The Dragon Hunters (13 page)

“What did I miss?” he asked with a hoarse voice. “And why does it smell like burned dog?”

“Some questions are best left unasked. Leastwise while it’s still dark. We have won a small victory but the Gwarmoran are not easily deterred. They will return, and in greater numbers,” Dakeb cautioned.

Pregen rubbed his sore neck. “You’ve been a ball of joy from the moment we met, Mage. I can’t wait to see what’s next. Where are the others?”

Dakeb helped him up, once again leaning on his walking stick. “Come, let us find them and get out of here.”

Together they set off through the ruined corpses and desiccated ground. Pregen was glad he’d been unconscious for most of the fight.

“No one man should have this power,” he whispered when they passed a melted boulder. Clumps of charred flesh and fur stuck to it.

Dakeb sighed. “I agree. Which is why Mage-kind worked for generations to find new ways to detect and train potential magic wielders. Ultimately that power led to our ruin. We thought that by controlling it there would be less chaos in the land. Our arrogance led to blindness and eventual doom.”

The thief knew better than to try and push the conversation. Besides, he had a healthy suspicion there would be plenty of time for such banter in the coming weeks. They finally stumbled upon Kialla climbing down from a fork in a great oak tree. Pregen smiled until he noticed the mangled corpse of a dark wolf hanging from the branches.

“They climb trees too?” he asked with a low whistle.

Kialla inspected the tear in her jerkin with a frown. She either didn’t have an answer or didn’t want to know. The others gradually came out of hiding. Fitch was his normal spasmodic self. He was the only one without a scratch, though his clothes were stained with dark blood and brain matter. Kialla spotted the stained dagger on the ground and smiled. Ibram was still alive. Blood and bits of roasted flesh clung to his face and chest. His eyes held a faraway look.

“Ibram!” Kialla exclaimed. “What happened to you?”

He turned slowly and gestured with his sword. They could discern five huge bodies lying in a crude circle where he just left. Dakeb reached him before he collapsed in the mud and placed a caring hand on his forehead.

“Thele bas I sanoo,” he soothed.

Kialla leaned close. “Is he all right?”

“He’s fine. I think the shock and exhaustion have finally caught up with him. It’s not an easy transition from monk to warrior,” Dakeb replied.

“It’s not easy for anyone,” she said. “Where’s Grelic?”

The immediate area was clear of everything but bodies. They counted twenty of the Gwarmoran. The battle had been hard and they suffered from wounds and bruises. But there was no Grelic. Pregen felt his ire rising again. If Grelic hadn’t chosen him for this quest he might think the giant was the traitor they feared. Kialla stalked the battlefield, stealing back those arrows that were salvageable. It wasn’t until Ibram groaned awake that Grelic came whistling back into the ravine, horses in tow.

“Grelic! We thought,” she caught herself before making a fool.

Grelic forced a laugh. “Nonsense. Someone had to get the horses when the battle was ended. Wouldn’t want to walk all the way to Druem, would you?”

He looked over the others, pleased to find them all alive. He gave the Mage a nod, expressing personal gratitude for the magic. Grelic had underestimated their situation, wrongly believing they had a chance at success. He now knew how wrong he was. There hadn’t been any hope of surviving.

Grelic walked with an almost imperceptible limp. Another wound added to a growing list of scars and bumps. There were times, more often of late, when he wondered what kept him leading such a destructive lifestyle. The pains worsened and lasted longer with time. His memories were filled with foul deeds best left to fade away. He’d never chosen the life of a warrior. It was chosen for him. War was thrust upon him from childhood. What difference did it make if he
wanted
to or not? Most warriors died young, part of the unattainable dream of glory. Grelic preferred to pass with a head of grey hair.
More like stark white after tonight
.

“We must hurry,” Dakeb urged.

The strain in his voice made Grelic believe him. The giant looked over his battered friends, stern eyes falling on Fitch Iane with suspicion. Was the unsuspecting villager the spy? Grelic grumbled softly. He just didn’t know.

“Can everyone ride?” he asked, deciding brooding served no purpose.

Kialla wiped strands of blood and sweat-soaked hair from her face. “There is no choice. I feel others will come. Which direction?”

They stopped and stared at Dakeb. The old man offered a half smile. Much of his strength was gone, wasted during the battle. He was tired and needed to rest. Rest that, unfortunately, was a long time in coming. “West for now. When the sun rises we can adjust our course. If I recall correctly there are small hills filled with places to rest without worry from the Gwarmoran.”

