King Of The North (Book 3) (5 page)

The priests were silent, but Khalid knew they agreed. The Dragon trusted these men to give them his power, and The Dragon had chosen well. Dael and his men at the mines were strong-willed, able-bodied, and devoted. Khalid had no doubt that their ability to spread the word, and the wrath, of The Dragon was powerful enough for them to be chosen.

"Faillaigh needs us," Khalid said. "The city is still under Jindala control. We will take it back, and spread
The Dragon's word. The more people who return to him, the more powerful he will grow."

"We will have trouble getting in," Dael reminded him.

"Leave that to me," Khalid said, smiling. "I have a way with words."

Chapter Five

The people of Morduin gathered en masse along the road to the Valley of Peace. They lined the road hand in hand, their heads lowered in mourning for their beloved Queen. As the procession passed, they raised their faces to lay eyes upon her richly decorated litter. She was beautifully dressed, wearing her emerald green gown, and bearing the crown of the Northern kingdom. Her sword lie between her breast, unsheathed. Her hands gripped its pommel above her heart, and the point was evenly placed below her knees.

Eamon walked at the head, Maedoc and Erenoth following, with the Priests of Drakkar bearing her weight. Behind the procession, Siobhan's royal handmaidens and bodyguards trailed. Among the royalty, young girls in frilly gowns spread rose petals on the path, sweetening Siobhan's journey into the afterlife.

Within the shelter of a concave cliff face, an elaborate tomb was carved that housed the bodies of the kings of ages past. There were eight tombs in the cul-de-sac altogether, each one sealed with heavy, stone doors. Pillars lined the outside wall, and the flat faces between them were carved with ancient wards to protect the dead on their journey. In the very center, before the largest door, was a great stone slab that would serve as the base for the Queen's sarcophagus.

Standing above the tomb, two drummers pounded a slow rhythm in step with the procession. Their large drums were deep and muffled, giving them a loud, but flat, timbre. At either side, the Knights of
The Dragon stood guard, their weapons presented in formal fashion.

Eamon and Maedoc moved to let the priests pass. They carried the Queen to the stone slab, gently placing her upon the top. When they had lowered her, and bowed in respect, they stood near the tomb doors, three on each side.

The Prince stood in front of the burial platform, gazing down at his mother's body. His face was masked in grief, but he did not shed a tear. He could not. Not now. His people needed him to be strong, and he would not let them down.

His mind raced, memories of his childhood flashing before his eyes. He saw Siobhan and Garret chasing the young Prince around the throne room, laughing and squealing together as they played their games. He remembered the Queen cheering him on during his first archery lesson, when he shot an apple from several yards away. He saw her watching proudly as Garret taught him the ways of battle, and the use of the curved eastern blades that the assassin had trained with himself.

Eamon grieved for Garret, as well. The man had been the only father Eamon had ever known, and his absence was every bit as painful as losing his own mother. He gritted his teeth as he tried to force the memories away, to stuff them down into his soul until he was ready to let them out.

He turned, taking his place next to Maedoc, facing the people who had gathered. Erenoth took his place behind the Queen.

Within the crowd, a child stepped forward, stumbling onto the path like a lost soul. Her mother reached to restrain her, but the child pulled away and ran to Eamon, her face defiled with a fear that a child should never experience. Eamon looked upon her with great sadness, his heart sinking at the sight of her sweet face covered in tears. Choking back his sadness, he knelt down as she reached him. She stopped, looking straight in his eyes.

She said nothing, but breathed heavily, as if her every thought and fear had overtaken her and left her speechless. Eamon reached out to touch her face, gently placing his hand on her cheek. He brushed away the tears from her eye with his thumb, swallowing hard as the emotion built up inside him once more.

"Will you protect us, Prince Eamon?" she asked softly, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

Eamon placed his other hand on her face, holding her still, and leaned in closer. "I swear to you," he replied, "that I will give my life to protect you."

The child began crying, leaning in to embrace the Prince. He returned her embrace, holding her gently, but firmly, in his arms. "You are my life," he assured her. "All of you."

She pulled back to look into his eyes again. He smiled, trying to comfort her. "What is your name, child?"

