Eclipsing the Darkness (The Dragon Chronicles Book 5) (21 page)

Farouk gritted his teeth, nodding his head in agreement.

Suddenly a blast of blinding light appeared a short ways away. Wights screamed and screeched as they were thrown into the air. The sound of steel chopping through undead flesh rang out as the light subsided, and the attacking undead paused.

Aeli’s eyes widened as she saw Jodocus lying prone; propped up on his elbows, staring up at the stranger who had appeared over him.

“Hello, little friend!” Torak said, reaching down to offer his hand to Jodocus.

The druid grinned as he grabbed on and stood to take the shaman’s side. “It’s about time,” he said.

Torak chuckled, raising his staff into the air. “I was resting,” he replied. “But now I’m here.”

The undead began to close in again; their glowing eyes and clacking teeth bared. Torak straightened, holding his staff higher and calling upon the powers of the sky. With one final upward thrust, the yellow gem on his staff exploded into a burst of searing light as bright as the sun. The wights shrieked as the heat scorched them, driving them back. The defenders attacked with renewed courage, cutting them down as the light passed through their own bodies harmlessly.

Jodocus released a spell of his own, finishing off the incinerated creatures with a pressure wave. Their burnt, rotting bodies were blasted apart in a cloud of dust and gore. Torak continued his attacks, directing bursts of sunlight at the enemies around him. Those that got too close were cut down with his gleaming blade.

Soon, the wights began to retreat, backing away from the defenders and fleeing to the north. Over their howls and screeches, the roars and growls of many echoed through the courtyard. Torak could feel the presence of the Dragon’s servants, and another familiar presence that chilled his bones. He turned to the south in horror, feeling the growing presence among the chaos.

The battle was about to shift direction.

“What is it?” Jodocus asked.

Torak narrowed his gaze as he stared down the hill. A dark mist was creeping upward and permeating the battlefield. It glided soundlessly through the chaotic gathering of friend and foe alike, swirling and roiling like black fog. No one seemed to notice.

“The Enkhatar,” Torak whispered. “They have come.”

“Don’t let them get away!” Farouk shouted to Adder. “Hunt them down!”

Adder dashed past him, calling to his troops to follow. The wights had reached the north end of the temple grounds and were fleeing the scene of the magical light. The Alvar followed the rangers as they gave chase, with the militia in tow. Farouk watched them disappear into the shadows, and then turned to Aeli.

“Follow them,” he said. “They need your help. I must remain here.”

“Your powers are much stronger than mine,” Aeli reminded him. “And I want to make sure Jodocus is safe.”

“Jodocus can hold his own,” Farouk replied. “And this new situation requires my attention. The Enkhatar are coming.”

Aeli nodded hesitantly, not knowing why Farouk requested that she leave. His reasons were more than what he had stated. Torak had appeared—Tyrus, as he had remembered him—and his help would be needed as well. Aeli’s presence would get in the shaman’s way, reminding the former Sultan of his guilt.

“Take Allora with you,” Farouk said.

Aeli turned and ran off toward the tower where Allora was finishing off the infected. Farouk watched them abandon their post, with Allora looking back at him in question. Thankfully, she accepted the order and the two of them disappeared into the throng of soldiers.

As Farouk turned back to the courtyard, he saw the mysterious shaman standing beside Jodocus, facing the south. Tenegal, the moorcat, and the Priests of Drakkar were approaching their position. Khalid and Erenoth had transformed back, and the lesser priests were working in tandem; with Khalid’s men riding Erenoth’s dragons.

Torak turned as Farouk approached. His face was familiar; yet more akin to the natives of Eirenoch than it was before. He was fully human now, and not as a man of Khem. Even his smile seemed warm and genuine. Perhaps he had truly changed. Whatever the case, Khalid, too, looked upon him with suspicion. Jodocus, however, maintained his position.

“The darkness comes,” Torak said, grimly.

Farouk lowered his gaze, but took up position alongside the new ally. Jodocus looked up at him with a smile, nodding his head encouragingly. Farouk couldn’t help but smile. He saw the message in the young druid’s eyes.

The past was the past, and now was the time to unite.

“Then we shall stand together,” Farouk said.

