Eclipsing the Darkness (The Dragon Chronicles Book 5) (33 page)

Faeraon was right.

Eamon began to feel a tingling in his body, an uncomfortable feeling that slowly moved in the pit of his stomach, churning and cramping as if something was alive inside him. He spoke nothing of it, accepting that it was merely the Lifegiver’s presence or his own fear. But the feeling became stronger as he stepped forward into the passageway. It was like walking into the mouth of the Abyss itself and being embraced by a thousand, invisible demons.

Nevertheless, he crept forward, keeping his eyes alert. He gazed at the symbols on the wall as they passed through; noting their vile depictions. There were beast-headed men sitting upon thrones, executioners dealing out punishments to naked peasants, and mathematical runes that resembled the equations he had seen in his dream. Surely, they were related somehow.

Traegus stopped to examine a part of the wall, reaching out to touch the symbols that he recognized. One of them in particular caught his attention, and he turned to point it out. “This is the symbol for the power of creation,” he said. “It is a single, tiny particle given the gift of order. Its presence aligns energy strands into ordered patterns, giving them material form, so to speak.”

“What do you mean?” Eamon asked.

“All matter is energy,” he explained. “It is simply trained to appear as solid matter when it is needed; when it is observed. It is this particle that gives magic users their power. Most of us are unaware of this, but that is how it works. The more we know about this tiny thing, the more powerful our command over it becomes, and the more we are able to alter reality.”

“See what you wish,” Eamon quoted Farouk, “not what you expect.”

Traegus nodded. “Exactly. And this is how you will defeat the Lifegiver. The power is within you. You may not understand it, but you don’t have to. The spell to release this power has already been cast. You need but it loose.”

Eamon pursed his lips. “I am not sure how, but that makes sense to me. Shemya said the same thing, only not so clearly.”

Traegus smiled. “The djinn have a tendency to speak in riddles. They are much like druids in that respect.”

“It is what makes the divine lead people to believe they are superior,” Faeraon said. “They are no different from mortals; only appearing wise and using riddles to confuse and bewilder their servants.”

Traegus chuckled. “But we are well versed,” he said. “Thanks to our knowledge of these things, we can understand the true meaning of their riddles, and make use of the same powers they wield. That is what makes an entity truly divine; knowledge.”

“Then I am not among the divine,” Eamon said. “I do not understand any of it.”

“You understand more than you think,” Traegus reminded him. “As I said once before, you will understand once you release the spell. Now, let us continue.”

The hallway opened up into a massive rectangular chamber with a ceiling that was as high as they could see. Massive stone columns lined the golden pathway, all carved from a single piece of the same gray stone. They were cylindrical in shape, with the tops and bottoms squared off. Along their length were thousands of tiny runes carved into the surface, and inlaid with a strange, luminescent material that glowed with the same purplish color as the giant runes outside. Six large orbs hung from the ceiling on long shafts of black metal, looming like violet moons in a straight line between the two rows of columns. The golden walkway stretched all the way to another door on the other side, and on either side of the walkway’s blocks, single pieces of dull silver held them in place. The silver trim was also carved, bearing the same glowing runes.

The air here was warm, but dry and thick somehow, as if denser than the air outside. Eamon found it difficult to breathe, and the air seemed to burn as it entered his lungs. Traegus was having the same trouble, only less so, but Faeraon was unaffected. They continued down the walkway, staring in awe at the room around them. Behind the columns, along each side wall, were intricate patterns appearing as circles connected with lines, and overlapping in odd, mesmerizing patterns. They gave off a faint, silvery glow that was barely visible, and looked to be oscillating at an imperceptible speed.

“Strange,” Eamon said. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”

“They, too, are familiar to me,” Faeraon said. “Whenever our enemies conquered one of our cities, they would leave these runes on the central tree. It would slowly absorb the tree’s power and feed the darkness.”

