Eclipsing the Darkness (The Dragon Chronicles Book 5) (37 page)

“Traegus,” Eamon said. “Look.”

“I see them,” the wizard responded. “I’m curious to hear the story.”

Eamon gripped Traegus’ shoulder as they swooped low to land, hopeful that the conflict was indeed over. “So am I,” he said.

Farouk, the Knights of the Dragon, and all of the kings who had joined them stood in a semi-circle. Behind them, the assembled soldiers rose to their feet, cheering as Titus and the dragons landed. Eamon jumped down from the metallic dragon, patting it on the head as he passed. Wrothgaar was the first to greet, rushing him and snatching him up in a tight embrace. Eamon laughed as the Northman lifted him up.

“Eamon!” Wrothgaar said, dropping him to his feet. “You’re alive!”

“Barely,” Eamon said, looking proudly at his knights as they gathered. He greeted each of them in turn, gladly accepting their embraces. “I am glad to see all of you.”

Angen clapped him on the shoulder, shaking his head. “You look like Hell,” he growled, laughing.

Eamon chuckled, looking past them to Farouk, who approached with a strange companion. The man was tall, bearded, and bore blue robes with embroidered runes similar to those he had seen on the Great Pyramid. Farouk passed through the line of knights, extending his hand. Eamon took it, knowing the question that was on Farouk’s mind.

“Faeraon did not make it,” Eamon said. Farouk nodded sadly, pursing his lips in resignation. “He gave his life to close the portal.”

“May he finally be at peace,” Farouk said.

Eamon gripped Farouk by the shoulders, looking into his eyes in sympathy. “I know he was your friend,” he said. “He was mine, too. I promise you that our people will honor him forever. His sacrifice will not be forgotten.”

Eamon then turned to the stranger, who stood with his face lowered. “Tyrus?” he asked.

The stranger lifted his head. “I am known as Torak,” the man answered. “But, yes, that was what I was once called.”

“Farouk has told me your story. It is one that I do not quite understand, but know that you are welcome as you are today.”

Torak smiled, bowing his head in respect. “I am here to serve you, my king,” he said.

“I see your hand has grown back,” Eamon joked. “You will need it in order to perform your duties to your new country.”

Torak seemed unsure of how to react, but Eamon chuckled to lighten the mood. “I am surrounded by those who succumbed to the will of this wretched being. But they have all atoned for their wrong doings. If you have proven yourself a faithful defender of truth and freedom, then you have my blessing, my friend.”

Farouk stepped forward, placing his hand on Torak’s back. “Without his efforts, Tel Drakkar may have been lost,” he said. “The Enkhatar and their undead minions were destroyed with his help, and we druids are proud to count him as one of us.”

Eamon nodded, accepting of Farouk’s statement. “Then I shall honor his service as a protector of Eirenoch.”

Torak bowed his head once more. “Thank you, sire,” he said. “I am humbled by your words.”

“Now,” Eamon changed the subject. “Let us celebrate our victory.”

“It is over,” Jodocus said to Tenegal as he lay resting in the candlelight. “The darkness has passed.”

Tenegal smiled at the young druid, though the pain showed through the expression. “That is good,” he whispered. “I will be happy to see my people again.”

Jodocus placed his hand on the Alvar captain’s forehead, imparting a small amount of comforting power. Tenegal’s face relaxed and he took on a more peaceful demeanor. “You will be a great druid someday, my friend,” he said. “Even greater than your namesake.”

With those words, Tenegal faded into a deep sleep. Jodocus continued watching him for a moment, admiring the great captain’s courage. Tenegal had risked his life to help protect a land he had no reason to care for; all of them did. Even now, as their captain lay injured, the Alvar that fought at Tel Drakkar were now helping to rebuild the grounds, tirelessly laboring right alongside the common people. They had made themselves a part of the struggle, and Jodocus knew that the people of Eirenoch would welcome them as brothers; at least until the day they returned home.

“Rest well, great warrior,” Jodocus said.

He stood, taking care not to wake Tenegal. As he left, he willed the lamps to dim, smiling at Allora as he passed by her in the doorway.

