The Dragon Hunters (21 page)

The ground shook again, swaying them angrily. Fitch’s knees buckled from the tortured sounds emanating from the heart of Qail Werd. He’d never been the superstitious sort, never gave much thought to ghosts or ghouls until Gend was ruined. Everything he’d experienced since then only confirmed his deepest fears. The forest was against them. If not against, it was certainly warning them. S sinister lurked in the green depths.

“I don’t think we should talk anymore,” Grelic cautioned. “One way or the other, this place is alive. I don’t care to find out the truth either. We need to get out of here.”

“What about Dakeb?” Ibram asked.

The longer they spent together the more Ibram was coming to look on the old man as a father figure. He couldn’t stand to see the man suffer, for it reminded him too much of Father Seldis. He wished there was something he could do to help. He hated feeling helpless.

“We need to try and move him.”

Cron folded his arms across his chest. His back felt better but it was still unimaginably sore. “Are you sure he can handle it?”

“No, but I’m not sure we can afford to stay here, either,” Grelic answered. “Faeldrin should already be on his way to the pass. We can’t afford any delay.”

“I agree. Let’s hope Dakeb’s condition doesn’t worsen along the way. I don’t relish the thought of facing a dragon without his magic.”

Grelic glanced around. The forest was lightening, finally showing him the true extent of the damage. Nothing but devastation in every direction for as far as he could see. Grelic had a feeling the mayhem spanned the breadth of the forest.
No wonder the Werd seems angry. It’s been hurt.
The giant looked skyward but the sun was hidden behind the rise of the ground. A thin mist clung to their ankles as if afraid to let go.

“We’ll need rope to secure him to the horse. The sooner we start the better. I want to be moving within the hour,” Grelic said.

They crept through Qail Werd as unobtrusively as possible. The only sound they made was the constant scraping of the makeshift litter against the leather saddle. At first they cringed from the noise, certain it was going to attract unwanted attention. Memories of the beasts and creatures moving through the distant darkness mocked them and soon they were all absently searching for monster-sized tracks.

The mood among the group remained dour. No one bothered speaking, fearful any comment would only cause consternation. Grelic led them northward as best as he could. The going proved extremely difficult, however. With no sun to guide them, he was forced to guess. Having never travelled these roads before, Grelic had no idea how far off they’d drifted. He only hoped it wasn’t too far. No big believer in monsters, the giant had little doubts that whoever had sent the Dwim and Gwarmoran wasn’t going to stop at the forest edge. His face knotted with grim determination, Grelic led them on, heedless of the scattered pairs of glowing amber eyes watching them from the safety of the trees.

* * * * *

Codel Mres slumped unconsciously. His great stores of energy and health were depleted. Every ounce of strength had left his body. Wrinkles claimed his pale flesh, as if decades had come and ravished him with a passing flurry of time and anger. Sweat covered him. His robes hung loosely from the withered mass of his body. His eyes were rolled back into his head. If not for the constant twitching in his fingers and toes, he might have been dead. Unused to magic, Codel’s body and spirit couldn’t handle the pressure of the weather spell he’d just performed.

Across the room, wreathed in shadows, stood another man. The Hooded Man. His stature was minute, yet impressive. There was no misunderstanding in him. He was the very definition of dangerous. Whoever saw him turned away, hoping to forget they’d ever met. His pale gaze stared ominously from beneath the hood he always wore.

The Hooded Man stalked across the room, hovering over Codel’s inert form. He looked down upon the traitor with disdain. If it weren’t necessary for his overall plans, the Hooded Man would have already had Codel killed. He despised traitors in every form. Unfortunately, he wasn’t in a position to do so. Plans were still being developed. Wheels were turning too slowly. Operations under Druem were behind schedule. The Hooded Man scowled at the relative failure stymieing him. Perhaps it was time to unleash the dragon. He was going to have to return to the Deadlands and take control personally. Too much was at stake and every delay was costing him dearly.

The Hooded Man held his hand over Codel’s face, sprinkling a soft brown powder on him. “Awake.”

Codel coughed once and choked. His eyes bulged, suddenly nauseous and out of breath. He gasped before his calculating eyes fell on the murderous figure standing over him. “Ma…master.”

“The storm was unsuccessful. My powers were blocked,” the Hooded Man said. “They have a Mage among them.”

“What do we do?”

“I shall deal with this relic myself. I have a feeling he is an old friend. Prepare Thrae for conquest. In one month’s time my armies will begin their invasion. I don’t expect to find any difficulties in this campaign,” he said the instant before he simply vanished.

Codel sat in his chair, noticing the frostbite on his fingers and lips.

Captured

The forest had a musky smell. Vibrant green moss clung to many of the trees and rocks, providing a tender blanket and adding vitality to the ancient lands. Time held no meaning under the storied branches of Qail Werd. Shafts of golden sunlight broke through the canopy at various intervals, lending an almost angelic beauty. Deer and small animals moved around again, though careful to stay away from the group.