“How far?” Grelic asked as he climbed into his saddle.

The Mage thought for a moment. His recollection of Thrae was shaded at best. “Only a league or two I think.”

That was good enough for the giant. “We move now.”

Haggard and exhausted, the small band mounted and filed out of the ravine. The bodies of the dark wolves were already starting to rot. Grelic and Dakeb rode point until they entered the gently sloping hills the Mage had promised. It was well past midnight by the time Grelic called for a halt. He yawned mightily, cursing himself for getting so old so fast. Dakeb performed a hasty summoning spell to ensure the area was secure and the group took a thick copse of fir trees for shelter. One by one they drifted off. Grelic sat under the stars, watching the moon finally break free from the cloud cover. Pain wracked him, making it difficult to fall asleep. When sleep finally came it left him with one great, ponderous thought. What was yet to come?

Bad Dreams

Howling winds kept screaming around him, growing increasingly stronger with each new gust. Rain poured down. The ground turned to thick mud. Water pooled around his ankles. Thunder and lightning dueled for control of the sky. Thick clouds of the purest black cloaked the night, choking off all life. Grelic stood his ground, pulling his cloak tighter to buffer what wind he could. His eyes were narrow, determined.

Grelic saw nothing of his surroundings. His senses were blinded and dulled. He didn’t know where he was or how he’d gotten here. Lightning struck a few meters in front of him, knocking him down. Wiping the muck from his face, he briefly made out four obsidian monoliths spaced evenly in a circle around him. Each stone stood as tall as three men and was covered in strange symbols from a forgotten era. As quickly as he was allowed to view his surroundings, they dissolved back into darkness.

Swirling mists the color of disease emerged from nothing to lick at his ankles. Grelic balked and hastened to stand again. Brave as any man alive, he failed to understand how to combat what assailed him. Flesh and blood were one thing. This was entirely original. He tried to step back but his feet were rooted in place. Frustrated, Grelic drew his sword and waited. Perhaps death had finally come.

The mist reached up to touch him. It was cold, almost refreshing. Strange sensations spread through his body. An avid drinker, Grelic never once touched the lotus leaf or any other narcotic plant. This feeling was different, unlike anything he’d ever experienced or heard of. He felt relaxed. The sword suddenly felt heavy. He considered dropping it. His eyes struggled to stay open. Every time he blinked they stayed shut a little longer. Grelic swore he heard a woman’s voice singing a soft lullaby on the wind.

Then he saw it. A slim figure moving towards him through the mist. He strained to make out who it was. Naked, the young woman stalked seductively up to him. Her slender hips swung provocatively with each step. Supple, firm breasts rose and fell with each breath. Grelic nodded in approval at her hardening nipples and patch of auburn hair between her legs. Only when her face came into view did he freeze with shock. Kialla. She smiled at him.

“Grelic, I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long,” she cooed. “Come, make love to me. I need you, Grelic.”

She was almost touching him now.

“I know you want me.” Her finger traced the stubble on the curve of his jaw. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. Here I am. Take me. I’m yours.”

He wanted to. Desires he hadn’t felt in decades surged anew. His every secret passion ached to touch her smooth flesh. To inhale her womanly scent. To become one with her. Grelic’s hand involuntarily inched towards her waist. She smiled. A flicker of something terrible lit her eyes. Grelic paused. The fog clouding his mind lifted slightly. Something sinister rippled beneath her golden-hued skin. He recoiled.

“What evil is this?”

She laughed as lightning raged. Heavier winds pelted him with rain and hail, forcing him to raise a hand to protect his face. Not a drop of rain touched her. Kialla stretched out her hands and tiny flames sprung to life in her palms. Grelic was sickened. He’d never been one to fear magic, until now. He doubled his grip on the comforting hilt of his sword and tensed in anticipation of the coming blow.

He had hardly moved when her skin began to change. Once a crisp golden brown, her skin was poisoned to the foulest shade of black. He watched with mute horror as her hair fell out in clumps and her scars cracked across her face and body. She transformed from supple and seductive to heavily muscled and threatening as lighting drove the sky light and dark. Her pleasant features dissolved into sheer evil.

