King Of The North (Book 3) (25 page)

Eamon nodded, holding out his hand. Khalid grasped it proudly. “It is good to meet you finally, Khalid,” Eamon said. “Thank you for coming when you did.”

“Had Erenoth been able to fly faster, we would have been here sooner.”

Eamon chuckled, releasing Khalid’s hand and turned to gather the rest of the Knights. “Come, brothers,” he said. “We make camp here for the night. We’ll gather some wood for a fire.”

“A fire that we should light on the other side of the tree line,” Daryth added.

The company of Rangers had avoided the dark presence and made their way north again, heading toward Faillaigh. Adder could smell a campfire in the distance, but could not see it yet. Whoever was camping was wise to cover the flame.

He led his men quietly through the woods, Jhayla acting as lookout for their right flank and half of the front. The two of them barely heard their comrades behind them, telling them that they had chosen well. They had assembled a fine company.

“I would imagine the Knights of
The Dragon should be in this area by now,” Adder said. “It may be them we smell.”

Jhayla chuckled. “Yes, they should smell pretty bad seeing as they never take off that armor.”

Adder smiled, signaling the scouts behind him to go forward and scout out the area. They passed by with barely a sound, despite being only a few feet away from Adder. Jhayla cocked her head, impressed.

“They sure are quiet,” she said.

Adder nodded. “That’s why I chose them,” he replied. “They’ve even picked my pockets a few times.”

“Why is that so hard to believe? I’ve picked them too.”

Adder turned to her with a scowl. “What?”

“Never mind.”

Adder shook his head, turning his attention back to the trails ahead. He shot Jhayla a quick glance, saw her grin, then turned away again. Inside, he wondered what she had stolen. He had been missing a dagger for awhile, but that couldn’t be it. Maybe a pocket watch. Frustrated, he shook away those thoughts just as the scouts returned.

“It is the Knights of
The Dragon,” one of them reported. “There are priests inside the woods, tending to a wounded man. The rest are outside the trees around the fire.”

“Good,” Adder replied. Then, turning to Jhayla. “Let’s see if Daryth is as aware as he used to be.”

Jhayla smiled. “Right,” she said.

Khalid approached Brynn after he treated Azim as well as he could. The Knight was reluctant to speak to him, but his honor would not allow him to shun the priest. Khalid had came to him with his head down, seemingly in shame. Brynn felt sympathy for the man, and could see the regret in his eyes.

Khalid was definitely a changed man. Even his appearance had changed. Had Brynn never met him before, he would never have guessed that this was the same Khalid whose nose he had broken in Taryn.

Now, as Khalid approached him, Brynn held his breath, not sure what was about to happen. Surprisingly, Khalid stopped before him and bent to one knee, his head held low in respect.

“I am here to serve, my Lord,” Khalid said, humbly. “Allow me to be of service to the Knights of
The Dragon.”

Brynn swallowed hard. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out and placed his hand on Khalid’s head.

“You have served well, Khalid,” he offered. “Please stand, and look me in the eye as your brother.”

Khalid did as he was asked. He stood, slowly raising his face to look at the Knight man to man. They stood in silence for a few moments, each waiting for the other to speak. Instead, Khalid held out his hand. Brynn looked down it, and clasped it firmly.

“Welcome to the Order of The Dragon, brother,” Brynn said.

“I am proud to be a part of it,” Khalid replied.

Eamon watched the two interact. He felt pride in knowing that he had chosen an honorable man as one of his Knights. He also knew that The Dragon had chosen well in Khalid. The former Jindala had shown his true heart, and it was good. Khalid would serve the Order with honor.

“We are surrounded,” Daryth said quietly.

“What?” Eamon replied, sitting forward inconspicuously.

“Men all around us.”

“Who?” Angen asked.

Daryth smiled. “It’s our Rangers,” he said.

“How do you know?” Wrothgaar asked, skeptically.

“Trust me.”

A face suddenly appeared between Angen and Wrothgaar, startling the two men.

