The Dragon Hunters (14 page)

“How long before we reach Gend?” he asked Dakeb after the last bite of hard biscuit was chased out of his throat by a hearty belch.

“Tomorrow I’d say. I think it’s safe to assume travelling at night is not viable.”

“Damned well isn’t. Neither is spending the night in the open,” Pregen followed. The bandage covering most of his right bicep had bled through in the middle.

For once Grelic agreed with the thief. “Mage, you know this land better than myself. Is there sanctuary for us tonight? Somewhere safe this evil won’t follow?”

Dakeb gave it a moment of thought. “There are caves in some of the hills. I’m sure young Fitch here can guide us better once we get closer.”

* * * * *

Codel Mres sank back in his ebony chair. His face was paled, covered with perspiration. His muscles ached down to the bone. He was weak from exhaustion and failure. Not a natural Mage, magic came hard for him despite decades of training. At best, all he managed to perform were menial feats and party favors. His body threatening to rebel, he wondered what made him audacious enough to think he could handle performing such an intricate and brutal spell that could upset the balance of the world.

His arrogance, aided by lore from the Hooded Man, led him to believe he could control even death itself. So that’s exactly what he tried to do. Lord Death would not be mastered by any man, however. None but the gods controlled him. Codel mired in failure and knew Lord Death would soon be stalking him. His only hope lay in the protection wards the Hooded Man gifted him with. He doubted they would. Life was just not that kind to men like him.

“What have I done?”

The Long Road to Gend

“I’m glad you’re on our side, Dakeb,” Fitch carefully said after an hour or so of internal deliberation.

It wasn’t that he was afraid. The old Mage had a welcoming persona, like the men in Gend who’d always been around the tavern tables after a long day of hunting. Fitch respected and admired Dakeb. The Mage reminded him of Father Seldis and that in itself was comforting. They’d taken to riding together since the ambush after Grelic forced him to take the lead, reasoning they were close enough to Gend for Fitch to be able to get his bearings and guide them in.

Dakeb chuckled softly. “There are times when I wish I’d never learned such tricks and spells. Times have changed so much since the war.”

“They must have been awful,” Fitch replied, unsure what else to say.

A tear clouded Dakeb’s eye. “Worse than you can possibly imagine. That’s why I am here now. I don’t want to see Malweir torn apart again.”

“Do you really think this is going to come to war?”

“Difficult to answer. Sometimes a Mage can see the future. Not all of it, mind you, but enough to allow us a chance at preventing certain things. War among them. Ah, there are times when I wish I’d been born a plain, ordinary farmer.”

This shocked Fitch. He didn’t understand why anyone would give up a life of palaces and luxury for the daily toil and hardships associated with farming. He saw the way old Murray would go to the inn and drink his troubles away. Or the way Dettin looked after a season of poor crops. Farming just wasn’t worth it from his point of view. As a hunter he took what he needed off of the land, rather than spent a lifetime of backbreaking work in the soil.

“Why would you want to be a farmer? There’s no satisfaction in it. I’ve watched farmers all of my life and they’re a miserable sort,” Fitch said after a spell.

Dakeb replied, “Farming is the ultimate satisfaction, Master Iane. The power to create. Think of all of the families who are able to eat because of the selflessness of the farmers. Think of the gift Malweir bestows upon us as crops take root and fill the fields and gardens with bounty. Mankind’s greatest success comes from our smallest achievements. To be so free is intoxicating.”

“I suppose.” Fitch really didn’t understand what Dakeb was talking about.

Hunters provided just as much food, with equal variety. Of course there were days when the arrows went back to the quiver un-bloodied. Fitch wasn’t a dreamer by any means. He knew the limitations of his life all too well. Before demons robbed him of his future he knew he was going to die an old man without much to show. Demons stole all of that and left him with dying embers. Not a vengeful man, he had no interest in finding the monsters responsible and hunting them across the face of Malweir. Killing them wouldn’t bring Shar back and without her…

Dakeb hid a sad smile. “Just to feel the dirt beneath my fingernails I would trade all my long years of knowledge and wanderings. Life, Fitch. I’m talking about throwing off the shackles of responsibility and truly living.”