“Vile spells,” Traegus said. “Very similar to the runes left on the banshee’s—“

He cut himself short, not wanting to remind Faeraon of his daughter’s plight. The Alvar king, however, took no offense, and simply looked toward the door that loomed ahead of them. It was bronze; rough and coppery, and one solid piece. In its center was a group of two concentric rings with a smooth, glassy half-orb in the middle. The rings were lined with runes depicting mathematical symbols that Eamon recognized from his dreams.

It was a puzzle.

“This is an odd thing,” Traegus said. “How would the servants be able to get past this?”

“I would imagine only the Prophet would be able to do so,” Eamon said, stepping closer to examine the runes. “I think I know how this is supposed to look. I saw it in my dreams.”

He placed his hands on the outer ring, looking it over to note the positions of the various runes. With quite a bit of effort, he turned the ring, and it clicked as each symbol moved one space. After three clicks, the ring locked into place. He then moved his hands to the inner ring, turning it four times until it, too, locked into place. The orb in the center began to glow. In its smoky depths, wisps of light and darkness swirled and separated until they became a black symbol upon a glowing purple field of clouds. It was the symbol of the all-seeing eye, exactly like the one that topped the doorway outside. With an audible hum, the orb slid back into the doorway, rolling to the side to reveal a plate of bronze with a hand-shaped depression. Eamon placed his hand upon it, pressing hard until it gave way.

The door clanked loudly, and opened inward on silent, unseen hinges.

“Well,” Traegus sighed. “If the Lifegiver didn’t know we were here before, he does now.”

To the west, the soldiers mingled together in large camps under the desert sky. The magic users and djinn among them had conjured food and water, and the former enemies feasted together in a quiet and morose fashion. They were all exhausted from battle, yet now that the Lifegiver’s spell had been broken, the Jindala were quiescent and thankful for their freedom. Though there were feelings of doubt from both sides, they ate together in peace.

Among the gatherings, the Northmen held a pyre for Ulrich. Cannuck led them in honoring the fallen Jarl, and voiced his support for Ceor in taking the helm of the tribe. Even Cerdic, who had, in the past, wanted the helm for himself, accepted the decision. Wrothgaar was glad to see that the younger man had conceded. A battle to the death between father and son would not bode well for the tribe. His main focus, however, was seeing his father’s spirit off to Valhalla, where he would bask in glory forever. But his own feelings over his father’s death overshadowed his pride, and he found himself silently grieving.

The new Sun King, Tatsumi, honored his own father’s death not far away. The samurai had gathered around to celebrate his reign, and to officially recognize their new king. The young man accepted his succession with a humble bow, and a prayer to Yin-Kai, whose spirit now resided within him.

Farouk and Torak stood to the east of the huge gatherings, staring off toward the city of Khem. The Great Pyramid could be seen against the sky at the horizon, and the glow that emanated from its apex signaled the Lifegiver’s wrath.

The druid was hopeful that Eamon would destroy him. He had the knowledge to do so, whether he knew it or not, and with the help of Traegus and Faeraon, Farouk was confident in the king’s ability to decipher the spells he had been given.

Still, the vague feeling of doom prevailed, and Farouk could not help but feel it. Despite their apparent victory so far, there was still a darkness in the air; something evil that had not been quelled with the Jindala’s release. It came from the east, but not from the pyramid itself. It was something closer, almost nearby.

The massive piles of bodies were the only things in that direction. Thousands upon thousands of dead soldiers from all sides lay there, smoldering with decay in the dwindling heat. Perhaps that was what Farouk felt; only death. Whatever the nature of the dead, their presence always conjured a feeling of doom and despair.

Perhaps they should have camped somewhere else.

“I feel it, too,” Torak said. “It is a familiar presence.”

Farouk nodded, realizing the truth of Torak’s words. It was not a faceless veil of death that he felt. It was something specific. “I cannot fathom what else the Lifegiver could throw at us,” he said. “All of his servants have been destroyed.”

Torak was silent. He closed his eyes, holding his hand out before him. Farouk watched him as he waved it slowly from side to side, as if feeling out the land before him; trying to sense something that may or not be there. The shaman then dropped his hand, shaking his head and glancing at Farouk.

“I don’t feel anything,” he said. “Whatever is out there, we will not be able to detect it, I fear.”