“I am ready,” Khalid said. “This won’t be my first time battling an Enkhatar.”

Farouk heard Dael chuckle atop his mount, bouncing his sword in his free hand. Farouk grinned, turning back toward the black fog that ascended the hill from the forest below.

“This is it,” Jodocus said. “The end of the Enkhatar.”

“Get to the air,” Erenoth said to the priests. “Scout the area. Attack from above when you can. Destroy any stragglers.”

With a growl, the dragons took to the air, carrying their passengers into the clouds above. The black fog whirled, almost seeming to reach up to grab them as they ascended. Then, it thickened; becoming darker and separating into three columns of darkness that slowly rose before the defenders. The sound of swords being drawn rang in Farouk’s ears, and his heart quickened.

The final battle was near.

Adder’s men fired unceasingly into the mob of undead that fled before them. His own bow sang again and again as he buried arrow after arrow into their flailing bodies. Whatever had spooked them, had done it so effectively that they were oblivious to the dozens of arrows that protruded from their flesh.

The Alvar switched between sword and bow, either firing at the flanks, or catching up to them and fighting face to face. Despite their dwindling numbers, the wights fought back furiously. Even the skilled Alvar were hard pressed to keep them at bay.

Adder himself circled around, trying to reach the front of the horde to cut them off. A dozen of his men were close behind, bounding through the weeds and underbrush to keep up with their captain.

“Hurry!” Adder shouted, his sword making short work of the wights that strayed from their path. “Keep them herded. Drive them toward the open plains!”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Jhayla’s small company approaching them from the opposite side. She too had realized that keeping the enemy together was the best course of action. He smiled, admiring her mirrored tactics.

A blast of green light erupted from behind the enemies, lighting up the forest in its eerie glow. He knew immediately that Aeli and Allora had followed them. With their magic behind the horde, and the rangers and Alvar keeping them together, driving them all out into the open would take no time at all.

Apparently, everyone had the same idea.

A creek appeared ahead, shallow but swift. Adder led his men across it, leaping over the muddy rocks. The wights, having no sense of direction or awareness, tumbled down the steep sides to the sludge below. They squirmed and shrieked as they struggled to get back to their feet, still desperately clawing their way to the north, and stomping each other into the mud.

Adder leaped into the shallow water, driving the outer groups inward with flawless strikes of his sword. As the undead fell, the cold water became black with their blood, and chunks of undead flesh began to float away in the current. Again, bursts of green light signaled the druids’ efforts to drive them forward. Jhayla appeared in his sight again, driving the wights on her side toward the center. Her own squad followed close, slicing the undead to pieces and herding them like macabre cattle.

Jhayla made her way through to Adder’s side, her twin blades clearing a path for her officers to follow. Together the two of them crippled the fleeing creatures, all while keeping their eyes on the Alvar archers to avoid their streaking arrows.

Then, as Jhayla passed in front of him, a wight pounced down from the top of the bank. She spun to the side, slashing at it with her blades—running right into the grasp of a second attacker. Adder rushed forward, finishing off the pouncing creature as Jhayla growled in pain. As he turned, she stumbled away, clutching her shoulder; her face a mask of agony and rage. Adder’s heart pounded as his anger burst forth. He charged, cutting her attacker in half with a blood-curdling howl.

Enraged, the ranger rushed to her side, grabbing her around the waist and pushing through the weeds to drag her away.

“Adder,” she cried, sulking in anguish as her partner led her to safety. “Damn it.”

“Calm down,” Adder assured her. “It will be alright. It’s not that bad.”

She continued to mumble as Adder pulled her up the bank toward the Alvar line. They continued firing their barrage of arrows as the last of the wights disappeared up the opposite bank.

“Keep going!” Adder shouted. “Destroy them all!”

The Alvar bounded down the bank, running past Adder and his crippled friend. He dragged her toward a large oak, settling in the safety of its knotted roots and pulling her close to ease her fear.

“Adder…” she choked. “It hurts… why… does it hurt so bad?”

Adder’s heart sank. He could feel the tightness in his throat growing stronger, and the burning of tears caused his eyes to clench shut.

“Stay calm, Jhayla,” he whispered. “Aeli will help.”

