Eclipsing the Darkness (The Dragon Chronicles Book 5) (26 page)

“My lust and greed drove me mad,” he replied. “But I blame my weakness for my deeds. A strong man would have resisted all temptation.”

Allora smiled. “That is not true,” she said. “Only one without a soul could turn a blind eye to what he feels on the inside. Your sins are those of a mortal creature, though your nature is that of the divine. You were given great gifts, shaman, and those gifts were meant to help the world. Use them to the best of your ability, and I shall honor you for it.”

Torak lowered his head again, but slowly rose. Their eyes met, and the shaman could barely choke back his tears. Wordlessly, he bowed, stepping away and joining Farouk. Khalid stepped forward to address the Alvar woman.

“If you can forgive him, so can I,” he said. “He is not the same man I knew.”

“Nor is he the same man I knew. I can feel a great, benevolent spirit within him; one that has descended from great powers.”

Khalid nodded. “The Keeper,” he said. “He works in strange ways.”

“As he always does,” she said, smiling, “on this world and many others.”

Jodocus went to the rangers who had gathered, his face drawn back in sorrow. He hoped that at least one of them had seen Adder somewhere in the forest, as neither he nor the moorcat were able to find him. He found Lord Ferrin among them, greeting his former students and expressing his pride in their deeds. Jodocus tugged at his cloak, and the nobleman looked down with a smile.

“Ah, young Jodocus,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“Adder is missing, sir,” he said. “I’m afraid Jhayla fell to the wights. She has been lost, and Adder is nowhere to be found.”

Ferrin’s face darkened with the news. Jodocus knew that Ferrin had loved Jhayla, as well. Whether he grieved for her or worried for his son, Jodocus could not guess. It was likely both.

“That is grave news,” Ferrin said. “But I may know where he is. I know how close you were to both of them. I promise you, I will find him.”

Jodocus smiled half-heartedly, knowing that even if Ferrin found his son, it was not likely that he would return. Having already lost Jhayla, losing uncle Adder would be devastating as well. But that was the life of a druid, he reasoned. Loved ones would come and go. Even his mother would leave him someday, and all of his other friends, too. He would have to get used to it.

“Tell him I said to return someday,” he said, “when he is ready.”

Ferrin nodded, patting him on the head. He then mounted his horse, giving Jodocus one last look, and rode off into the forest.

“Jodocus,” came Aeli’s voice behind him. He turned, seeing her smiling, and relieved to see him. She ran to him, kneeling to embrace him. He buried his face in her cloak as she stroked his hair, and her warmth gave him comfort. He cried softly, and she nestled her head against his.

“This is a great loss for all of us,” she said. “But you must be strong. She died defending her homeland. She will be honored for that.”

Jodocus raised his head, wiping his eyes. “I know,” he whispered. “But I will miss her, and Adder, too.”

“I know you will,” she said, kissing him on the forehead. “But he will return someday. And Jhayla will live forever in your heart as long as you remember her.”

Jodocus smiled. “I will never forget her.”

“Nor will I,” Aeli said. “Now come. Farouk needs you.”

Ferrin rode quickly along the wooded trail east of Tel Drakkar. He knew that somewhere, near the mines, he would find his son. From the time he was a child, Adder had often trekked into this area when he needed time to himself, and Ferrin had known of his hiding place for many years.

His concern growing, Ferrin rode harder, urging his horse faster over the rough ground. His destination was a short way ahead, and there he would find Adder. He hoped that he would still be alive, and had not decided to take his own life. Though Jodocus had not told him, Ferrin knew that Adder had been responsible for ending Jhayla’s life. The guilt he must be feeling would be overwhelming.

When he emerged from the forest, Ferrin slowed his horse. The rocks ahead, large and jutting, signaled the edge of the cliffs overlooking the valley just west of Faerbane. There, he would find Adder, either leaning on the rocks or sitting on the edge of the cliffs—or perhaps smashed onto the rocks below.

He leaped off his horse and rounded the largest rock. Adder was there, standing solemnly on the edge of the cliff; one foot resting upon a flat rock. His hair had come loose and was flowing freely in the breeze; bark brown and streaked with lighter colors. Ferrin had never noticed it before. It had been a long time since Adder had worn it down.