"Siobhan," she replied. "Like the Queen."

The name made his heart sink again. "That is a beautiful name," he said. "And I can see the Queen's strength in you. She would be proud that you were named after her."

Siobhan smiled, giggling lightly with his words. Eamon smiled at her again, standing to look back at his people. Siobhan's mother had followed her, and now stood outside the perimeter of the tombs. Eamon went to her, guiding Siobhan along to reunite the two. Siobhan's mother took her hand, smiling at the Prince.

"Do not fear," Eamon said. "I will keep you all safe."

Eamon turned to step onto the platform in front of the Queen's body. Facing the crowd, he projected his voice as best as he could.

"My people," he began. "Today, we lay to rest Queen Siobhan, daughter of King Magnus, my grandfather. Her rule shall never be forgotten, and her soul will live on in all of you. She will be remembered as the greatest Queen to ever sit upon the throne of Eirenoch. When I ascend to the throne, this will be my pact with you, the people, that I will serve you in the manner of my mother. I will devote my life to your happiness and well being. But I will not accept the crown this day!"

The crowd came alive with muffled voices. Eamon looked among the people, waiting for his words to settle into their minds. "When Eirenoch is united, and its people are one, only then will I claim the throne!"

Maedoc grimaced, knowing that Eamon's words meant he was to remain regent until such time as the Jindala were driven away. He glanced back to Erenoth, who smiled back at him. The Seer sneered, facing forward again as Eamon continued.

"I will take my Knights back to the south, and defeat Queen Maebh's forces. I will claim her throne on her death or her surrender. Eirenoch shall be one again!"

The crowd cheered, and the Knights raised their weapons into the sky. Eamon turned, motioning for the priests to carry the Queen into her final resting place. He then looked to each of his Knights. They stood proudly, looking like statues. Wrothgaar's eyes, however, were fixed on Eamon. The Prince nodded ever so slightly when his gaze was met. The Northman returned the gesture.

As the Priests of Drakkar carried the Queen into the tomb, Eamon watched in sorrow. Never again would he look upon his mother's face, and never again would he hear her voice. She was gone forever, and the burden of the throne would soon be upon him.

Eamon looked up as he felt Maedoc's hand on his shoulder. Erenoth joined them, standing in front of the Prince.

"What are your plans?" Maedoc asked.

"I think it is time to meet Khalid," Eamon replied. Then, looking up at the High Priest, "Erenoth, I want to form a new faction. Since you and your priests have the ability to take dragon form, I want you to serve as transportation for Khalid and his priests. You will carry them into battle, and fight alongside them."

"As you wish, my Lord," Erenoth said. "I will seek out Khalid at your command."

"You will be known as the Cloud Warriors."

Erenoth nodded. "When you are ready, we will return you and your Knights to Argan."

Eamon turned to Maedoc. "Have quarters prepared for the Knights," he said. "We will stay the night. Then, in the morning, the battle continues."

"Very well, Eamon," Maedoc said. "But please get some rest. I will have the surgeon drug you if need be."

Eamon chuckled. "Not necessary, but thank you. I am exhausted."

"My lord?" Erenoth interrupted, nodding toward the Knights, who still stood at attention at the top of the tomb.

Eamon waved them down.

"Sorry," he said. "Maybe I really do need some sleep. Though it has been troubled of late."

"Shall I inform the surgeon?" Maedoc asked.

"No, I will be fine."

The Priests of Drakkar emerged from the tomb, each one grasping a handle of the heavy stone door to move it into place. It rolled with a grinding sound until it finally slammed into place, sealing the tomb forever. Eamon swallowed again, knowing that the door would never again be opened. Not while Eirenoch still stood.

"Goodbye, Mother," he whispered.

The crowd began to line up to place flowers at the door of the tomb. One by one, they placed their offerings wherever there was room, pausing to grieve and say their silent prayers. Among them, Ulrich had an offering of elk horns and a flagon of Northern wine. Eamon smiled as he saw the Northman. Wrothgaar, seeing his father, went to embrace him. The Prince met the two of them near the far right tomb.

