King Of The North (Book 3) (26 page)

Nadir looked up at the ridge and gasped as he saw that the Northmen were still descending its walls. They came in an unending wave; a mass of savage warriors with a ferocity matched by few. The three thousand Jindala were in for a challenge.

“Send them to Hell!” Cannuck shouted as he swung his massive hammer from side to side. He felt the impact of Jindala soldiers being crushed by its massive weight, and growled with blood lust as the spray of crimson filled the air. His warriors chanted the songs of the north, relentlessly taunting the foreign invaders into a panic, making them easy prey for the determined Northmen.

Cannuck’s men were merciless and without fear. They were resigned to give their own lives in defense of their people, and would push forward to whatever end. This was an army that welcomed a warrior’s death, and as the battle raged on, they knew that the gates of Valhalla would be open for them.

If they were to die, they would take as many Jindala with them as they could.

The Druid and his divine companion could hear the sounds of battle in the distance. The clashing of steel and the battle cries of the Northmen had caught Kronos’ attention. His pace had quickened, and he even snatched up Farouk several times to make giant leaps to cover the distance as quickly as possible.

Now, as they arrived at a long, rocky crest, they looked down upon the massive battle. Cannuck’s people, though outnumbered three to one, fought with the hearts of true warriors. Kronos smiled as he looked upon them, his divine soul filled with pride at his children’s ferocity. With a stern look, he turned to Farouk, awaiting the Druid’s understanding of what would happen next.

Farouk, accepting his duty as defender of righteousness, drew his sword. He held it high, returned Kronos’ gaze, and nodded his readiness. The Firstborn took hold of him one last time, and made a great leap into the fray.

Nadir did not see the two mysterious figures soar through the air. He rushed among the back of his lines, eager to join his men in destroying the Northmen once they were surrounded. As his attention was focused on finding the Northman he knew as Cannuck, the divine spirit of the north made his appearance.

The massive form of the giant crashed into the ground in the center of the Jindala army. Dozens of Nadir’s men were thrown to the air as the weight of the mysterious immortal impacted the ground, causing the very Earth to shake and buckle. It was as if a meteor had fallen from the sky for the purpose of defending the northland.

Both armies stopped dead in their tracks, staring in awe as the giant recovered from its landing and slowly rose to its full height. A man emerged from its grasp, sword in one hand, a staff in the other. The Northmen, having realized that the gods had heard their call, broke into a deafening roar of war cries.

The King of the North had arrived.

Nadir’s eyes widened as he watched the two newcomers spring into action. The robed man, waving his staff before him, blasted his troops back with an arc of green fire. The giant had summoned a large hammer, and charged the surrounding men, bashing them away by the dozens. Nadir watched as his men were splattered into their comrades, and he fell back in fear.

“Release the Defilers!” he shouted, hoping that the creatures’ presence would have some effect on the newcomers. However, as the sorcerers summoned them, and they rose from the midst of the Jindala army, the strange man with the staff caught their attention. Nadir glared at him, recognizing the young Captain who was once under the command of Tyrus the Blackhearted.

“Farouk…” he hissed under his breath.

Farouk saw the Defilers appear, and instantly saw his gem come to life. The Defiler inside it had felt their presence, and knew that it could take their power for itself. Farouk pointed his staff toward them at the Defiler’s request. It came to life with a blinding blue light, sending out ribbons and tendrils of energy that surrounded the Defilers.

Both creatures shrieked with rage, flailing their limbs about in a furious attempt to break free. The black cloaks that surrounded them billowed out, as if caught within the winds of an enormous storm. The sorcerers who summoned them fell back, frightened at the strange man who had negated the power of their greatest weapons so easily.

With one final burst of light, the staff began to draw the Defilers’ power into itself. Farouk focused on feeding his friend within, directing the stolen energy into the gem to repay the creature inside for its kindness.

“Feed, my friend,” he thought. “Take their energy. Free them.”

The black cloaks disintegrated from the Defilers’ bodies. Kronos, passing by to resume his own attacks, avoided interfering and ignored the creatures as they shrieked in pain. He knew that Farouk had one of them within his gem, and knew that his friend had a plan for these two as well. It was a plan, and a promise, that the Druid had made to the Defiler who had saved him.

He would absorb them all and set them free.

Cannuck pushed his men onward. Though the Jindala were beginning to flee with the appearance of Kronos and his companion, he refused to let them escape. They deserved no mercy, and he was not about to give it to them.

“Hunt them down, men!” he shouted. “Do not let them escape! Kronos is with us!”

The Northmen charged, their strength and courage renewed. They let loose their war cries, following Kronos and the
stranger in their pursuit of the enemy army.

Then, Kronos stopped, raising his hammer into the air, calling upon the powers of the sky. Lighting arced between the clouds, and the sky opened in a bright, swirling vortex. From the clouds, a whirlwind appeared and descended onto the battlefield. Within its depths, a thousand warriors appeared and joined the hunt from the air.

The Valkyries flowed like light into the Jindala army, their divine blades cutting the enemy down by the hundreds. Their ethereal forms were as quick as the wind itself, and in a short time, they had overtaken the fleeing army completely.

The Northmen cheered as they saw their Lord and his warriors destroy the invaders. The line of Valkyries moved along the back of the fleeing Jindala, leaving nothing but death in their wake. Kronos marched behind them, followed by the
stranger, and the Northern army was not far behind.

Silka and her healers wandered among the desolation of the battle. Though their purpose was to care for any fallen warriors they may find, they had, in fact, found none. For as far as the eye could see, the dead were solely those of the Jindala. If any Northman had fallen, then the hand of Kronos had healed them, or the Valkyries had taken them.

