing of these things.”

Shemya looked up at her, his dark eyes seeming almost human. His lips, dried and curling parted as he attempted to speak, but all he could manage was a harsh whisper. “Fire,” he said. “Only divine flame can help me now, child.”

“The other janni?” she said. “Can they help you?”

Shemya lowered his head again, sadly. “No. Only the fire of the Firstborn can save me.”

The fire of the Firstborn…

She stared blankly as the phrase repeated in her head. She saw the Firstborn, their weapons, and the weapons of the knights; in particular, the bow that Azim carried.

Azim wielded the fire of the Dragon.

“I shall return,” she said, laying a comforting hand on Shemya’s shoulder.

“Angen!” she called, moving back up to the circle. “I need Azim! I need him here now!”

Angen grabbed a spear, pulling its wielder toward him and skewering him with his massive blade. He tossed the man aside casually, turning to her in question. “Why?”

“We need his bow,” she explained. “His arrows can heal Shemya.”

Angen nodded, pulling his horn from his belt and waving his blade out before him as he backed away. He spat a massive lung full of air into its mouthpiece, coughing at the end of the breath. Then, for safe measure, he blew it again.

Angen’s horn echoed over the battlefield, where Daryth and Azim heard its call. They lowered their bows, looking at one another before leaping off of the rock.

“Angen is in trouble,” Daryth said, drawing his katana and charging toward the sound.

Azim followed, carefully pushing through the melee. The horn was nearby, around the area where the janni were gathered. The two men followed the brilliant aura of flame that the divine creatures emitted, ignoring the defilers that were still among the combatants. They fought their way through, parrying and countering in an effort to reach their brother.

They found Angen and Brianna among the janni, fending off a tightly-packed circle of spearmen. Azim went into action, spinning his blades in alternating strikes at the backs of the enemy. Daryth fired his bow repeatedly, creating a gap in the circle and shouldering his way through. The janni drove the circle back, creating a wider area of protection for the knights to gather.

“Azim!” Brianna cried. “Shemya is injured. Use your bow on him.”

Azim looked at Shemya, seeing the janni weakened and dying. His form, having already been altered by the Lifegiver’s magic, was crumbling and mummified in appearance. He drew back his bow, summoning the Dragon’s power, and released an arrow into Shemya’s chest. As the arrow struck, it burst into flame, enveloping the janni. The flame burned for a few seconds before dying down to a mere smolder. He fired again, strengthening the fire with another burst. Shemya began to rise, strengthened by the divine fire. Again Azim fired, and finally the janni stood tall, his flames growing in intensity until he began to spin and rise into the air.

“It worked!” Brianna said, relieved.

“Thank you, Azim,” Shemya called.

Azim bowed, shouldering his bow and returning to the melee.

In the distance, the knights could see more defilers rising from the Jindala ranks. Their towering forms waded through the soldiers, seeking the allied army. There were dozens of them, dark and fearsome. Men of all the kingdoms fled before their ghastly forms. It seemed their presence had turned the tide of the battle.

Until a brilliant flash of light burst from the west.

The entire bulk of the armies shielded their eyes as a wave of blinding light passed through them. A hot wind followed, driving everyone to their knees. The defilers in the enemy’s midst cowered, wrapping themselves in their dark cloaks as the sun-like magic blasted them painfully.

The allied army turned to seek the source of the burst. To the west, two figures appeared as silhouettes against the desert; each holding a staff and a blade. A vortex of magical energy appeared above them, opening into a portal that flared with the power of the sun. Eight black dots emerged in the sky; tiny forms that gradually grew into the familiar shape of dragons.

Once again, the two figures fired waves of powerful magic that passed harmlessly through the human soldiers. The defilers caught in its wake were blasted apart; their cloaks disintegrating in the divine wind, and their twisted and vile bodies cowering in agony. As their forms were destroyed, black wisps of energy swirled around them, growing into clouds of spirit that streaked toward the two men. One raised his staff, absorbing the defilers’ life force, and that of their victims. Above them, the eight dragons, six of them with riders, streaked over the battlefield, diving down to join the battle.

The Cloud Warriors had arrived, and Farouk and an unknown companion had come with them.

Chapter Twenty Eight

Sandstone blocks shattered under the creature’s feet as it charged Hamal. Its gleaming metal claws cut through the air with a sharp swoosh, and Hamal leaped back to dodge them, countering with a double slash of his blade. His attack missed as well, and the creature charged again with more ferocity; its jackal’s maw baring the glistening fangs within.

Hamal rolled to the side to avoid the deadly claws, rising to his feet and sprinting to the nearest column. The creature followed, crushing more sandstone as it stomped after him. Hamal used the column for cover, running around it to circle the beast. Before he could attack, another swipe of the sharp claws obliterated the column, sending its sections tumbling to the ground. Hamal dodged just in time to avoid being crushed, sprinting toward the row of crumbled buildings that lined the street.

