Eclipsing the Darkness (The Dragon Chronicles Book 5) (20 page)

Tatsumi gave the command to loose. Hundreds of bows twanged behind them, and the woosh of arrows passing overhead was a comforting sound. A dark cloud of them descended on the Jindala, picking them off by the dozens. The Jindala fell, scattering as they realized they had been flanked.

“Ogres!” Tatsumi shouted. “Release your spells!”

The welling up of magical energy was strong as the ogres gathered their spells. One by one, fiery missiles followed the barrage of arrows, striking their targets and setting them aflame. The northern flank was now in chaos, and an opening widened as the army split into two groups.

“For Yin-Kai!” Tatsumi shouted. Behind him, the samurai echoed his cries, and the charge began.

Jindala sorcerers appeared among the soldiers as they regrouped and faced the Sun King’s army. Bolts of lightning arced from their fingers as they conjured their spells. Tatsumi’s personal guard grouped themselves around him to protect him, and the lightning bounced harmlessly off of their magical armor.

Tsosobu’s heart quickened as the faces of the Jindala came into view. They were of many cultures; men from every country in the world, all enslaved by the Lifegiver. They would die with him.

“
Yin-Kai!
” Tsosobu shouted as his army clashed with the new front line. His katana was a blur as he dodged and struck. The bodies of the fallen barely had time to hit the ground before their replacements were taken down as well. He saw Tatsumi leaping into the air, spinning his blades in a fierce fan-like attack. Around him, his samurai dispatched the Jindala by the dozens.

Before the charge was finished, the sand was already red with the blood of the enemy.

Tsosobu smiled. Win or lose, this would be a glorious battle.

Eamon’s fury rose as he hacked his way through the front lines. The holes left by the janni were quickly filled with friend and foe alike, and Eamon and his allies were quickly engulfed in the fray. The Knights of the Dragon had worked their way up to fight at their king’s side, and the power of the Dragon was multiplied by their presence.

As he focused on fighting his way inward, Eamon kept a small part of his consciousness aware of his surroundings. He could hear—almost feel—the other kings near him. He knew that Faeraon, Hamal, Tregar, Mekembe, Jadhav, and Cannuck were close; each leading their men in the furious battle. The Alvar had cut through the quickest, being the most experienced in battle. Faeraon’s troops were feared—and unexpected. Their divine presence was a bane to the Jindala, who had never faced such a skilled and powerful foe.

It was only a few minutes into the battle when Eamon felt the presence of another ally. Looking off into the distance, while maintaining an offensive stance, he saw the heads of giants towering over the soldiers. By their look, he knew they were the ogre mages of the Eastlands; priests of Yin-Kai, and servants of the Sun King. The army of Kinar had arrived.

The alliance was now complete.

Renewed and encouraged, he pressed forward. With his knights at his side, the Onyx Dragon cut a path through the hordes of Jindala, fearlessly leading his allies into the midst of the chaos. The sound of steel against steel was deafening; surpassed only by the constant drone of thousands upon thousands of men shouting their cries of glory. The ground was saturated with the blood of the fallen; whose bodies lay scattered and broken beneath the boots of the combatants.

Eamon’s sword glowed with the Dragon’s power, casting a bluish light on the faces of his enemies. Those who saw him cowered in fear, blinded by the light of vengeance. The Knights of the Dragon raged alongside him; their own weapons taking on the same fearsome power. They were fully engorged with the magic of the Firstborn, and the enemy seemed to sense it.

Angen and Wrothgaar fought side by side, as usual. Their great weapons worked in tandem, bashing and chopping the enemy like chunks of meat. Brynn and Daryth traded foes, switching between sword and bow as the opportunities came. Brianna and Azim were quick and deadly, each of them taking down multiple enemies one after another as they charged through. Somewhere, Eamon knew, the other kings were feeling the same sense of pride in their men; all of them fighting with the same vengeance and fury.

Ulrich smashed a Jindala spearman into the ground with a howl of rage. Ceor pushed past him, stomping the hapless man into the dust. The two men fought together, as they had done their entire lives. Nearby, Ceor’s son, Cerdic, was making a ruckus with his own men, driving the Jindala back and clearing a circle around them. The Northmen were a force to be feared; clad in spiked armor, and painted with the runes of the north. To the Jindala, they were mindless barbarians; berserkers with no form, but deadly nonetheless.