“Well met,” Adder said with a chuckle.

Wrothgaar, axe in hand, gritted his teeth. “You just about got yourself killed!” he cursed.

Adder turned to the Northman, patting him on the back. “It’s alright,” he joked. “You never would have caught me.”

Eamon laughed, knowing it was true. Adder was a professional thief. His quickness was legendary, and was the reason for his name.

“Fordran,” Eamon said, using Adder’s real name. “I trust you have gathered the best and brightest of the Thieves’ Guild?”

“Indeed I did, my Lord,” he replied. “Lads…”

All around the camp fire, bodies melted into view. Eamon looked around the perimeter, impressed at what he saw. “Very good,” he said.

He stood, addressing the group of Rangers. “Thank you for joining the ranks of the elite,” he said. “You are now officially the Rangers of Eirenoch. You will report directly to your superiors, Adder and Jhayla. They will be given command of twenty five of you each. They will report to Daryth, who is now your Commander.”

The was a muttering of agreement and acceptance among the Rangers, and Adder stepped forward to bow before his new superior. “What are your orders, sir?” he asked.

“You are to travel to Faerbane,” Daryth began. “There, you will await our arrival. The Jindala will have forces outside the city. Do not attack them. Position yourselves within the surrounding forests and await our orders. Adder, you yourself will need to contact the Thieves’ Guild within Faerbane and tell them to evacuate the citizens when we arrive. When the evacuation is complete, light the signal beacon in the highest tower. Ulrich and the rest of the army will arrive a half mile west of the city. Do not mistake them for the enemy. The Jindala will likely position themselves away from the river so as not to put themselves between us and the cliffs. Use your best judgment to find the right position.”

Adder nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said.

“Make sure your two companies are on opposite sides of the enemy’s position,” Eamon added. “They will position themselves on the slopes, I’m guessing. It would give them easy access to the shore, should they need to escape. Don’t let them get away.”

Adder acknowledged his orders, gathering his men to begin the division. He and Jhayla would command twenty five men apiece. It was up to them to choose.

Eamon turned to Daryth. “Well done,” he said. “You will be a fine Commander. Everything is falling into place.”

“Make no mistake, Eamon,” Daryth replied. “Adder will not let you down. He is the best at what he does.”

“What of Jhayla?”

“She is even better,” Daryth replied, smiling. Eamon chuckled.

“Very well,” he said. “Now let’s see how Azim is doing.”

Erenoth sat cross-legged beside the fallen Knight. Azim himself was propped up on his elbows, staring up into the forest’s canopy as the morning sun began to poke through. He turned as he heard the crunching of leaves that signaled the approach of his friends.

All of the Knights, along with Khalid, stopped near him, kneeling down to offer their sympathies.

“How are you?” Eamon asked.

Azim grunted, clutching his ribs. “Better,” he said. “Erenoth is healing me in stages.”

“His ribs are healing fast,” Erenoth explained. “The head injury is completely healed. But the ribs might take longer. Especially if he doesn’t lay back and let them rest.”

The Knights chuckled, encouraging Azim to listen to his caretaker.

“The pain is mostly gone,” Azim said. “But the loss of the Sword of Sulemain will haunt me. I feel that I have failed my brothers.”

“You have not failed us, brother,” Eamon assured him. “Though the sword has been taken, you are still with us.”

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Brianna said, stroking Azim’s hair. “I would really miss that handsome face.”

“Hey now!” Angen protested, jokingly. “I thought I was the handsome one.”

Brianna laughed, putting her arm around the big man. “You’re the handsomest,” she said.

“Azim should be fully healed by the next nightfall,” Erenoth interrupted. “Until then, he should rest. So should everyone else.”

“Very well,” Eamon agreed. “We could all use some sleep.”

The Knights grunted in agreement, resigning themselves to returning to the campfire. Despite the fatigue they all felt, however, it was not likely that sleep would come for any of them.