Jhayla’s teeth were clenched, and her face was contorted in absolute agony. Adder avoided looking at her; instead, he pulled back her cloak to reveal the wound that the wight had dealt. He gasped, seeing the bloody pits where the creature had torn away small bits of her flesh. Though there was not much blood, and not much damage that he could see, the wound was still festering already.

“No,” he whispered. He was lost. His knowledge of healing was minimal. All he could do was stop the bleeding until Aeli spotted them. But why was it so painful? It was a minor wound; he had suffered much worse—so had she.

“Aeli!” Adder shouted into the forest. “Aeli!”

Jhayla’s moans became louder. Her breathing grew shallow, and her grip tightened around Adder’s arm. He began to sob as he finally looked at her face. She was deathly pale, and her eyelids were darkening to a deep gray; almost black. Though he could clearly see her current state, all he could see in his mind was that little girl he had met in the alley so many years ago. The dirty, thieving little girl with a dagger that had threatened to gut him like a fish.

He broke down when he thought of that moment, cradling her head in his arms and gripping her tightly. She struggled in his grasp, trembling with the pain and fear that had overcome her. Adder could only give her comfort. There was nothing else he could do.

“Hold on,” he whispered desperately. “We still have a battle to fight.”

Jhayla’s breaths were shallow and quick. Yet still she struggled to gaze up into his eyes. Her fear was obvious, and looking at her tore his heart in two.

“I want to go to Thyre,” she said through her pain. “I want to see the King’s Walk.”

Adder struggled to grin; only managing to pout. “I’ll take you there,” he said.

“Promise… promise me.”

Adder clenched his jaw tightly, stifling the urge to scream in rage. “I promise,” he said, stroking her hair gently.

“Adder!” a shout came from nearby. He looked up, seeing Aeli stumbling toward him through the weeds. For a moment, he felt a small glimmer of hope. But, upon seeing the look of horror on her face, his soul was crushed.

“Oh no,” she whispered, crouching down next to him. “Jhayla…”

Adder laid Jhayla down, letting the druid look at her wounds. Her face trembled as she gasped for breath; small rivulets of black blood forming in the corners of her mouth. Aeli’s face echoed Adder’s own fear, and her eyes met his. They were filled with sorrow and pity. They were filled with doom.

“Adder,” she whispered. “She is lost…”

“No!” he protested, tearing his eyes away. He stared down at Jhayla, his head swirling with the thought of losing his best friend.

“Don’t let her suffer,” Aeli said, gripping his shoulder. “I am sorry. There is nothing that can be done.”

Adder gritted his teeth, rocking back and forth as his anguish grew. He breathed harshly, growling with anger as he gripped Jhayla tighter. He felt as if his world was crashing down around him. And indeed it was. Everything that he and Jhayla had built together; their sect of the Guild, their friendship, their mutual respect—it was gone. All of it.

“Let her go, Adder. End her suffering.”

Adder growled in protest, pushing Aeli away as his anger clouded his senses. He could hear her stand and creep away into the shadows, but he knew she would be watching. It mattered not; his horror and sorrow came out in wretched sobs regardless. There was no controlling them, no matter how hard he tried. This was the end.

Jahyla’s shallow breathing stopped. Adder, biting his lip, looked again at her face. Her demeanor was no longer that of his friend, but something dark, lifeless, and terrifying. Though her eyes were dull, and her expression was that of the dead, there was still movement. There were still breaths. Low, deep growls that emanated from her very soul. Tortured pleas from whatever was left of his friend.

He could not let it go on. He would save her soul. He owed her that.

Setting her gently on the ground, Adder picked up his sword. He remained on his knees, leaning over her as he raised the blade and faced it down toward her heart.

This is not happening,
he told himself.

But it was. There was only one thing he could do now.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and whispered, “Goodbye, my friend.”

With a thrust of his blade, Adder’s world was shattered forever.

Chapter Twenty

An inky blackness surrounded Titus as the metallic dragon soared high above the battlefield. Below him, the heat signatures of uncounted thousands merged into one glowing mass that stretched almost as far as he could see. Though he could discern no individual men—friend nor foe—he knew that somewhere down there was his master.