Neither of them spoke for the rest of the morning. Too many old pains had resurfaced between them. Yet Dakeb never left his side. He found Fitch perplexing. There was an untouched emotion lurking deep within. An almost overpowering urge to do good hungered to be set free, as if seeking to make amends for past failures. Deeper, closer to the hidden areas behind Fitch’s soul lurked a vicious hatred. Evil slept within Fitch Iane. Dakeb was frightened.

Grelic halted the beleaguered band shortly after midday. The sun was hot, too hot for the early spring weather. Looking skyward, he frowned at the bright blue sky. Not a cloud was in sight and the wind had stopped blowing. Grelic took it as an ill sign. Kialla rode up alongside him and slid from her saddle. Her grace made many men sigh over the years despite the rough edges she maintained.

“What’s wrong?” she asked with a weary tone.

He avoided looking down into her eyes, just as he’d avoided getting too close to her since his dream. Whether from embarrassment or something else he wasn’t sure. “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right here. When have you known such heat in Thrae this early in the spring?”

“I hadn’t thought about it. Winter was long this year. Spring is nearly finished. Perhaps it has something to do with the goings-on under Druem?”

It was an empty question. Without having been to the Deadlands there was no way to find a reasonable answer. So much had happened so quickly they were left almost numb. From the attack on Gend to their flight from the Gwarmoran, nothing had gone according to plan. Grelic felt like they were constantly one step behind their enemy. The implications proved unsettling.

“Grelic, why don’t you look at me anymore? What have I done to you?” Kialla asked after a short time. She couldn’t take the distance.

The giant turned away, not wanting her to see the hurt riddling his eyes. “I don’t want to talk of it. Trust me when I say that you’ve done nothing, Kialla. I have personal demons to exorcise.”

She closed on him, gently placing her slender hand on his muscled arm. “When you want to talk, I’ll be here. Just like always.”

Kialla walked heavily back to the others. Her shoulders sagged and her head hung just a bit low. She was beginning to wonder what it was going to take to get the giant to open up. Dwim and Gwarmoran. All the evils of the underworld were upon them and dissention threatened to tear the group apart. Mistrust and blind hatred gnawed away at their resolve. She needed to know why.

Sitting on a small boulder half buried in the mud and weeds, Pregen Chur thumbed the edge of his sword. His casual demeanor remained, though shaken from recent events. It was almost as if nothing had happened back in the ravine. Kialla suspected he was in just as much pain as the rest but refused to admit it. They’d thought for sure he’d died when the dark wolf landed on him. Momentarily dazed, she found herself staring at his almost boyish charm and naturally handsome features, almost forgetting who he really was.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

He gave her his best smile and lazily answered, “I’ve been better. The wounds are minor though. I’m flattered you care so much about me to ask. Hard times when a pretty lady doesn’t see to her friends.”

“Save it,” she scolded. “I’m not in the mood for games. I was merely making my way through the group.”

Kialla stomped off with him smiling.

“Besides,” she called over her shoulder, “you’re not my type. I prefer men who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty.”

“I have no doubt, but you’ll be begging me for a kiss before this is all said and done,” he sang after her.

Kialla stormed away, cursing under her breath. Satisfied his sword was sharp enough, Pregen slid it back into the sheath and chuckled softly.

She marched past Ibram, who never bothered looking up. He numbly chewed on a piece of dried venison, staring back at the forest. When she finally found a place to sit and collect her thoughts she was surprised it was next to Dakeb. That’s when she realized just how exhausted she was. Dakeb smiled and passed her a full canteen.

“Take heart, Kialla. All is not darkness,” he said with a warm tone.

She drank deeply. “I’m afraid I can’t let myself believe that. Not after what we’ve been through in such a short period of time.”

“What really troubles you?” he asked suddenly.

She frowned, that feeling he already knew nagging at her, but she humored him anyway. “Everything. We’re getting further into this quest and no one is bonding. I’ve been on shorter, less complicated jobs with more cohesion. Even after two attacks by creatures that should not exist we’re still at odds. It feels hopeless.”

Dakeb paused, taking a moment to look around their tiny campsite. “I can see your point but you needn’t worry so. Sometimes it takes great tragedy to bring people together. Other times all it takes is patience and understanding. Not even the order of Mages had easy beginnings.”

Considering how that order ended, she failed to find comfort. “Do we have that much time, I wonder?”

Dakeb only smiled in response.