Chapter Nineteen

As his eyes refocused upon opening, Farouk saw the outline of a large man standing over him. He propped himself up, squinting to clear his sight. In the blur, the vague outline of Kronos became more clear. Kronos was now awake, and stood silently watching the Druid as he slumbered. Now that Farouk was awake, the Firstborn cocked his head and raised his eyebrows, as if asking if he was alright.

“I am alright,” he said, not fully sure that he was answering a question or just making a statement.

Kronos held out his hand, offering it to the Druid as support. Farouk reached up and clasped it, then was pulled roughly to his feet. He stumbled a bit as he gained his bearings, waiting until the room stopped spinning to look at Kronos’ face. The Firstborn was much taller than Farouk realized. He was at least three feet taller than a man, and twice as wide. His skin was a pale blue, rough, and covered in scars. His face, though also scarred, was kind and gentle looking, yet stern.

“Do you not speak?” Farouk asked.

Kronos tilted his head to the side, saying nothing.

“Alright, then,” Farouk said, backing away to face Kronos in a more comfortable fashion. “I am Farouk al-Fayid, former Captain in the Legion of Khem. I am now a Druid in the service of the Great Mother. Your people need you. I was sent here to free you from this prison so that you may help them. You are the Great Mother’s only hope of surviving, as I understand.”

Kronos cocked his head, as if understanding, and placed his hand on Farouk’s head.

“So, you understand then?”

Kronos smiled.

“Then we must go,” Farouk said. “I will open the portal back to your temple.”

Kronos did nothing. Farouk nodded slightly, turning to reach for his staff. He returned to the throne through which he had entered this realm and contemplated his next move.

See what you wish, not what you expect.

Farouk closed his eyes, picturing the throne as it was; a stone chair, decorated with symbols that he had yet to learn. A throne is a chair. This chair is a portal for men to commune with the Firstborn.

The chair is a portal. A portal is a door.

Farouk raised his staff before him, his eyes still closed, his mind focused on the throne. Within his mind, he molded the throne to his will. He stretched it flat, rolling it like dough in his mind. Then, he laid the flattened stone against the wall and placed his hands in the center. He pressed with his fingers, digging in to the stone as if it were putty. He pulled outward, stretching the holes he had made into one larger hole. He continued pulling until the hole was large enough for a man to step through. Then, a very large man.

Finally, the hole was stretched to a size large enough for Kronos to step through. Then, he opened his eyes.

Before him, fastened to the wall, was a steel frame, perfectly round, and studded with strange fins that looked like stacks of metal plates placed around the perimeter. Within the center of the frame, there was a faint shimmering membrane that was seemingly waiting to be touched. Farouk pointed his staff toward it, willing his energy into it through the shaft to gently touch the membrane with its gem.

The portal exploded into life, starting with a small ball of intense green light in the center. Then, the orb burst outward in a radial blast, sending the glowing ring of light to the edges of the frame. The center was now open, and Farouk could see the throne room, complete with seven startled Druaga on the other side.

Smiling, Farouk turned back to Kronos, who wordlessly strode to the portal and stepped through. The Druaga fell to their knees, bowing low to their Lord. Farouk felt admiration for them, and even more respect for Kronos himself as the Firstborn embraced all of them in turn.

This brutish divinity who was the embodiment of the Great Mother’s wrath showed love for his servants. Very uncharacteristic, Farouk thought. Not since the stories of Imbra had Farouk ever heard anything similar. His heart felt warm in Kronos’ presence, and he finally realized the meaning of a phrase he had heard from Jodocus.

To serve one Firstborn is to serve them all.

Farouk bowed down beside the Druaga. Kronos saw the gesture, and went to him, kneeling down to embrace the Druid as he had  done with the others. Farouk felt his warmth, and his love. He had never felt such strong love from anyone or anything, other than Jodocus and his own brother.