“Fordran,” he said, calling his son by his real name.

Adder did not reply, but stood stoically; unmoving.

“Adder,” he corrected, joining his son on the edge of the cliff. Adder turned his head slightly, keeping his face lowered. Ferrin knew that he was hiding his tears. A lump suddenly rose in his throat, slowly growing in intensity. He stifled his urge to embrace Adder and weep with him. His boy needed him to be strong.

“Whatever you’re planning,” he said, gazing out over the valley. “Just remember that your king needs you. It is not like the son of a nobleman to shirk his responsibilities.”

Adder chuckled non-humorously. “I am of no further use to the king,” he said. “Not without my partner. There are others in the guild and the rangers who can take my place. They are just as good as I am.”

Ferrin grunted. “Perhaps,” he said, “but there are others who have grown quite fond of you; Jodocus, for example. I would wager a guess that there is a reason he calls you
uncle.
”

Adder nodded slowly. “He is a druid,” he replied. “He will understand.”

Ferrin agreed. He couldn’t argue. Though he had not many druids in his life, the ones he had met all had the same characteristic; they were much more accepting of the way things had to be. There was no use trying to persuade Adder to think otherwise. He knew much more about druids than Ferrin did.

“What will you do?” Ferrin asked.

Adder straightened, brushing his hair back with his hand. For a moment, he was silent; simply staring off into the rising sun. Then, he turned to face his father at last.

“Jhayla would want me to follow my heart,” he said. “I have never left the island. Maybe it’s time I do.”

Ferrin looked at him for a few moments, lost in thought. Though he didn’t want Adder to go, he knew that his son was a man; a good man with honor and a great heart. Like his own youth, Adder’s would be wasted here in Eirenoch. Travel built character. Trials and tribulations built strength and will.

It would be good for him.

Ferrin reached into his cloak, pulling out his dagger. He stared at it for a moment, looking over its jewels and carvings; the black velvet and leather wraps.

“Your grandfather gave this to me when I was a boy,” he said, turning the dagger over in his hands. “He said it would bring me adventures and good fortune.”

“Did it?”

Ferrin chuckled. “Not really,” he said. “But it’s a good blade; small and sturdy. It would serve you well. Perhaps it will work for you.”

He handed the dagger to Adder, who took it with a heavy heart. Ferrin gazed at him as he strapped it onto his belt. He felt great pride in his son. He had grown into a fine man. Somewhere, out there on the mainland, was a town or village that needed him and his skills. He was a master thief, an expert tracker, and a formidable warrior. Perhaps he would even become a legend someday.

“Thank you,” Adder said. “I promise not to lose it.”

Ferrin grinned as Adder did. Without a word, Adder reached up and wrapped his arms around him. Ferrin gripped his son tightly, knowing that this may be the last time he ever saw him. It was not a thought he relished.

“Wherever you decide to go, just remember that the most important thing you can take with you is your honor. Never leave anywhere without it.”

Adder let go of him and stepped back. He was silent, but was visibly thankful. Though he knew his words were redundant, Ferrin knew that Adder at least needed to know that he had retained his honor in his father’s eyes. Perhaps another word of encouragement was in order.

“You did the right thing, son,” he said.

Adder sadly turned back to the edge of the cliff, his head held high this time. Ferrin nodded, turning to go back to his horse.

“Make sure she is not forgotten,” Adder said.

Ferrin pursed his lips, saying nothing. He returned to his horse, mounting and looking back one last time. Though Adder was not visible anymore, he felt some relief in knowing that he was still there, and not lying broken on the ground below. He spurred his horse onward, all the while thinking back to all of the moments he had spent with Adder and Jhayla. He had grown to love the girl as his own daughter, and would grieve as such. As for Adder, his pride would never mask the sorrow he would feel in the young man’s absence.

He would miss him greatly.

“The Dragon is gone,” Erenoth said to Khalid. The two priests had entered the temple after Torak’s confrontation with Allora, and had gathered their acolytes with them. Khalid had been aware of the strange sense absence since they had entered the temple, and he now looked over the twelve priests that eagerly awaited their guidance. He was silent, trying to make some sense of what he was feeling.