Cron’s stomach grumbled at the thought of freshly roasted venison. Days of dried meat and stale bread were taking their toll on him, on them all. He almost wished Grelic would stop them long enough to bring down one of the stags so they could have a proper meal. Almost. Discipline, training, and the hard life of a soldier kept him focused and squashed any complaints his stomach had.

They’d been traveling at an agonizingly slow pace for almost two days. Dakeb’s condition hadn’t changed and they were growing more concerned by the hour. If something wasn’t done soon, Kialla worried he might die. They finally halted at midday for a quick meal and to check on their fallen companion.

“How is he?” Grelic asked solemnly.

Kialla brushed a strand of crimson hair from her face. “No change. I don’t understand. He’s not wounded. There’s no visible sign of injury. It’s almost as if his soul has been taken.”

Grelic turned and walked away. Her answer was disturbing, displeasing at best. He needed time alone to think. So much was happening and they’d lost all control of the situation. It was almost as if their enemy was mocking them from his volcanic wasteland. Grelic forced the thought of how good strangling his opponent with his bare hands was going to feel.

Cron slipped in behind him and the two spoke softly. Something Grelic didn’t want the others to hear.

“I’m starting to have doubts,” he told the soldier. “We need the Mage.”

Cron’s eyebrow rose. “You didn’t start out with him.”

“That was before we understood the dangers awaiting us.”

“As much as I don’t like to admit it, Pregen may have been right. We can always turn back. Get more help. I can have a legion ready in under ten days.”

“We don’t have that long. Something tells me time is running out,” he replied. “How can you be sure of their loyalty? For all we know, the throne has been usurped and we’re the traitors now.”

Cron shrugged, not wanting to think heavily on it. “True, the generals have their networks in place to ensure obedience throughout the kingdom, but a man in my position understands the potential threats better than most. I know whom I can turn to and whom to avoid. Most of the rank and file are loyal to Rentor.”

“We may have need of them before too long.”

“What are you thinking?” Cron asked.

“Someone’s going to have to try and sneak back to Kelis Dur and warn the king.”

“Who?”

Grelic grimaced. “That’s the problem. I still don’t trust half of these people. The only thing I can think of is one of the Elves.”

“They won’t be easy to slip in, even should Faeldrin agree to it. Security was already tightening when I left and Elves don’t exactly blend well with hum. This could be more dangerous than we thought.”

“No more so than tackling a dragon with a bad temper,” Grelic laughed. “I hope that old man recovers.”

They both stopped to pass worried looks back at Dakeb.

Ibram swallowed the last of his canteen and closed his eyes. He hadn’t realized just how tired he was. It seemed every moment of the day was taken in some fashion or another. Grelic constantly drilled him on the sword, while Cron explained the finer points of strategy and tactics. He thought less like a monk and more like a warrior. Some of his earlier doubts and self-incriminations faded. The desire to take up the sword and defend those less fortunate, once repressed by his dismal failures, resurfaced and grew strong.

His confidence, still badly shaken, rose. He wasn’t afraid to look Grelic or the others in the eye anymore. Wasn’t afraid to voice his opinion before the group. He was at last a man and it was past time he started acting like one. Ibram glanced over the rest of the group. For the first time he realized he was just like them. All possessed individual strengths and weaknesses. More importantly, all needed each other. That in itself was more comforting than a warm blanket on a cold winter night. Ibram smiled.

Then he stared down at Dakeb. The Mage hadn’t moved since the storm and Ibram was starting to think it was all too convenient to be raw nature. He cursed his lack of discipline back at the monastery, knowing he should have taken his studies more seriously. Surely Father Seldis would know what do in this situation. But Ibram’s mind was always elsewhere. Lost in an odd malaise none of his brothers understood.

Ibram knew what it was. It was the irrepressible desire to know something forbidden. Something better than the pale existence of the Brotherhood. Though raised by monks, Ibram never felt at place within the simple walls of the monastery. The robes and endless hours of study seemed so mundane and lackluster. Not that he knew any other way. All he had were dreams until Fitch came along and presented the perfect opportunity to strike out and make his mark on the world.

He reached down and sympathetically touched a hand to Dakeb’s shoulder. Ibram recoiled from shock at the immediate feeling of raw power flowing through Dakeb and into him.
This shouldn’t be!
Ibram quickly withdrew his hand and looked around to see if anyone was watching. Then the impossible happened. Dakeb stirred. Not enough to raise his hopes, but just enough to ease that nagging feeling of dread.

Ibram wasn’t sure if he should tell the others or not. The last any of them needed right now was false hope. He reluctantly decided to stay quiet and wait for the tired Mage to awaken on his own. They needed him to come back. He had to.

“All right,” Grelic announced. “Time to move.”