Upon thinking of Azim, Kronos lifted Farouk’s chin, looking him in the eyes. The Firstborn’s face showed sorrow. He felt Farouk’s longing; not only for Azim, but for Jodocus, as well.

Kronos then stood, waving his arm toward the portal the two of them had stepped through. An image appeared on the shimmering surface. Farouk stood, watching as the image came into focus and figures began to appear. He saw Azim lying near a camp fire, propped up on one elbow. The rest of the Knights of The Dragon were around him. They were making plans, it seemed; drawing things in the dirt and offering suggestions for changes.

Farouk could not hear their words, but could sense their meaning. He could also see that Azim was injured, as his face was marred by bruises and cuts that had not fully healed. Despite this, Farouk smiled, knowing that his brother had found his place in the world. It was a good thing to see.

Kronos waved his hand again, changing the image. The image of his brother faded into a blur, and then focused back onto the image of two people walking along a barren landscape. It was Jodocus, and a woman he did not recognize. She was, presumably, Jodocus’ new apprentice. She was beautiful, Farouk thought, and he could sense great power within her. It was the same power he felt in himself, only more attuned to The Dragon.

“That is his new apprentice,” Farouk said, smiling.

Kronos showed a warm expression. There was sadness in his eyes, however. It was a sadness that Farouk could not fathom.

“Thank you, Kronos,” Farouk said.

Kronos nodded, then pointed upward. Farouk looked up, seeing the sunlight shining through high above. This was, apparently, the route they were going to take. He gathered his belongings in anticipation, then signaled Kronos that he was ready. With one last look at the Druaga, Farouk stood close to the Firstborn. Kronos wrapped his arms around the Druid and prepared him for a leap upward, an action that Farouk was not expecting.

“Oh…no…” he muttered before clenching his teeth.

“There must be three thousand of them,” Ragnar exclaimed to the Jarl.

Cannuck stared down at the massive army of Jindala that marched north below them. His face was blank, other than the intense, burning hatred in his eyes. Ragnar looked at his King, fearful of the man’s demeanor. He had seen that look before, when the King himself wiped out an entire troop of wild men who had raided a nearby camp of Northmen. The battle had been quick and incredibly furious, and when it was over, The wild men were in pieces.

“Kruum and Kronos are with us, Jarl,” Ragnar said, prompting Cannuck to turn to him with a stern look.

“I am not concerned,” he said. “They are sheep, easily scattered by wolves.”

Ragnar grinned. “I am ready.”

“We will begin our descent down the mountain,” Cannuck said. “By the time we reach the fields, they should be right around that outcropping.”

Ragnar looked to where his King was pointing, seeing the jagged stone that protruded upward at the edge of a small cliff. Ragnar nodded his agreement.

“We will attack them with arrows,” Cannuck said. “Then charge.”

“We may die,” Ragnar said flatly.

The Jarl nodded. “That is possible.”

Kronos landed roughly on the solid rock outside the temple, Farouk in hand. The Druid stumbled as he was released, turning and stepping away to regain his balance.

“That was…interesting,” he said, checking his person to ensure he hadn’t lost anything.

Kronos turned away, and began marching to the East. Farouk, confused, ran after him.

“Wait!” he pleaded. “We need to go south! The enemy is south!”

Kronos remained silent, continuing his determined march.

“Where are we going?”

Kronos stopped, turning to Farouk, and pointed to the plains outside the edge of the massive caldera. Farouk looked out, seeing the remains of what looked like an ancient battle. Still, he did not understand.

“What is down there?” he asked.

Kronos simply placed his fist on his chest. Farouk furrowed his brow in question. “I don’t understand, friend,” he said.

Kronos turned again and resumed his march down the ridge. It was a long way down, Farouk noted, but fairly easy to traverse. It was not too steep to be dangerous, but was just steep enough to force the Druid to descend facing sideways. It was a method he was used to, having grown up in the desert. He spent a lot of his childhood racing up and down the dunes, chasing lizards and racing his brother.