“The king will be home soon,” he said. “And I shall speak to him of the sacrifices your people have made to protect our lands.”

She smiled back at him warmly. “And I shall speak of yours, little friend.”

“Thank you,” he replied. “But that is not necessary. I was brought back to do just that. My focus now is to restore the life that has been sapped from the lands; to bring the Dragon’s kingdom back to its former beauty. I would welcome your assistance.”

“You need but ask,” Allora said, “and I will use all the power at my disposal to help you.”

Jodocus gave her a quick nod and a grin. “Then I will see you soon,” he said. “It is time for me to rest now. Goodbye for now, Allora.”

“Goodbye, druid.”

A ship departed the port of Faerbane at dawn. It was a small vessel, designated for carrying travelers and their cargo to the mainland. The deck was mostly empty, save for a few crew members, and a single figure that stood at its bow and sadly watched the land of Eirenoch as it grew smaller and smaller in the dim morning light.

A single tear rolled down Adder’s cheek; one that was meant for all the things he would miss. He was leaving everything behind; his father, his friends, his life as a ranger of Eirenoch, and the young druid who called him Uncle. In truth, however, he wept for his partner, Jhayla, most of all. He had loved her as his best friend, his true life partner, and as a sister. Without her, his life would never be the same. He could not bear to serve his king under such anguish. He was no good without her, he thought.

With a sigh, he turned back to the bow, leaning against the railing. The sun was beginning to peak above the horizon, and its golden rays gave the sky a beautiful orange cast. It gave him a small amount of comfort in this time of grieving, and he wept as he watched it.

Someday he would return, he vowed. Someday, when he had cleared his head and was ready to serve his king. But for now, he would travel the world. He had seen little of it in his life, and he knew that experiencing the wonders it had to offer would put his mind at ease. Besides, he had promised Jhayla that he would take her to the King’s Walk someday. He would take her there, in his heart, and stand atop the great bridge overlooking the city of Thyre.

When he was ready.

“Sir,” the boatswain’s voice said behind him, “we will reach the mainland in two days. From there, you can take the trade ship to the north. It will take you as far along the northern shore as you wish. I will be sure to get you on the right ship.”

“Thank you, sir,” Adder said. “I appreciate your accommodations. When we arrive, I will pay you extra to keep my destination a secret.”

The boatswain nodded, but chuckled. “I have no idea where you are going anyway,” he said.

Adder turned back to the bow with a forlorn smile. “Neither do I, friend,” he said. “Neither do I.”

Garret hung his saber on the wall of his dojo, stepping back to admire its beauty one last time. He would never have the need to use it again, he knew, as the battle was over. Eamon had fulfilled his destiny, and the Great Mother was safe once again. All of the kings of the world had returned to their rightful places, and Jindala were no more. The assassin would live in peace, here in the garden, until the end of time.

It was a thought that both delighted and repulsed Garret. Though he was ready for a lifetime of peace, it would be one of solitude. He would pursue his interests tirelessly and eagerly, but would do so without the companion of another. He enjoyed the time spent with the Great Mother, as anyone would, but there would be those when he longed for the warmth and solace of another soul.

His thoughts went to Twylla, the lovely—albeit rough and crass—young woman whom he had met in his final quest as a mortal. She was beautiful indeed, and the kind of woman that would enjoy working in the garden, taking walks through the forest, and even, possibly, sparring. But she was there in the real world, among the mortals of Earth, and not for him to love. She was unreachable.

He sighed, turning to close up his dojo. He slid the door shut, returning to his hearth to put a kettle of water over the fire. Perhaps a nice, relaxing cup of tea would lift his spirits, and take his mind off the endless future that was in store for him.

As he hung the kettle over the glowing coals, he caught a whiff of lavender. He sniffed the air for a moment, unsure as to why the scent had suddenly wafted in from the garden. There was lavender everywhere, and he often smelled it as he walked through the garden, but it was more prevalent now, somehow.

He stoked the coals briefly before going to the door that led to his deck. He gazed out over the garden, looking for anything unusual. There was nothing. Clumps of lavender were there among the reds and yellows of the many other types of flowers. Palms stood above all else, along with ferns of all types. In the distance, the tree line was as it should be, and the branches swayed gently in the breeze.