"Ulrich," Eamon said. "It is good to see you."

Ulrich turned from Wrothgaar, still half embracing his son. "And you, Prince Eamon. I came to pay my respects to the Queen. She was a great woman, and a great friend to our people. You have my sincere condolences."

"Thank you, Ulrich," Eamon replied. "How went the battle at Gaellos?"

"The Jindala were defeated," Ulrich said. "We lost very few men, thanks to the help of a strange metallic dragon.

"The dragon was a gift from Traegus," Eamon said. "A Lich who lives on an island far to the west."

Ulrich nodded. "He was a great help," he said. "And so were the thieves."

Eamon cocked his head. "Thieves?"

"A master thief named Adder, and his cronies," Ulrich said. "The Thieves' Guild sent them to help us. If you ask me, Lord Ferrin is with them somehow. He reacts strangely when Adder is around."

"Who is Ferrin?" Wrothgaar asked.

Eamon thought for a moment. "I know he is the Governor of Faillaigh," he said. "But I know nothing else about him. Garret never seemed to like him, though."

"Ah, Garret," Ulrich lamented. "Another great one lost in this battle."

"Yes," Eamon said. "And his death is mysterious to me. He would not be an easy man to kill."

"I would agree," Wrothgaar added. "I saw his strength when he came to meet me at the city gates. His mannerisms were those of a great warrior."

"Jodocus said it was as if he let his killer attack him," Erenoth added. "This is strange to me."

Eamon nodded, crossing his arms. "I must know who it was, and why Garret did not defend himself."

"These are things that can wait until tomorrow," Wrothgaar suggested. "This has been a hard day for all of us. We should all get some rest."

"Agreed," Eamon said. "Let the people pay their respects. They will hold their own service after we leave. We will go to the castle and feast in the Queen's honor. Maedoc should have our quarters ready by then. Ulrich, will you join us?"

Ulrich nodded. "Of course, my friend."

"Very well," Erenoth said. "My priests and I will commune with The Dragon. Tomorrow we will find Khalid."

Adder and Jhayla watched the two strangers as they stopped to rest in a narrow pass. From their vantage point, the thieves could see them in full view, and made a mental note of their faces and clothing. The younger man, a teenaged boy with the face of a cruel and careless noble, seemed to be the leader. The other, a Jindala man in hunter's clothing, was quite obviously his second in command. Adder surmised that these were the commanders of the company of Rangers the thieves had just slaughtered.

The boy's clothing was that of a Ranger, while retaining some air of nobility. His tabard was of a strange mesh that was gray in color, and made no noise as he moved. His tunic was black and emblazoned with the symbol of the wolf. The sword he carried was of the highest quality, with a golden handle and cross guard, and a richly decorated leather scabbard.

There was something familiar about the boy's face, Adder thought. Though he resembled Queen Maebh, there was another set of features that he clearly remembered seeing on another person; the thick, hawk-like nose, the cold blue eyes, and the strong chin. He knew this young man, but he could not remember where.

"What's the matter?" Jhayla asked from beside him.

Adder shook his head. "I'm not sure," he said. "But I know the younger one from somewhere."

Jhayla looked, stared for a moment, then shook her head. "Not me," she said. "Maybe he was a thief in the guild?"

"I don't think so."

"What does it matter?" Jhayla said. "The wolf's head says he's the enemy, and so is his companion for obvious reasons. Let's have at them."

She smiled, teasing Adder with her blinking eyes. Adder took a quick look at her, smiled, and turned back to the strangers. "Alright," he said. "But only because you asked nicely."

Adder stepped up to the peak of the escarpment as Jhayla stood and motioned for the rest of the thieves to follow. The two
strangers, scrambled to their feet, both drawing their swords and taking a defensive stance.

"Who are you?" the boy asked, his stare unwavering and confident.

Adder stopped crossed his arms, smiling widely as his companions moved up to stand beside him. "I could ask you the same question, boy."

"Do you challenge me, thief?" the boy demanded, stepping closer.

Adder stepped back, drawing his sword. He looked to Jhayla, who already had her blades drawn, then back to the angry young man. "Do you accept?" he asked.