Blinded suddenly by a nearby blast of lighting, Grelic wiped his eyes clear only to find her gone. In her place stood an enormous man with pale, grey skin. Coal black armor encased his torso, easily twice Grelic’s size. Black pants and knee-high leather riding boots finished his ensemble. The hilt of a monstrous sword poked over his back even while he leaned on a crooked walking stick. Eyes of the coldest black stared back above a menacing smile.

“You know me,” the stranger said. His voice was heavy and pronounced. The very ground trembled.

Grelic nodded. “Aye, Lord Death. Come to claim me already.”

Lord Death threw back his bald head and laughed. A crow drifted down to perch on his shoulder and cawed. “No. This night I stalk another.”

“Why have you come?” Grelic pressed, unready to give so easily.

“I come with warning. You are being used, hero. Dark forces drive you and your band. It was they who are responsible for summoning me.” His visage darkened with anger. “As if I were a tool to be summoned at will. Fools. I, who has crushed worlds beneath my heel as if they were nothing more than dust.”

Lord Death stalked away, pausing at the edge of vision, that blurred space where reality and dream mix. He pointed his crooked staff at Grelic and smiled. “We shall see one another soon, Grelic of Thrae.”

Grelic awoke with a puzzled expression. His body was cold, as if death’s presence lingered on his soul. A quick glance around the small camp showed the others were fast asleep. The sun was beginning to break, encasing the lands in that hazy blur of color and gloom. Grelic allowed himself to relax, if only a bit. There’d been no sign of the dark wolves since their battle early in the night though he doubted they’d given up the hunt so easily. Thoughts swirling through a thousand different scenarios, he pulled his sore body from his sleeping bag and stretched.

We’ll see each other again soon enough
.

He shuddered at the memory. “Damnation. I need a drink.”

Trying to shake the disturbing images from his mind, he headed towards the nearby stream they’d crossed en route to the campsite. It seemed peaceful enough. The forested hills had an eerie calm to them, as if the world still slept. He stepped lightly over fallen branches and dead leaves, still crisp, hearing the stream before seeing it. Grelic sighed when he gazed upon the cool water. The area seemed peaceful enough. A large stag elk bowed to drink, pausing only to determine whether or not the big man was a threat.

Grelic ignored the elk and stripped his blood-stained jerkin before shoving his head in the water. It was ice cold, forcing him to catch his breath and keep his mouth shut before drinking half the stream. The water revived him, shaking loose old feelings of dread and leaving him cleansed. He jerked his head free. Water splashed and ran from his face and hair, dripping down his heavily muscled, scarred chest. He fondly traced a few of those scars, studying the white lines forever etched into his flesh. No time for nostalgia, Grelic tried to wash the blood from his jerkin.

“Mind if I join you?” Dakeb’s tired voice sounded from behind.

Grelic frowned but kept working on his jerkin. “Feel free.”

The old Mage sat with an exaggerated sigh. “An eventful evening, wouldn’t you say?”

“You definitely proved your value. I don’t know what would have happened without your magic,” Grelic admitted after long moments of silence. He paused to skip a pebble across the undulating water.

“Magic I’ve not used in a long time. Mages aren’t fondly remembered. We did nearly destroy the world after all.”

Grelic shrugged. The Mage war was well before his time and of no consequence to his thinking. “If not you then it would have been someone else. Seems to be the way of things. I think we’re bent on destroying each other.”

“Aye. Sadly enough it is.”

The giant sense something important unsaid and wasn’t sure if he wanted to know or not. Meddling with a Mage was bad enough, meddling with the past only led to trouble. Dakeb took the choice away from him.

“If last night is an indication, our path is filled with peril. Dark wolves don’t hunt without a master guiding them. Whoever’s stalking us sent them. But to what purpose?”

“Then we need to find their master,” Grelic said without trying to think of what might be. Cold shivers ran down his spine.

“There is no time. I don’t yet understand what is happening or why, though I have suspicions. What I do know is that war is coming to Thrae regardless of our task. We need to hurry.”

Grelic’s eyebrow rose sharply. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“It usually doesn’t. Foul times have befallen us. Every generation has demons to fight, whether self created or not.”

We’ll see each other again soon enough
.

“How’s your thigh?” asked Dakeb in an attempt to relieve some of the growing tension.

They both examined the wound. Caked blood surrounded the gash and the interior was soft pink. Dakeb closed his eyes and sent invisible tendrils of power into the cut, searching for infection.