Still, something was different.

The fountain that lay in the center of the garden was as it always was. The statue of the Great Mother with her welcoming arms stood its center, unchanged and eternal. But there was still that scent of lavender that seemed to overpower all else.

He padded, barefoot, down to the path that led into the twisting maze of flora. He walked slowly, following the scent, until he realized that a strange, pleasant sound was coming from around the fountain. It was a sound that was not of the wildlife. It was not a bird, or any other singing creature that inhabited the garden; it was a woman’s voice, humming a familiar song in his garden.

Had the Great Mother chosen to walk in her garden?

He picked up his pace, winding his way through the vines and flowering shrubs, his heart quickening with every step. The song grew louder, becoming more familiar as he listened. He had heard the song before, and now it was here in his realm, sung by a voice more beautiful than any he had ever heard.

He stopped short when reached the paved clearing where the fountain stood, his soul burning as he beheld what was there. Seated on the edge of the fountain, with a gentle hand stirring the surface of the water, was a woman.

She was ivory-skinned, with a long, flowing mane of wavy red hair that cascaded over her smooth and perfect shoulders. Her gown was of green silk, and bore trim of gold inlaid with emeralds. But her most striking feature was her emerald eyes that gazed lovingly at the beauty of the garden around her.

Her eyes!

As Garret stepped forward, she was startled at his appearance. She stood up, folding her hands before her, looking at Garret with those gem-like eyes. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. A familiar woman that he had dreamt of time and time again.

“Forgive me,” she said softly. “I did not mean to trespass. Is this your garden?”

Garret nodded, speechless. His heart fluttered as she spoke.

“It is beautiful,” she said, looking all around her with a pleasant and wistful smile. “You have tended it well.”

“Thank you,” he stammered, taking another hesitant step forward.

She smiled at him, cocking her head to the side in a familiar fashion. “Do you have a name?”

Garret smiled shyly as he realized he was staring at her strangely; shirtless and barefoot, no less. “Garret,” he said. “My name is Garret.”

She curtsied politely, her grin never leaving her face. “It is good to meet you, Garret,” she said. “I am called… Siobhan, I think.”

Siobhan. His love. His life.

Garret wept in his heart. A lump rose in his throat as the memories of his love for his queen flashed in his mind. She was here, now, standing before him in his garden; though she did not appear to remember him.

“I am… very pleased to meet you, Siobhan,” he said. “You are welcome here as long as you like.”

Siobhan smiled again, her eyes seemingly confused, but at peace. “Thank you,” she said.

Garret stepped forward, letting the scent of lavender fill his soul. It was a warm feeling; one that grew greater as he got closer to her. “I was about to make some tea,” he said. “Would you care to join me?”

“That would be delightful,” she replied, offering her hand.

Garret took it gently, feeling its softness in his rough and calloused grasp. She did not seem to mind, but her eyes showed with sympathy. He realized that a tear had fallen from his eye, and had rolled down his cheek. She reached out, catching it on her fingertip and rubbing between her fingers.

“Is there something wrong, Garret?” she asked, gazing into his eyes.

“No,” he replied. “Everything is fine. I’ve never been better.”

She smiled, and the two walked hand in hand through the garden…

…and into eternity.

Chapter Thirty Three

As the months passed, the life that once dwelled in Eirenoch began to flourish once more. The forests grew thicker, the flowers bloomed brightly, and the crops had grown more productive than ever. Every dark trace of the Lifegiver had vanished, and the beauty of the natural world had returned.

The towers of Tel Drakkar and Dol Drakkar were now operational, and the priests there had settled down into their appointed tasks of serving the people. The Mordumarc, now under the command of Lord Ferrin, once again patrolled the countryside, keeping the peasants and the pilgrims safe from harm. The rangers had been rebuilt, appointed new captains at the discretion of Daryth, and had taken up the task of protecting the forest, and all who dwelt within it.

The Northmen settlers, under the rule of Jarl Ceor, returned to their villages on the north shore. Their skills in hunting and raising crops were valued among the people of Eirenoch, and they provided a source of surplus grains and meat for all to enjoy.