King Of The North (Book 3) (24 page)

Farouk looked over the man’s form; he was very heavily muscled, pale, and bald. Only a forked, white beard adorned his face. He wore no clothing other than a loin cloth that was supported by a wide, leather belt, but his forearms and shins were armored in spiked metal plates. The Druid knew that he now looked upon Kronos Himself, King of the North, and he was in awe.

Farouk took a knee again, opening his pack to look at his map. A new mark had appeared in the mountains in the upper right hand corner. It was an X located in the center of a ring of mountains, the Berg av Hel. He smiled as he looked at the map that his own magic had drawn, the details of which had been taken from his subconscious as he traveled.

Satisfied, he rolled up the scroll and placed it back in his pack. He knelt for a moment, studying the massive humanoid figure that lay below him. In all his glory, Kronos was not much taller than a man. Eight to nine feet tall at the most, but with a physique much larger than that of even Bjorn or his brothers. Farouk could see the power contained within the tightly corded arms and legs. They were like steel wrapped in pale leather.

He looked to the shackles that held the Firstborn bound within his prison. They were pure energy, light blue in color, and shimmered like a small flame or arcing lightning. He knew, however, that they were just an illusion. A metaphor. Kronos’ realm was his true prison, not this pit. The shackles were not really there. Farouk merely saw because he had expected to see them.

He closed his eyes, clearing his mind of the vision he had just saw. He imagined Kronos crouched in the center of the chamber, where the pit was now, head down, one fist on the floor. It was a pleasing vision to him, and it would do.

He opened his eyes, looking up to see exactly what he had imagined. Kronos was there, kneeling in the very position he had imagined him in. The pit had been replaced with a magic circle that spanned the area where the pit had been located. He immediately knew that the circle was a glyph. One that had been placed there by
The Lifegiver.

This was the bond that the Great Mother had spoken of during his first communion with her. The magical circle that trapped Kronos within its ethereal walls. Farouk stood, raising his staff and concentrated on dispelling the glyph. He felt the spell building up within him, tingling his limbs and flowing through him to his staff.

“Be free of this prison,” he spoke, releasing the spell. A flash of green light erupted from his staff. The cylindrical walls of the magic circle were now visible, and now quivered as they fought against Farouk’s spell. The Druid focused harder, believing in his heart that the walls were not there. As his concentration increased, he saw the walls begin to oscillate in and out of existence. A loud hum sounded within the chamber as the cylindrical field began to resonate. The sound became deafening, and Farouk strained against the pain, gritting his teeth and squinted his eye to stave off the increasing vibrations.

Then, the staff erupted again, lashing out at the walls with a bolt of energy. The walls shattered like glass, creating a crashing sound that shook the chamber. Farouk was weakened, and he stumbled back, his vision becoming blurry and swirling. Through the haze, he saw Kronos’ head raise and turn in his direction.

The Firstborn had been awakened.

The Druid fell back into a sitting position, his head spinning, and blood running steadily from his nose. The dizziness was overwhelming, and he could only see shadows now. As he looked up, he saw that Kronos was now standing, his arms stretched out as if he was gathering the sun to embrace it.

It was the last thing Farouk saw before he fell into blackness.

Chapter Eighteen

In the forest just east of Faillaigh, the Knights of The Dragon felt the presence of darkness. They had slowed their fierce gallop as a dark fog rolled in from the north. It was a strange fog that moved quickly, and seemed to come out of nowhere. Now, as they sat atop their horses, watching the black mist flow around them, they felt a growing sense of doom.

“If we were but normal men, I would suggest we flee,” Eamon said, noticing how uneasy his Knights were.

Azim seemed more nervous than the rest, and he rode close to Eamon, staring off into the north with a fearful expression.

“What is it, Azim?” Eamon asked.

“They are coming,” Azim replied. “The Enkhatar. They have found us, and they are coming.”

The Knights looked to the north, straining to see in the darkness. Wrothgaar, however, kept his gaze to the south and west.

“Where are they?” Eamon asked.

“They are heading this way, very quickly. The fog is a sign of their coming.”

Wrothgaar turned to join them. “There is also something to the southwest,” he said. “It must be the creature that Traegus spoke of. Aeli and Jodocus would be in that direction.”

“We cannot help them,” Eamon said. “If the Enkhatar approach, we must face them at last.”

“Jodocus will handle the beast,” Angen agreed. “If we mere men can face a Defiler, surely he can destroy whatever else walks this land.”

“The forest,” Daryth said. “The forest is dying. The land itself is dying. Do you see the trees? The grass? Nothing is green anymore. Even in the darkness I can tell it’s all dead.”

“Eamon,” Azim interrupted. “The Enkhatar are close. We must be ready.”

Azim dismounted his horse, slapping the beast’s flanks to encourage it to flee. He then drew his scimitars and stood in a readied position.

“Dismount and prepare for battle,” Eamon commanded.

The Knights made ready, releasing their horses so they could flee to safety. At this distance from Faerbane, they would no longer be needed. The rest of the journey could be made on foot. They drew their weapons, standing in a line that faced the north, and waited.