Either way, Silka knew that Farouk had been successful. He had completed the quest that the Great Mother had bestowed upon him, and now Kronos could travel to Khem to destroy
The Lifegiver. She felt pride in the Druid, knowing that he could only have completed his quest when he had reached full realization of his abilities. Only the truly enlightened could overpower the spells of The Lifegiver, and Farouk was now one of them.

His transformation, she knew, was complete.

Cannuck and the armies of the north stood face to face with Kronos. The Firstborn stood as a statue, looking over his people with not only pride, but with the love that only a Firstborn could feel. Behind him, the Valkyries stood proud as well.

Kronos then turned his attention to the Jarl, regarding him with the pride that a father would show his favored son. Slowly, he approached Cannuck, who took a knee and bowed to his Lord. The entire army followed suit, and the Firstborn waved his hands before them to give them his blessing.

Kronos then pulled Cannuck up to his feet, staring into the mortal man’s eyes. Cannuck swallowed hard, his heart on the verge of exploding with the power of the Firstborn’s presence. Without a word, Kronos reached up and removed his own horn helmet. With one hand, he swept away Cannuck’s helmet, and replaced it with his own.

“Odin.” Kronos said, having spoken his first word since his awakening.

Cannuck did not understand the meaning of the word, but did not question his Lord. He saw, from the corner of his eye, Kronos’ companion approach. He turned, seeing the bearded man staring directly at him. His face was kind, noble, and filled with wisdom.

“He has given you your divine name,” Farouk said. “You are now the King of the North, and he has named you his son.”

Cannuck said nothing, but looked back up at Kronos. The Firstborn simply smiled, pulling Cannuck close to embrace him. The Jarl felt his tears escape, and wept into his father’s arms, accepting the gift that he had been given.

Farouk turned away, walking directly through the kneeling soldiers to return to the scene of the battle. He knew that Silka would be there, and it was now time to bid her farewell. He would follow Kronos and his Valkyries to Khem, and take his place at the center of the world as the Grand Druid.

This, as was written, was his fate. He realized that now.

Yrsa and Silka stood above the one wounded Northman they had found. They recognized him as Ragnar. The warrior had been run through the shoulder with a spear, and although the wound seemed painful and deadly, the warrior was calm and accepting of aid.

“It doesn’t hurt much,” he mumbled as Silka comforted him. Yrsa had laid her hands on the wound after the spear had been removed, and was now focusing her healing energy into his body.

“If it doesn’t hurt much, then why are you laying here on the ground amongst the dead?” Yrsa replied. Silka chuckled at her mother’s brashness.

“Alright,” Ragnar said. “It hurts a little.”

“Silence now, child,” Yrsa said. “There is no shame in pain. I can see that your arm is paralyzed.”

“It is very possible that it will remain so,” Silka added.

“Perhaps not,” a voice said from behind them.

Silka smiled, recognizing the voice of Farouk. She stood, turning to him to embrace him tightly.

“You have returned, my love,” she said. Yrsa grunted slightly, drawing Ragnar’s attention. The warrior looked to her in question, prompting her to turn his head away.

“I wanted to make sure you were still among the living,” Farouk replied.

“All of the women and children made it safely to Falgraf,” she said.

“I am glad,” Farouk replied. “But I am afraid to say that Bjorn and the rest were not so fortunate.”

Silka hung her head for a moment, then nodded. “They gave their lives to allow us to escape. You have gained the respect of our people for fighting as one of us. And for dying.”

Farouk furrowed his brow. “I did not die, Silka. I am here.”

Yrsa, continuing her work on Ragnar, said, “Oh, you were dead, my friend. You were dead.”

“The creature within your amulet brought you back,” Silka added. “It gave you part of its own life to save yours.”

“I knew it had saved my life,” Farouk agreed. “But I did not realize I had actually died.”

Silka looked around at the devastation, waving her hand to emphasize her feelings. “There has been too much death,” she said, then directed his hand to her belly. “But here, there is life. Your life.”

Farouk knelt before her placing his hand on her hip and pressing the side of his head against her abdomen. She pushed aside her tunic to expose the bare flesh, and Farouk turned his face to press against it. Inside, he could feel the life that grew there.

“I can feel its heartbeat,” he said, smiling. “And its power.”

“He will be a leader to our people,” she said. “And will wield great power.”

“He?” Farouk repeated.

“Yes. I have given the Jarl the honor of naming him, if that pleases you.”

She could feel Farouk’s nod on her belly. “And what did the Jarl name him?”

“His name is Tyr,” she replied.

“Tyr. What does that mean?”

Silka chuckled, stroking Farouk’s hair as he pressed his face harder into her skin. “I am not sure,” she said. “But I know that he has been blessed with not only your power, but with the power of those who lie beyond. The powers above have taken notice of his bloodline. He will be a keeper of knowledge to our people.”

“Then he shall be my peer.”

“He will know who his father is,” Silka assured him. “And one day he will seek you out. Teach him all that he does not know.”

Farouk stood, taking Silka’s hands in his own, and pulling her close to him. “I will,” he said. “I promise you. There is nothing I will ever learn that will not be passed on to him.”

Silka embraced him, quickly feeling the tightness in her throat. Though she would not say it out loud, she knew the truth of what was about to happen. She held the Druid’s face in her hands, kissing him firmly on the lips and letting her tears fall onto his face.

He turned, casually waving his staff at Ragnar, who immediately began moving his injured arm. Then, the Druid began his journey back to the south, gradually growing smaller and smaller until he finally disappeared into the mist. It was just before he vanished that Silka fully understood why she felt such sorrow.

She knew in her heart that she would never see him again.