“What does this mean for us?” he asked.

Erenoth sat on the top step of the throne’s dais, folding his hands before him. “I am not sure,” he said. “I suppose we continue to perform our duties within the temple, and to offer whatever spiritual needs the people may have.”

“Dael,” Khalid said. “Do you feel the loss, too? What of the rest of you?”

Dael and his brothers all lowered their heads. It was obvious they felt something amiss. The six other priests, forever in their draconian form, only managed a low, sorrowful hiss. That was enough for Khalid. He sat down on the throne, hoping to feel some sign of the Dragon’s presence. There was nothing, only the cold, black stone. He suddenly felt like a child again, sitting alone in the empty house he grew up in, weeping over the murder of his parents. He was only seven then; a mere child.

At this moment, he felt like that child once again.

“The Dragon has left us with a great deal of his power,” Dael reminded him. “And the Great Mother will provide us with what we need to help the people. I, for one, will still do what I can until the day I die. That was my oath to the Dragon, as it was for all of us. We will not abandon our people.”

Erenoth stood, going to Dael and kneeling next to him. Khalid stood and joined them. He looked up behind the throne, where the small statue of the Dragon stood. At that moment, he felt a sense of brotherhood with his fellow priests that was stronger than ever. It was a frightening, yet inspiring feeling; one that brought a tear to Khalid’s eye. At that moment, he knew the true meaning of his vows.

“The Dragon was not meant to be here forever,” he said. “He was meant not to be a figure of worship; but one of inspiration. He led by example, as should we. As long as we follow in his footsteps, and offer our guidance to those who would be messengers of peace, he will be with us forever. It is our duty to make sure the people of the world know this; that we must strive to be brothers. Only then can we end this madness to conquer and destroy.”

The others were silent, but Khalid knew that they were considering his words. As they remained kneeling before the throne, they could all feel the strength within them grow. Their bond would be forever, and they would live out the rest of their lives in the service of the Dragon.

The Firstborn who gave his life to save the Great Mother.

“Khalid,” Erenoth said, finally. “I am proud to call you my brother.”

“Likewise, my friend,” Khalid said. “All of you.”

The priests all stood in unison, forming a circle with locked arms. They bowed their heads, each one reflecting on their life of service to the Dragon. Though Khalid and his priests were relatively new, they were all dedicated to their purpose, and their experience in defending the Dragon’s ways was just as valid in the eyes of the others.

Nothing would ever take away the bond the priests shared, and nothing would ever stand between them and their life’s mission. They would remain dedicated to the Dragon, and never let the people of Eirenoch live without him. To the people, the Dragon would be eternal, and they would never forget his sacrifice.

Chapter Twenty Four

Thick smoke greeted the small group as they emerged from Traegus’ portal. To the east, the city of Khem, with its stone walls, parapets, and obelisks was engulfed in flame. Everything that
could
burn was burning, and even the sky, despite the lack of the Lifegiver’s dark fog, was almost completely obscured from view.

They stood quite far from the city gates; at least an hour’s trek. It was as close as Traegus could get without alerting the Lifegiver to their presence; although the wizard had the feeling he was aware nonetheless. Despite this, he closed his portal, and the group gazed at their destination with a mix of fear and determination.

“It was once a beautiful city,” Hamal said, “with sandstone towers that reached to the sky. It is almost obscene now.”

“It is on fire,” Traegus reminded him. “And the Lifegiver’s wrath has destroyed it.”

Eamon stepped forward, pausing for a moment before turning to face his friends. “Hamal,” he said. “Faeraon says you are the only one who can get us in through the gates.”

Hamal drew his blade; the divine weapon
Mahaguratu,
given to him by Imbra himself. “I believe this is the key,” he said, “if Faeraon is right.”

Traegus held his hand out toward Khem, closing his eyes and focusing for a moment. “Yes,” he said. “There is a strange barrier we cannot cross, but through the gates. And it seems those gates are guarded by magic.”

Hamal sheathed his blade. “Then we go,” he said. “I still do not know what part I will play in the battle, but I am eager to find out.”