He chuckled to himself as he pictured his little brother falling face first in the sand, having to have his mouth washed out by their angry mother. He remembered seeing his father laugh as he watched from nearby, then comforting Azim afterward. The memories gave Farouk comfort as he trudged behind Kronos, unsure as to their purpose.

The bottom of the ridge opened into a rough field of snow and ice. The ice had been trampled and broken, and the stains of frozen blood were everywhere. Further out, the ice had been melted away and the ground underneath refrozen into a dry, cracked, desert-like surface. Within the frozen mud, thousands upon thousands of bones were trapped and jutting out.

“What happened here?” Farouk asked.

Kronos turned, his face grave and sad. He then turned back to the scene, letting his head hang in sorrow. Farouk could feel his pain, and went to stand next to him, staring out over the battlefield.

“A great battle was fought here,” Farouk said. “Many Northmen were killed. But I see signs of some other group.”

There were, indeed, things that did not seem to belong. Pieces of armor were scattered among the bones, tarnished yet obviously made of silver or something similar. Blades of an odd style were also among the remains. Blades with wing-shaped cross guards and stunningly carved pommels. The weapons of the divine, it seemed.

Before Farouk could comment, Kronos raised both of his hands into the air, palms up, and turned his head to the sky. He suddenly bellowed like a massive horn, his deep voice shaking the ground and causing chunks of ice and rock to slide down the ridge behind them. Farouk covered his ears, startled at the power of the Firstborn’s voice.

Suddenly, the clouds above opened up. Lighting began to flash around the perimeter, dancing all along the sides before finally shooting to the center. A blinding burst of energy appeared there, and a beam of light was shot down to the ground.

Farouk stepped back to brace himself against the rocks as the ground began to shake. The sound of the Earth rumbling was deafening, and Farouk became afraid. The mud began to darken as the heat from the beam melted it, and steam rose, quickly filling the plain like a hot fog.

The beam then widened, encompassing the entire battlefield in a circular shape. The mud began to stir, as if life forms were slushing around in the slime. Before Farouk’s widened eyes, many of the bones began to move together and reassemble. Pieces of armor and weapons moved back to their respective owners, and mud began to flow up and gather on the skeletons. The mud mixed with the light from the beam, forming flesh that faded into a pale, Northern hue.

An entire army was being reborn.

“What is happening?” Farouk gasped. Kronos said nothing, but watched as his army slowly rose from the mud.

Farouk stared in awe. A thousand or more female warriors rose one by one into a military formation. Their armor had regained its divine silver luster, and their weapons glinted in the morning sun like the stars themselves. As he gazed upon them, Farouk realized who they were. They were the warriors of legend, who flew high above the battlefield to carry the dead to Valhalla.

The Valkyries had returned.

The Northmen crouched behind the rocky ridge, watching the Jindala army march below. Cannuck held his hand in the air, waiting for the right time to signal his archers to loose their arrows. Ragnar crouched beside him, fidgeting in anticipation of the charge.

Cannuck dropped his hand.

The arrows flew over the heads of the foot soldiers, whistling through the air on their way down. Dozens of Jindala fell as the mass of arrows hit their ranks. Ragnar laughed loudly, bouncing from side to side as he awaited Cannuck’s order to charge.

The Jarl signaled his archers for another volley, then raised his hammer in the air.

“Kronos!” he shouted.

The Northmen poured over the ridge, covering the entire surface with their numbers. The Jindala, recovering from the two volleys of arrows, set themselves up for the charge. Their spearmen packed together tightly in the front ranks to form an impassable phalanx. The swordsman stood ready just behind them. Despite their superior numbers, however, the howls of the united tribes of the north shook their very souls.

“Stand fast!” Nadir, the Jindala leader shouted, drawing his scimitar and climbing to the top of his sedia. He watched in horror as the savage Northmen clashed with the front lines, knocking his spearmen away and plowing into the infantry. Within seconds, the Northmen had annihilated his front lines, and had laid waste to his entire phalanx.