“May The Dragon be with us, my brothers,” Eamon said. “And may all of the Firstborn look down upon us in favor.”

“Imbra is with us, as well,” Azim said, smiling. “I can feel it.”

The Knights stood in silence, awaiting the arrival of the dark beings that were feared around the world. The beings that even The Prophet feared. The prospect of facing them gave the Knights a feeling of dread. All of them quietly felt fear, their hearts pounding, their skin crawling, and their wits shaken.

But they would face them nonetheless.

The dark mist began to swirl several yards ahead of them. It came in thicker, building up to a higher level and emitting whispers as it swirled into ten tall columns.

The Enkhatar rose from the mist, as black as the night, and as horrifying as anything the Knights had ever seen. They stood like statues of obsidian, horned, bladed, and bearing the weapons of demons. They were silent, still, and menacing. Both groups waited in silence, staring each other down across the short distance between them as the fog rolled by.

“Eirenoch!” Angen suddenly shouted, charging. The Knights followed suit, surprised but ready. Their blades glinted in the moonlight as they closed in on the Enkhatar, shouting their war cries and glaring at their enemies with rage.

The Enkhatar immediately raised their weapons, slamming them down with devastating strength. The Knights dodged to the side as the weapons crashed into the ground, throwing out chunks of rock and dead soil.

Angen was the first to land a blow, chopping horizontally as he spun around after dodging. His massive blade crashed into the dark armor, clanging loudly, but bouncing off with barely a reaction from the Enkhatar.

Azim attacked with lightning speed, his twin blades clanging against the armor and driving his target back. The Sword of Sulemain stung the Enkhatar, and its shrieks of pain echoed in the night.

Brianna stayed in the shadows, firing her bow as fast as she could. Surprisingly, her arrows were effective against the Enkhatar, and every one that hit its mark drew shrieks of pain and fury from the dark creatures.

The Serpent’s tongue found its target several times. Eamon slashed across the front plates of his target repeatedly, slicing through the armor and digging into the rotting flesh underneath. The Enkhatar howled in pain, driving Eamon into a frenzy. His armor began to change as his rage built, and the fury of
The Dragon welled up inside him.

Brynn saw the effect of Eamon’s sword and rushed around to accentuate the attack from behind. That’s when he saw the gap in the Enkhatar’s armor, right at the back of its neck. Howling his war cry, the former Mordumarc soldier slashed at the Enkhatar’s legs, cutting through the back of the thigh plates. The creature stumbled, falling to one knee, giving Brynn the chance to strike a devastating blow. He howled again, thrusting his blade into the gap.

The Enkhatar froze as Brynn’s sword impaled it through the neck. It dropped its weapon, raising its hands in the air as if to claw the sky. Brynn withdrew his blade, and stepped back as Eamon rushed forward in his blinding Dragon attack. The Serpent’s Tongue sliced through the Enkhatar’s neck, striking its head clean off.

The other Enkhatar shrieked with rage, doubling their efforts. Wrothgaar kept them at bay with his axe, chopping furiously from side to side as the dark warriors tried to surround him. Daryth was a shadow, firing his bow from the darkness and striking from behind, only to disappear again. His arrows, being magic bolts of Earth energy, exploded in bursts of green flame, causing damage wherever they struck.

Angen went to the fallen Enkhatar, chopping repeatedly with his great sword. The black armor fell away in pieces, revealing the rotting corpse that was housed beneath. The body began to disintegrate, and wisps of dark energy escaped from the numerous wounds in its shriveled flesh.

The other Enkhatar stepped up their attacks, driving the Knights back toward the withered forest. They were fuelled by hatred now, and focused on taking the weapon of their former lord. Azim was their target, and now they were concentrating their efforts on him. It was up to the rest of the Knights to protect him.

The Enkhatar pushed forward, separating the Knights from Azim and engaging them to keep them apart. Azim faced two of them, skillfully dodging their devastating attacks one by one. He struck when he found an opening, dealing damage to the exposed areas between the plates of the creatures’ armor. Brianna supplemented his attacks with doubly quick strikes with her arrows.

Wrothgaar had led two of them into the forest, and weaved in and out of the trees to avoid their attacks. The Enkhatars’ weapons felled the withered trunks in their efforts to get at the Northman. He taunted them endlessly, and countered with his own chopping attacks. His axe rang true several times, drawing shrieks of pain from the black warriors.

Angen and Daryth had both worked their way behind the Enkhatar and were striking at the joints of their armor. Angen, screaming with fury, chopped off an Enkhatar’s leg at the knee, and slammed it with his own body to knock it off balance. The dark creature fell forward onto the ground, and Angen leaped atop it. With another scream of fury, he drove his great sword into the Enkhatar’s body. The blade sparked and flamed as it impaled the Enkhatar. Angen laughed maniacally as he pulled it free, watching as dark energy escaped into the air.

Two Enkhatar had been destroyed.