That was fine with Ulrich.

“Ceor!” he shouted. “Save some for me! I thirst for the blood of devils!”

Ceor laughed out loud as he bashed a swordsmen with the head of his axe. “There are plenty for all of us!”

Suddenly, the outer rim of Jindala exploded inward. Cannuck bashed his way through with his hammer, clearing a corridor through which his own warriors poured in. Ulrich acknowledged the High Jarl with a growl.

“Ulrich!” Cannuck called to him. “Take your men north, toward the Sun King’s army. Meet them in the middle.”

“Right,” Ulrich replied. “Ceor, bring them!”

The Northmen began cutting a swath through the north side of the horde, singing their songs of glory as the Jindala fell before them. Cannuck raised his hammer into the air, calling upon Kronos as he brought it crashing down to the rocks. The Northmen howled in fury as the ground shook. The Valkyries appeared among them, their swords poised and ready for battle.

“Send them to Hell!” the High Jarl shouted.

The Northmen, proud to fight alongside their divine maidens, were driven forward once more. Together, they would reach Tsosobu’s men in no time, leaving nothing but an empty corridor behind them.

Soon, Kronos and his brothers would arrive, and the Firstborn would join the battle.

Chapter Nineteen

“Erenoth!” Jodocus shouted. “I see the moorcat. Take me to him!”

Erenoth leaped into the air, firing a burst of flame as he did. The wights scrambled away; flaming and screeching in pain. The dragon flew over the horde to where the moorcat was surrounded. He landed next to him, clearing a space with his fiery breath.

“Jodocus!” the moorcat howled, clawing his way toward the boy. “Hop on!”

The young druid hopped off Erenoth’s back and rushed to the moorcat, vaulting his shoulders. “I need my staff,” he said. “I dropped it when the flying things took me.”

“Alright, friend!” the moorcat replied. “Farewell Erenoth!”

The dragon nodded his beastly head, firing another burst of flame as he charged into the horde once more. The moorcat started off toward the tower, hurdling the squirming undead and rending them with his claws. He charged through them effortlessly, knocking their puny, twisted forms away as he burst through. Jodocus felt the rush of excitement as he watched the beast’s ferocity. The moorcat was one deadly foe.

“Look out!” Jodocus called as he saw a flying insect creature swoop down. The moorcat dodged, leaping into the air and spinning around to slash the creature to smithereens.

“
Woohoo!
” Jodocus howled.

As they landed, the moorcat clamped onto a blade, tossing it behind him for Jodocus to catch. The boy looked at the blade, turning it over in his hands in confusion.

“What am I supposed to do with this!?” he asked.

“Stick the sharp end into the monsters!” the moorcat replied, starting his charge again.

Jodocus grinned.

As the moorcat passed a straggling wight, Jodocus jabbed it with his sword. It screeched as it was impaled, and Jodocus pulled the blade free with a howl. “
Hrahhhh!
” he yelled.

The moorcat growled with laughter.

Jodocus slashed at another creature, lopping off its head. “
Hrahhhh!
”

“Good kill!” the moorcat shouted as he bounded over a tumbled wall.

“
Hrahhhh!
” Jodocus shouted again. “This is fun!”

The moorcat charged through, weaving in and out of the hordes. Jodocus dispatched as many wights as he could in passing, howling in delight every time his blade struck their rotting flesh.

“You’re quite the swordsman, young Jodocus!” the moorcat growled.

The druid laughed. “This is easy,” he replied. “They’re already dead!”

“Watch out!” the moorcat shouted, ducking under a leaping wight.

Jodocus slashed, missing the attacker. He turned to watch as the moorcat carried him away, seeing a ranger take down the wight with an impressive overhead spin. He laughed, holding on tighter as his mount continued his charge. The moorcat swiped with his claws, clearing a corridor through the chaos. Soon, the base of the tower came into view, and Jodocus saw the familiar face of Aeli.

“She has my staff!” he shouted. “Take me to her!”