They rode for the rest of the day. Fitch started drawing in to himself as old hunting grounds and deer trails became familiar. Gend wasn’t far off. Just a few more hours, he assured them. A few more hours until he returned to his nightmares and the place where he left his wife to die. His confidence, what little that managed to scrape itself back together over the last few weeks, waned. He doubted he had the strength needed to see what remained of his home or the sun-bleached bones of Shar. Ghosts and nightmares waited to welcome him home.

Grelic reigned to a stop at dusk. After the events in Eline and the forest road he wasn’t willing to risk their lives further by entering the village at night. Especially before the moonrise. Fitch couldn’t have been happier. He had no desire to rush into his past, though part of him subconsciously wished to get it over with under the cover of darkness. He eagerly went about collecting wood and kindling while the others saw to the horses and patrolled the perimeter. Normally Grelic wouldn’t have allowed a fire. They were in enemy territory as far as he was concerned and needed to treat every action as if it might give their presence away.

Grelic snatched up Pregen and they struck out into the lightly forested area to search for fresh meat. Thoughts of a nice rabbit stew entertained the giant as he fondly remembered what the Mage had done for them after the battle. He frowned. Dakeb troubled him. The Mage’s sudden appearance bothered him deeply, leaving him with a growing sense of foreboding. Something very bad was coming their way. He figured he might as well have a full stomach to meet it.

Giant and assassin returned with smiles and hands full. Three large rabbits were skinned and quartered before being dropped into the already bubbling broth hanging over the fire. That night the group slept soundly. Grelic volunteered for the first guard shift, allowing the others a few more hours of rest while he tried to work out all of the pieces in an ever-deepening puzzle. When Ibram came to relieve him, the big man didn’t say a word.

After a quick breakfast consisting of leftover stew, they broke camp and headed out. Dakeb cautioned before they got very far. Grelic seconded the warning. He kept them riding in a loose wedge similar to ranging cavalry units looking for the enemy. Fitch returned to the point.

The villager was surprised to find much of his old fears miniscule, almost casual. It was as if he wanted to head home, as if it were an inescapable conclusion. Father Seldis helped ease the suffering, working his mind in ways Fitch would never understand. Logically the only way for him to let go of the past was by returning to Gend and confronting his deepest fears.

They ran across the first burned-out hut an hour later. What remained was barely a meter high and covered with creeping vines. Gend died weeks ago yet a sickly, burnt smell permeated the air. Dark powers were at work to keep the world from reclaiming what had once been pristine wilderness.

“This was Lemis’s place,” Fitch told them. He’d known Lemis but never called the man a friend. Lemis was the village hermit: a crotchety old man who hated near everything and had no problem letting folks know it.

Grelic made out the curled bones of a hand jutting from the rubble. “What’s the safest route into Gend?”

Fitch didn’t understand. Gend was dead. There was no safe route. “What difference does it make? Everyone is dead.”

The giant resisted the urge to strike him. “Which way can we get into Gend without being seen?”

“Down the creek bed and around the small mountain on the eastern road. None of the roads run near it,” Fitch said after a moment.

Grelic grunted and forged ahead.

“Are you sure you are ready for this?” Dakeb asked Fitch quietly.

He shrugged. “What choice do I have? I’m already home. It’s too late to turn back.”

“Remember your faith, Fitch,” said the Mage.

Confidence slightly bolstered, Fitch hurried to catch up to Grelic. The big man passed him a queer look but kept riding.

“I used to play in these woods growing up. My father taught me how to hunt here.” He wasn’t sure why, but he felt compelled to explain himself.

“You’ve got no need to explain, lad,” Grelic replied. “We all need memories just for ourselves. Keep them locked away. Take strength from them when dark times strike.”

He ducked under a thick oak branch spanning the game trail they started following. Fitch exhaled, feeling relieved at Grelic’s acceptance.

“How many people lived here?”

“Just a few hundred. We were never a large village, but everyone knew each other and there were never any major troubles.”

Grelic nodded. “I grew up in a village much the same. A long, long time ago.”

Fitch found it difficult to believe he and the warrior had anything in common. They lived in such vastly different worlds. Fitch was a simple hunter with limited aspirations. Grelic was renowned across Malweir as a great warrior. What commonality could they possibly share? He decided to hold the question for another time.

Grelic didn’t wait for another question. He much preferred a direct approach to issues or problems. “Fitch, I’m not going to lie to you. What you’re about to go through is beyond me. I’ve never had to experience a deed so foul.”