Into Oblivion (Book 4) (17 page)

“Not directly,” Adder replied. “But he is in the company of a moorcat. He is safe.”

“A moorcat?”

“Yes,” Jhayla said. “It looks like they are on their way to Southwatch.”

Aeli nodded, relieved. “Jodocus would seek out Traegus,” she agreed. “But I need to get to him, and Traegus as well.”

“What has happened?” Adder wondered.

“We encountered the banshee. Something strange happened during the battle. I was knocked unconscious, and then taken to a dark realm. When I returned, the banshee was destroyed, and Jodocus was gone.”

Jhayla and Adder looked to one another, shocked. “Do you think Jodocus destroyed her?” Adder asked.

Aeli nodded. “His power is growing,” she said. “That may be why he went to Traegus. I must get there, but I think you should continue north. Farouk has returned, and I am curious as to what he found, but I must find Jodocus first.”

“If Farouk has found something,” Jhayla said. “He will likely seek Traegus as well.”

“Then I will go to him,” Aeli said. “Thank you for your help.”

The Rangers watched as Aeli took a few steps and faded from sight. Adder sighed.

“I hate when they do that.”

The rift shimmered as Farouk and Faeraon emerged from its depths. Upon appearing, Faeraon immediately fell to his knees, his body shocked at the influx of life energy that surrounded him. Farouk bent to help him back to his feet, steadying him as he swayed.

“Are you alright, my friend?” he asked.

Faeraon took several deep breaths, opening his eyes wide as he took in the greenery and blue sky. A smile slowly spread across his face as he regained his composure, and he looked at Farouk with a subtle tear in his eye.

“It’s beautiful!” he exclaimed. “So green. So full of life. It has been so long since I looked upon such a sight.”

“I understand,” Farouk said. “And I would love to show you many things here, but we must act quickly. I need to find out where Allora’s spirit lies. My friend Traegus will know.”

“Very well,” Faeraon said. “I long to see her face again.”

“I must warn you,” Farouk said. “Traegus’ appearance may be shocking. Try not to stare.”

Faeraon looked at Farouk in confusion, but the Druid’s grin eased his mind. He nodded slightly, unsure as to what Farouk meant, but accepting the warning.

With a tap of his staff on the soft ground, Farouk cast his teleportation spell and the two disappeared.

Chapter Fifteen

“
There were two Enkhatar present at the prison,” Hamal explained as the group dug in to the feast. “I fought with one while Jadhav helped the prisoners escape, and this mysterious stranger fought the other.”

“What did he look like?” Eamon asked.

“He was about your height,” Hamal said. “Light skinned, light hair from what I saw… very quick and deadly. I could tell by his fighting style that he was not an ordinary warrior. His skills with the blade and the bow were similar to those of the assassins I have known in my time.”

Eamon sighed. Though it was probable this was the same assassin that had been wandering the kingdoms in some kind of divine mission, his identity was still unknown. He knew of no young assassins of Eirenoch. His own mother had not employed them, and as far as he knew, neither did Maebh. If the former queen had, it was likely that they would be female.

“What happened after you escaped?” he asked.

“When we reached a safe distance, it seemed, the sky suddenly opened up and a ball of fire hit the island, completely annihilating it."

"It was a grand sight,” Jadhav said. “Very bright, and very destructive. But, somehow, the damage was confined to the island.”

“That is unusual,” Vedic said. “I would think that such a fireball hitting anywhere near the sea would create a massive wave.
The ship should have been destroyed, but it was not damaged.”

Eamon shrugged. “Then it is likely that the Great Mother had a hand in it.”

“Do you know who this assassin is?” Hamal asked. “And why he would be working for the Great Mother?”

Eamon shrugged. “Erenoth has been keeping track of this assassin through the priests of the other Firstborn. The puppet kings have been eliminated, leaving room for their rightful replacements, and every kingdom whose Jindala leaders have been killed ha
s begun to rebel. The Great Mother is eliminating her enemies one by one, using this assassin as her tool.”

“It’s a good plan,” Angen said, the first of the knights to speak. “Any other means would cause too much destruction, and she would risk killing many innocent people.”

“I want to know who this assassin is,” Eamon said. “But our first priority is mobilizing our forces. Maedoc tells me that a blockade has been assembled in the sea, blocking our access to the mainland.”

“I wouldn’t worry about them,” Jadhav said. “Once I get word to my vessels, we will sail against them. They will stand no chance against us.”

“Do we have the ships needed to carry our troops?” Eamon asked Angen.