He vaulted the sill of a tall limestone-edged window, with the creature close behind. As he navigated the rubble to make his way deeper into the building, the wall behind him shattered with a deafening crash of stone. He grabbed onto a column, spinning around it to locate his pursuer. The creature stepped through the gaping hole it had made, oblivious to the avalanche of broken stone that fell all around it.

“That’s right,” he whispered. “Follow me.”

He continued deeper into the building. The light diminished in each successive room, with only the occasional crumbled wall letting any more light through. There were bodies everywhere; peasants, soldiers, wights in the making—all torn to pieces in a seeming fit of monstrous rage.

“What could have done this?” he asked out loud, knowing in his heart it was likely the stalkers he and his friends had encountered earlier.

He sprinted to the far end of the room into a large, arched doorway. The room beyond was crumbled as were the others. Three stone beams spanned the ceiling, barely supported by the three columns that stood in the center. The beams were cracked and weak, and would surely collapse if the columns were shattered; bringing the entire ceiling down in one avalanche of stone.

Confident in his plan, Hamal moved behind the farthest column, his blade gripped tightly.

He saw the beast’s jackal head first; the glowing red eyes piercing the gloom, and its maw dripping thick slime that splattered on the sandstone bricks. The creature entered, stalking the shadows like the jackal it resembled. Hamal’s heart quickened as he beheld the beast. It was the most fearsome thing he had ever seen. It was part humanoid, part jackal; much like the gods of darkness that ruled over the people of Khem in ages past. Whether it was a living incarnation of these same beings, or some simulacrum created by the Lifegiver, he could not guess.

To Hamal, the only thing that mattered now was killing it.

Planning his escape route through the door behind him, Hamal tapped his blade on the column. The beast growled, turning in Hamal’s direction. It scraped its metallic claws together as it came, roaring with rage as it spotted him. With one massive swing, Hamal struck the column, putting all of his power behind it. The blade flashed into life, cleaving and shattering the stone. The creature stopped, crouching as it realized it was in danger.

As Hamal turned to flee, the stone beam collapsed, bringing the ceiling down with it. The creature howled with rage as it was showered with stone blocks, and the sound of its pain echoed through the ruins. Hamal kept running, refusing to stop until he was back onto the street. There, he turned and waited, staring at the ruined building through the thick clouds of dust.

He heard the rumbling sound of stone blocks shifting and toppling, and the low growl of the beast straining to recover. The trap had not killed it, he knew, but had only slowed it down. Eventually, its heavy footfalls returned, and Hamal could see its shadowy form coming closer as it resumed its pursuit.

Hamal silently prayed to Imbra, hoping that even in death, his father would hear him and give him guidance.

It was his only hope.

The temple that stood at the eastern edge of the city was even more crumbled than Eamon and his friends had thought. The main platform was split into several pieces, its massive stone blocks having been cracked and separated by some unknown force. The gaps between them were wide, and the trio found themselves having to leap across them to continue on. The columns further back had toppled and shattered along with the temple’s roof, creating another maze of rubble. But from this vantage point, they could see the Lifegiver’s domain further on.

The sandstone gave way to walls and structures made of some grayish-black stone, with black metallic material making up its parapets and battlements. The architecture was vastly different from the rest of the city, and seemed odd and disturbing in appearance. The archway that separated the two areas was pointed at the top, and its keystone was carved into the likeness of a strange alien head that glared at them through black, featureless eyes. On either side stood tall, octagonal towers that rose high into the obscured sky, reaching up like clawed hands to lacerate the clouds. The two temples of the Dragon came to mind as Eamon studied them. They were similar, yet somehow perverse and alien.

The arch led onto a wide walkway stretching through the dark fog that obscured the distant complex. The floor of it was constructed of tightly laid, smooth blocks that were a light gray, with subtle veins of black. The side walls, about chest high, were black and smooth, carved in strange, angular shapes, with battlements that appeared to serve no purpose other than support. Along the top of the wall, the crenellations rose another foot, and were triangular in shape, with tall, sharp spikes that curved inward; giving the walkway an almost tunnel-like feel.

Nothing could be seen ahead, as the fog became thicker and visibly moving—albeit slowly, almost menacingly. Nothing else was there, except for the faint glow of an object in the sky several hundred yards ahead. But, despite its light, it only served to give the fog an eerie purplish glow that was unsettling, to say the least.

“There is an odd energy here,” Traegus said as they stepped through the arch. “It is a creative force and a negative one at the same time. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“That is the nature of this entity,” Faeraon said. “I’ve always felt that it was a universal force likened to the creator itself, only darker; perhaps its opposite.”

Eamon remained silent, cautiously leading them forward into the haze, his own mind racing and reacting to the dark energy. He began to shiver, despite the heat. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck tingle, as if something were hovering behind him; living and breathing as it breathed its foul breath on his skin.

“I feel like we’re walking into a shroud of nothingness,” he said, “like we are entering another dimension or small void in reality.”

“This is still reality, my friend,” Traegus reminded him. “We are simply walking into our possible end. I feel it, too.”