The moorcat shifted direction, clawing his way through to the druid and her protectors. Though surrounded by attacking wights, a few rangers and militiamen had formed a circle around her. She stood in the center, throwing lightning with her staff and barking orders to those behind her. When she saw Jodocus and the moorcat, her eyes relaxed and fixed upon the two.

The moorcat barreled through the crowd of writhing undead, leaping over the heads of the men to reach her. She held up the boy’s staff, and Jodocus grabbed it as they passed.

“Jodocus!” she called. “Return to the tower! It’s not safe down here!”

The boy ignored her pleas, taking up his staff and leaping off of the moorcat’s back as he built up the energy for a powerful spell. As he landed, he unleashed a wave of light. It expanded around him, blasting the wights into oblivion while passing harmlessly through the defenders. Chunks of undead flesh filled the air, glopping to the ground with sickening splats.

Jodocus immediately waved his staff before him, releasing bolts of energy that exploded into the remaining creatures. The men cheered, renewed in their confidence. They picked up their pace with shouts of rage and deadlier attacks, keeping their numbers tightly packed to prevent the creatures from breaking through.

All around, the chaos became greater as the wights were packed tighter and tighter into the temple grounds. Jodocus looked around him, trying to find his friends in the fray. He saw the Alvar, the rangers, and the town militiamen mixed in with the enemies; all fighting their way toward each other. Aeli and Farouk were finally together, fending off the onslaught that attempted to get into the temple itself. All seemed well to the young druid. That is, until he saw the unthinkable.

Among the faceless wights, he saw the vestments of rangers and soldiers of the temple. He gasped in horror as he realized that these were allies that had been injured by the undead; and had been turned.

He had to warn Aeli and Farouk.

Blasting his way through the undead, he made his way toward them. Several rangers passed him by, leaping over him as he ducked through the battle. He kept his eyes on his target, trying desperately to keep them in sight. As he approached, he saw the wounded being dragged away, protected from further harm by the two druids who stood guard, and the temple servants who tended to them.

They were all in danger.

“Mama!” Jodocus called. “Farouk!”

His cries were not heard. Frustrated, he blasted another space open, tearing the wights limb from rotting limb as he passed. Then, as he was about to break through, he felt the impact of a larger wight slamming into him. He groaned as he was knocked to the ground face first; his staff tumbling away into the chaotic, dancing feet of the undead.

He rolled over to push the squirming creature off of him, only to meet the eyes of a particularly nasty-looking creature that made the wights look like faeries. It snarled at him, baring its yellowing teeth and burning red eyes. It was a wight; albeit a large and powerful one.

“Damn,” Jodocus muttered as the creature pounced on top of him.

He attempted to cast a spell, only to be stifled by the heavy, rotting foot of the creature as it stomped on his chest. He closed his eyes, expected the tearing claws to rend him to pieces. But then, the sound of crackling energy and a fiercely bright light burst into being. He felt the heat of a magical spell around him, and the shriek of rage and agony as his attacker was vanquished with steel.

“Farouk!” Aeli shouted, as she saw the familiar garments of rangers among the wights. “They’re turning! The injured are turning.”

Farouk met her gaze, and his face masked her concern. They both turned at once, looking back at the chaos that was now behind them. The caretakers were being attacked by their own patients; clawed and bitten as the wounded sprang into new undead form. Aeli gasped; her throat tightening with fear. From the new battle, Allora emerged breathless. Her hands were alight with the magic of spells, and her eyes were wild and terror-ridden.

“Allora,” Aeli called. “What is happening?”

The Alvar lady reached the two of them after fighting her way through the rising wounded. She was mortified. “The wounded,” she began breathlessly. “They are turning even before death. I have never seen anything like it.”

“They have to be killed,” Farouk said, adamantly. “All of them.”

Aeli’s heart sank. She knew that some of her friends were among the wounded. There were innocent people, brave warriors, and even acolytes among them. They were people of all walks of life; coming together to courageously defend the temple.

But they were now the enemy.

“Aeli!” Farouk said, grasping her by the arms. “We have to destroy them. Forget who they were.”

Aeli stammered, struggling to make sense of what was happening. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Allora draw her blade, staring blankly at the people she had tried to defend.

“Then we shall do it quickly,” Aeli said. “They must not suffer.”