Eamon fought his way back to Azim’s side. The older man was growing tired, as the Prince could see, and it would not be long before he would lose the ability to fight. His quickness and agility were no good against such powerful foes. Even with the Sword of Sulemain in his hand, the damage he caused was light.

Even so, the former Jindala Captain fought furiously. His dedication was obvious. Eamon fought at his side with pride, knowing that Azim would willingly die with him to protect the good people of Eirenoch.

Victory or not, the Knights of Dragon would fight to the death as one.

Seven dragons with seven riders swooped down to join the battle below. Jets of flame blasted the giant, black warriors, scattering them and sending them into a frenzy. As the dragons passed low, their riders jumped off, slashing at the Enkhatar in an effort to keep them away from the now exhausted Knights of The Dragon.

Khalid recognized Azim, seeing him struggling against his attackers. The priest rushed to his aid, spinning over the heads of the Knight’s foes and striking them in their vulnerable necks. Both Enkhatar shrieked as the blades made contact with their flesh. Khalid landed between them slashing both of them at the knee and spinning around behind them.

One Enkhatar broke off its attack on Azim and focused on Khalid, smashing its giant weapon into the ground to crush the priest. But Khalid was too quick. He countered, climbing up the Enkhatar’s weapon, driving his twin scimitars into the helmet’s eye holes. The Enkhatar let loose a shrill, ethereal cry as it collapsed. Khalid went down with it, pulling his blades free as he rolled onto his feet.

The Enkhatar each made one final, furious attack. Azim was knocked away by the Enkhatar’s mace. He groaned as the heavy weapon impacted his armor, and his blades were thrown from his hands. Then, an outward burst of dark energy drove the Knights and the priests back, making way for the Enkhatar to rally together.

Azim saw, through blurred eyes, an Enkhatar bend down to pick up the Sword of Sulemain. He heard the dark creature’s bellowing laughter as it turned to join its comrades, the mystical blade firmly in its grasp. Brianna ran to the beast, spinning in the air to gain momentum for an aerial kick. Though her foot connected solidly with the Enkhatar’s sword hand, her weight was not enough to knock the weapon from its grasp.

Azim blacked out, falling back into the dusty forest floor.

Before the allies could recover and resume their attack, the Enkhatar summoned their fog. The dark mist came quickly, obscuring the battlefield. Then, as soon as it came, it was gone. The Enkhatar were gone as well.

“Azim!” Eamon called, desperately searching for his friend.

The Knights and priests spread out in search of him, but it was Eamon who found him. He bent down over his friend, fearful at the sight of the man’s bloodied face. He appeared to be broken. Eamon hung his head in sorrow, placing his hand on Azim’s forehead.

“Here!” Eamon called. Within seconds, the sounds of many boots crunching through the dead underbrush filled his ears. A man he did not recognize knelt down on the side of Azim, a look of fear on his face as well.

“Khalid?” Eamon asked.

“Yes, my Lord,” Khalid answered. “It is I. But we will speak later. Now, we must save Azim.”

Eamon nodded, helping the priest lift the limp Knight into the air and carry him to a clearing. The rest of the Knights followed, each of them swatting away the priest who attempted to check them for wounds.

“Back off!” Angen cursed. “I’m fine. Bother someone else.”

The Knights gathered around as Azim was laid on a soft pile of leaves that Daryth had gathered. It was the best that could be done at the moment. The Knight was set down gently and Khalid knelt next to him to check him over. The priest ran his hand over the marks on Azim’s armor, somehow causing the armor to part to allow him access the Azim’s flesh underneath.

“How are you doing that?” Eamon asked.

Erenoth knelt next to them. “The armor obeys the commands of the Priests of Drakkar, as we wear it as well.”

“He has a few broken ribs,” Khalid said. “And his skull may be fractured.”

“Can you help him,” Brynn asked from behind them.

Khalid recognized the voice, and did not turn. Despite his redemption, he still felt shame, and would not be able to look the young warrior in the eye. Not yet.

“I can,” he said. “But I will need the help of all of the priests.”

Azim’s eyes began to blink. His head moved slowly from side to side, and a look of great pain was on his face. He opened his eyes, looking up at Khalid, who smiled at him.

“Khalid…” Azim whispered. “You bastard.”

Khalid chuckled, knowing that Azim was referring to the rivalry the two of them had over a young woman in the distant past. A rivalry that Khalid had won.

“She became very fat, my friend,” Khalid replied, prompting Azim to smile.

Eamon bent closer. “How do you feel, Azim?”

Azim turned as best he could to look Eamon in the eye. “The sword,” he muttered. “They have the Sword of Sulemain.”

Eamon nodded. “I’m sorry, friend,” he offered. “But it is of no matter. When the entire world rallies against
The Lifegiver, all of the magic swords in the world will not help him.”

“Forgive me, Eamon,” Azim said, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“There is nothing to forgive, Azim,” Eamon assured him. “You fought bravely. I am proud to call you my brother.”

Azim smiled, closing his eyes again. Khalid gently laid his head back down onto the leaves. “We can help him,” he said to Eamon. “But we need to tend to him in peace. Make camp nearby and leave us be.”