Farouk squinted into the shadows. He could wear that he heard shuffling ahead. Perhaps it was the wind blowing flaps of leather or armor against the ground or the bodies that wore them. Or perhaps he was just imagining things. Still, he too felt a familiar presence that he could not identify.

“Shall we investigate?” he asked.

Torak shrugged. “We must do what we can to protect the men,” he said. “And I think they are getting along well enough.”

Farouk walked ahead, his right hand gripping his sword tightly. He held his staff out before him, summoning a slight glow to light their way without alerting the men. Torak walked beside him, his own staff put away, his hand also gripping the hilt of his sword.

As they crept in silence, they could see nothing unusual. The scattered corpses lay as they were before; strewn about the sand in an almost endless, macabre carpet. They peered into the shadows, their senses aware of any movement or unusual presence that may be around. Farouk could only see death. There was no life among the men anymore; nothing that would trigger their senses.

But still, the strange presence remained.

“Perhaps the spirits of the dead are still here,” Torak offered. “That may be why it feels familiar.”

“Let us return to the camp,” Farouk said. “We will keep watch from there.”

Torak inhaled sharply, and his eyes locked on movement in the midst of the corpses. Farouk followed his piercing stare, seeing a lone figure standing against the dim purplish glow of Khem. It was barely perceptible; only a shadow among shadows. The figure’s tattered robes blew in the dry wind, flapping lightly like the wings of a distant crow. Farouk gritted his teeth as he recognized the demonic presence.

“The Corruptor,” the two said in unison.

Farouk drew his sword, backing away and dragging Torak with him. His staff came to life, flaring in a bright green burst of energy. The Corruptor cackled menacingly, raising his arms claws up to animate the dead that surrounded him. As the two men scrambled away, the dead began to stir, moaning in undead agony as their bodies were possessed the Corruptor’s magic.

“
On your feet, men!”
Farouk shouted. “
On your feet! Prepare for battle!”

They were met by the Jindala spearmen, who had instinctively grabbed their weapons and took the front lines. The camp was alive with the shuffling and clanking of weapons as the men rushed to assemble. Through the lines, Jadhav appeared; his eyes fatigued with battle.

“What is happening?” he asked.

Farouk looked at him and the assembled forces with horror in his eyes. “The dead,” he said. “The dead have arisen.”

The Corruptor drew the souls of the dead into his newly regenerated body. He relished the warmth of the spirits as he consumed them, basking in the life giving energy that healed his broken form. He traded their spirits for servitude; returning to them his pain and suffering as he ripped them from the afterlife.

They stood on shaking and creaking limbs, trembling with pain and mindless hunger. Malthor laughed maniacally as they surrounded him. “Come, my children,” he hissed, his voice becoming harsher with each word. “Your time is not yet over.
Fight with me and live forever!
”

His anger was unmatched; tightly bound in an intense knot of fury that dripped from his rotting maw. His focus was clear. He would seek revenge on the bastard druid boy for ripping him apart and banishing him to the dark void. He would violate the boy with his magic, stealing his soul and enslaving it forever.

But first, he would lead his new army against the kings of the Earth.

Chapter Thirty

Eamon led the way through the bronze door. The chamber beyond was dark, cold, and seemingly vast. Their footfalls echoed in the massive room, giving them the impression that the ceiling and walls were a great distance from their position. Eamon felt the darkness itself, as if it were a cold shroud wrapping him in its icy grasp. He could hear Faeraon gasp uncomfortably, as well.

A dim light bloomed into life from Traegus’ staff, and the wizard held it out in front of them to light the way. The spell did little to guide them, as the room was too large to be lit. All they could see was the metallic floor; polished black panels the size of a man, with thick, golden rails separating them into a grid-like pattern.

“What is this place?” Eamon whispered.

Traegus shook his head, stepping forward to lower his staff to the floor. Beyond their position, the floor dropped away into a short stairway that led down to a sunken area. There, the floor was scuffed and filthy, covered in what appeared to be dried blood and other disturbing things. Traegus turned back, his face disgusted.