“I’ve had worse.”

“I don’t sense any poison, though it is difficult to tell with Gwarmoran. When we reach Gend remind me to make a poultice for it. For everyone. Dark wolves are no better than Dwim when it comes to pain and poison.”

Grelic laughed. “What other foul creatures did you bring with you, old man?”

“I’m sure I can think up a few more,” Dakeb said and chuckled. “Be fortunate there are no Gnaals on our trail yet. Nasty creatures made purely from hatred and magic. It would be nice to live in a simple world, wouldn’t it? I can remember days, long before the veil of night fell on Mage-kind, filled with merriment and hope. Kingdoms strove towards common purpose and achieved wondrous achievements. Everyone prospered. Even the Goblins.”

“What happened?”

Ancient pain flashed through his eyes. “The crystal of Tol Shere. Our council decided to forge the wealth of our knowledge into a single entity for generations to use as they saw fit. A noble idea but filled with flaws. The crystal allowed evil to return to the world after nearly a millennium. Several of the orders fell under the sway of darkness and used the crystal for unholy purposes. These we named dark Mage and our war began. With the crystal as a weapon they would be unstoppable.”

“I assume they failed.” Grelic knew very little history. The subject of Mages and their kind left his head swooning so he never bothered delving into that tragic past.

Dakeb nodded. His eyes bore a hallow, distant look. “A few of us managed to sneak back inside Ipn Shal, our fortress-temple, to stop the ceremony. The crystal shattered into four pieces. That’s when I was forced to combat my best friend, Sidian. Darkness’s hold on him was the greatest of all. We fought for a day and night, neither side gaining an advantage until I managed to pry the last shard of the crystal from his hands. When the dust settled there was no sign of him. I alone stood living. All of my brothers, both light and dark, were dead.”

“It is a hard thing, killing a friend,” Grelic said with empathy. The truth buried in his words ran too deep.

“If only that were so. There was no sign of Sidian whatsoever. I searched but never found a trace. What was left of the order tried to rebuild in the aftermath of the war, but we were few and the rage of the world stood against us. Some were killed in a great purge, others fled across the sea to distant shores. A handful of us went into hiding. As far as I know I am the last.”

Grelic nodded solemnly, his mind wandering down strange roads.“What of the crystal? Could it still exist or hold power?”

“It does exist, though I took the four shards to different locations across Malweir. No one but I knows of their locations.”

Grelic finally relaxed. Magical creatures were bad enough, but still killable, and he didn’t want to think about the potential nightmare of an enemy with powers that nearly succeeded in destroying the world.

“Why are you up so early? It’s not yet dawn,” Dakeb said. “The others are too exhausted to rise.”

Grelic passed a quick look back to the campsite. “They are young still. Too much emotion comes out when they fight. You and I have been around for a while. There’s no emotion in battle left for me. I fight to stay alive, nothing more. Let them sleep. They will have need of such rest in the days to come.”

“I started a stew a short while ago. Hopefully some of the herbs I added will give us a little extra strength. The road ahead is long and winding, filled with many dark places. We’ll need all the help we can get. A little luck would be nice too,” Dakeb said.

A small trout swam by. Grelic sighed. Life would be much simpler if he’d settled down and married. Images of Kialla naked and tempting danced in his head, despite knowing it hadn’t been her.
Still, how can I look upon you the same
? “I don’t believe in luck. Seen too much for it to be real.”

“What do you believe in?”

“A good sword. The only thing I trust completely. A sword won’t let you down.”

Grelic practically saw Lord Death coming for him.
We’ll see each other again soon enough
. He shivered again. Dakeb felt the wrongness of the moment but stayed quiet. He knew the big man would talk when he was ready.

“Perhaps Brother Ibram’s Harr can help,” Grelic finally said with a jovial tone. “Though I doubt he’ll be too keen on one of his flock leaving the fold. Come, let’s see if this stew of yours follows the rest of your reputation.”

They ambled back into the campsite in slightly lighter spirits. The others were slowly getting up and doing their best to forget the night prior. Wounds hampered some, bleak memories the rest. Kialla flashed Grelic a smile and it was all he could do to return it without turning away and blushing. A naturally stubborn man seldom beaten in battle, Grelic struggled not to walk away from Kialla. It took his last measure of fortitude to sit down and ladle a large bowl of stew.