Angen nodded. “With our own vessels, and Jadhav’s, we can take the bulk of our army across. The new Mordumarc and the Rangers should remain here, though. Eirenoch will need to be protected while we are away.”

“Agreed,” Eamon said. “How soon can we gather our troops?”

“I can have word sent immediately,” Angen replied. “We can also light the beacons. Word will spread quickly.”

Wrothgaar cleared his throat. “And what of the Northmen?” he asked.

“We can use their swords,” Eamon said. “I’m sure Ulrich will be the first to arrive.”

Hamal slammed his fist on the table in agreement. “Excellent!” he exclaimed. “The time has come, brothers. Let us take back our world and send this Lifegiver back to the Abyss!”

“Jodocus!” Traegus called as he saw the boy riding atop the moorcat.

The beast and his charge had arrived near the border a few minutes before, and the wizard had watched them curiously. Jodocus was not in the presence of Aeli, which concerned him greatly.

“Where is your mother, child?” he asked.

Jodocus and the moorcat both stared at the young man dressed in plain white robes as he plodded over crest of the nearby grassy hill. He was in sandals no less
, and his long, golden hair whipped around his head in the wind.

“Traegus?” the moorcat asked, not recognizing the young body that spoke to him.

“It is I,” Traegus replied. “It was time to shed the old bones and put on a new face. Or, more accurately, a face.”

The moorcat laughed, shaking its huge head. “Interesting, my friend,” he said. “But it fits you. How did you come about it?”

Traegus approached, patting Jodocus on the head. The boy was still dumbfounded, giggling only slightly—and uncomfortably.

“This body once belonged to Eogan, son of Queen Maebh. Eamon killed him during the final battle for Faerbane. I decided to put it to good use.”

“Ahhhh!” the moorcat exclaimed. “It does look familiar.”

“Yes, yes.” Traegus said. “Eogan was actually the son of Garret, little did we know. Jodocus, are you just going to stare, or are you going to say hello to your uncle Traegus?”

Jodocus raised his hand, waving timidly, still confused.

“He’ll come around,” the moorcat said. “In the meantime, we are very thirsty.”

“Well, come in then. There is plenty of water and a place to rest your weary paws.”

Jodocus giggled. “Paws.”

“And if my senses serve me well,” Traegus added. “We will be joined shortly by the Druids… and someone else.”

Hamal and Eamon stood on the balcony of Eamon’s meeting hall. They looked down over the city, enjoying the laughter and bantering of the citizens below. The celebration was going well, and the townsfolk seemed optimistic about the upcoming campaign.

“Your people are happy,” Hamal remarked, taking a sip of his ale.

“Their happiness is my mission,” Eamon replied. “And I look forward to seeing everyone in the world happy once again.”

Hamal sighed. “It has been a struggle, indeed.” He said. “Imbra fears for us all; not only for our lives, but the decline in the beauty of everything around us. The Lifegiver’s presence, even if it is banished, will spell the end of things as we know it.”

Eamon studied the prince carefully, realizing he spoke of the upcoming tribulations that would follow the Great Mother’s sleep.

“We will survive,” he said. “All of us.”

Hamal leaned against the railing, facing away from the city below.

“I hope you are right,” he said. “But the Lifegiver’s defeat will mean the end of the Firstborn. It will be up to men like us to serve as an example for the survivors.”

“I sense a great power within you, Hamal,” Eamon said. “I’m sure you noticed that our swords seem to speak with each other.”

Hamal smiled, drawing his blade and showing to his new friend.

“This is
Mahaguratu,”
Hamal said. “It means ‘The Soul of the Sands’ in my language.”

Eamon drew the Serpent’s Tongue, holding it close to Hamal’s blade. The two swords began to glow ever so slightly, vibrating with the power of the Firstborn.

“They are brothers, it seems,” Hamal said.

“Cousins, perhaps,” Eamon replied, prompting Hamal to chuckle.

“Whatever the case,” Hamal said. “We shall wield them as brothers, and take our place among the divine. You, the son of the Dragon, and I, the son of Imbra.”

“I will be honored to fight at your side, Hamal.”

Hamal sheathed his blade, turning back to the city. He longed to look upon the old Khem, and to see his own people as happy and carefree as the people of Faerbane. It was something he had never seen, but had always been his greatest hope.

“My peoples’ happiness will be my mission, as well,” he said. “And I hope there will be enough of them left when this is over.”

“People all over the world rally with The Lifegiver,” Eamon said. “When our armies gather around Khem, we will face hundreds of thousands of them; perhaps millions. But we have powers on our side the likes of which our enemies have never seen.”

Hamal bit his lip. “Have you had strange dreams?” he asked.

Eamon nodded.

“Dreams of numbers; equations and the like?”

“I have,” Eamon replied. “Though I do not understand their meaning.”

“I didn’t tell this to Jadhav, but when we saw the fireball come from the sky I got the impression that it was summoned by the same powers that sent these dreams to us.”

“I thought the Great Mother had summoned it,” Eamon replied.

“I think she is being aided by something greater,” Hamal mused. “Aided by something even older; a sky spirit, perhaps.”

“Farouk will know,” Eamon said. “He is very wise, as was Jodocus.”

“Then perhaps we should speak to him before we embark on our journey.”

Eamon nodded. “We will,” he replied. “He has the habit of appearing whenever he is needed; just like his mentor.”

“Good,” Hamal laughed. “Then we will lay our plans, and await him.”

The Corruptor found himself just to the east of Morduin, outside the crag basin. Among the rocks and jagged escarpments, he was surprised to find a forest of iron spears jutting from the grassy plain. Upon them, the skeletal remains of Jindala warriors hung silent and still like a macabre orchard of death.

The Corruptor smiled at the brutality of the scene, imagining the warriors of Eirenoch impaling their enemies upon the spears as a warning to those who would attack in the future.

“Impressive,” he whispered.

He liked this Onyx Dragon.

Eamon seemed like a man he could speak to as an equal. He did not appear to be a weakling, as many of the other kings of the world had. He was different; more cunning and powerful. He was definitely more like the kings of old, from the Corruptor’s own time.

But, like the others, Eamon would fall and be replaced with another puppet. One who would sacrifice his own people to The Lifegiver’s will.

Raising his crooked hands, the Corruptor gritted his teeth and drew energy from the Earth. As it passed through him, it became dark, fouled, and malevolent. He released it from his fingertips and chuckled as it snaked out and swirled toward the impaled remains. The dark wisps wrapped themselves around the bones, soaking into them and breathing into their depths.

Many of the skeletons began to quiver; their life renewed with the Corruptor’s dark power. As they struggled, they began to slide down their spikes, crumbling to the ground before steadying themselves on their bony feet. Those that were aware enough grasped the spears that impaled them and pulled them out of the ground, either tossing them aside or holding them menacingly.

The Corruptor smiled as he his army began to take shape. With this force of undead warriors, he could enter the city quite easily; keeping the guards distracted as he blessed the new king with his presence.

With his army assembled before him, the Corruptor gave his order.

“Scale the city walls!” he shouted. “Leave none alive!”

A mass clicking and banging of bones and armor followed the army’s departure. The Corruptor watched them rush toward the city walls, and he made his way toward the gates. The guards there stood frozen as they spied the vast horde of skeletons crossing the empty basin and heading straight for the walls.

Archers fired their bows down at the horde in vain; the missiles merely sailed straight through them or bounced harmlessly off of their rusted armor. None of them even noticed the dark cloaked figure casually walking behind the macabre soldiers; cackling and gritting his teeth in amusement.

Maedoc heard the shouts of the city guards below as he finished inscribing his day’s activities into his journal. He looked up, unsure as to what had caught their attention. Quickly he set down his quill and ran to the window overlooking the city square. Men were rushing everywhere, and civilians were frantically fleeing. His gaze was drawn to the wall, however, as the sounds of battle echoed off the stone.

The guards were battling an unfathomable enemy; a horde of skeletons that had scaled the defenses. Maedoc scowled.

“What is this?” he said to himself.

As he watched, a single figure walked through the city gates, unmolested and unconcerned. The guards were occupied, and Maedoc guessed that was the intention. As he studied the man, he pursed his lips in recognition. Though the undead posed no threat to the city guards, who could easily dispatch them, this man was the real danger. He was here not to attack the city, but to deliver a message to the king.

Sighing, Maedoc returned to his desk to await the messenger. He folded his hands before him, showing no fear. In his heart, however, he knew he was in great danger. This man was familiar to him. He was a man from Maedoc’s past and one who once belonged to the Eye of Ptah; the long disbanded order of mages to which Maedoc himself belonged. He was a man whose vile activities had gotten him expelled from the order and, ultimately, executed.

In his mind, Maedoc recited a simple cancellation spell he had learned as a child. As he finished, he heard the collective collapse of the skeletal army outside. It was quite a simple task, but he knew the necromancer that had raised them from the dead had only done so to get past the guards.

The ploy had succeeded.

The Corruptor walked through Maedoc’s door; not even bothering to open it.