They carefully rolled Dakeb onto his litter and hooked it back into the saddle. Their nerves were more frayed this close to the heart of the Werd. The heaviness of the forest slowly gnawed at their resistance. Moods darkened. Worst of all, Grelic knew whatever stalked them was getting closer. Watching their every move. Studying how they carried themselves, the readiness to do battle should the need arise. Whatever it was, the giant didn’t think they were going to last much longer before meeting. Grelic wanted out of the forest and into the comparative safety of the Elven mercenaries as soon as possible, Dakeb or not.

He gave his horse, his most trusted friend through the years, a soft pat on the side of the neck and gently stroked the bridge of his nose. The horse snorted affectionately. Grelic knew the beast was as anxious to leave as the others. One thing he’d learned as a young man was to listen to the animals, for they often had a better understanding of the natural world than hum.

“I know, old friend,” he soothed. “I don’t like this either, but what choice do we have? A few more weeks and we’ll be home. Just stay with me that long.”

It’s only going to get worse before it gets better
.

“Grelic, we’re ready,” Cron called.

Right. Time to go.

Unseen through the thick underbrush, five monstrous forms moved swiftly nearby. They ran parallel to the group, constantly pausing to sniff the air. Their sharp, curved horns tore stray vines and clumps of moss hanging from lower branches. They snorted, communicating in soft grunts. Their menacing eyes darted through the forest: searching, hunting. Each bore a rusted tulwar smeared with blood and gore stains. There was no question as to their intent. They were hunting.

Darkness blanketed Qail Werd in silent ceremony. Shadows and wicked visions came alive, removing any trace of friendliness the ancient forest held during the day. They rode on until they couldn’t see and stopped for the night. Once halted, they set about the tasks and chores that had become second nature. Dakeb remained their number one priority. Until he was back on his feet, they remained in trouble.

“This is getting irritating,” Kialla snarled after walking away from the Mage. “His heart is beating. His pulse is fine. Damnation if his eyes even adjust to the light when I lift the lids. I can’t find anything wrong. Why doesn’t he wake up?”

Frustrated, she spit in disgust and sat down with her head in her dirty hands. It took every ounce of self-control to keep from crying.

Grelic stopped Cron from going to her. “She’s a strong woman, Cron. Right now she’s feeling what the rest of us have been. She’s tired, exhausted, and feeling helpless. Give her a little time alone.”

“We don’t have time,” he replied.

His eyes burned hotly through the darkness. The giant merely nodded. “Sometime tonight.”

“Do you think it’s time we told the others?” Cron asked.

“We should. Especially if it comes to a fight.”

The soldier wiped away some of the fatigue from his face. “I’ll go gather them together. We need to do this quietly, just in case our
friends
are within earshot.”

Moments later a host of anxious faces stared up at Grelic. He sighed at the weight of responsibility driving him down. He wasn’t a leader. In fact, he much preferred fighting alone. Now he had no choice. He was the over-aged leader of a ragged band of would-be heroes. He wondered what he did to deserve this burden.

“What’s going on now?” Pregen asked sourly.

Grelic fought back the urge to backhand the man. “We’re being hunted and have been since the storm blew over. I don’t know by what, but they’re big and there are a lot of them. No one unsaddles the horses or packs. I have a sinking suspicion we’re about to get attacked.”

“What makes you think that?” Ibram asked.

“Watch the forest,” Cron said. “We haven’t seen a deer or anything else for almost two days. This evening even the birds are absent. We’re getting attacked tonight.”

Pregen felt his courage sink. This new threat was almost too much. “We need to mount up and get out here. Grelic, I’ve heard those things moving in the night as well and this area can’t be defended. We need to leave.”

At least he said we
. Grelic frowned.

“That’s what they’re waiting for, to see if we break and run. We stay. We wait.”

Fitch was surprised. “Wait for what? If these things are coming, we should leave. I’m with Pregen on this one.”

“It’s not that simple,” Cron added. “These things can see in the dark and this is their territory. Don’t you think they know every ravine and every stream from one edge of the forest to the other? If we run, they will wipe us out before we get far.”

“What if it’s the Dwim? Or the Gwarmoran? They can’t know the forest any better than we do,” Kialla theorized.

“The tracks are different. They’re bigger and go on two legs. The space of the prints indicates massive strides. Whatever they are, they’re big and clever enough not to be seen.”

Pregen maintained his form and sarcastically asked, “So we’re staying here why?”

“To draw them in. Once they’re completely focused on us we’ll be able to slip away in the confusion,” Grelic said.

“They’ll neglect the outer perimeter!” Ibram exclaimed. “What do we do until then?”

“Nothing,” Cron told them. “We go about our routine the same as usual. Any change will only let them know we’re on to them. Get some sleep if you can and keep your hands on your swords.”

They drifted back to their tasks. An underlying chord of fear strained them. None were able to focus, instead casting furtive glances into the trees. Sleep was an illusion. Only Grelic managed to start snoring within a few minutes. Kialla was amazed. She failed to understand how he could remain so casual in the face of imminent danger. Secretly she wished for that same confidence and experience.

Grelic awoke to Cron’s hand gently rocking him. Neither warrior spoke. The giant calmly picked up his already drawn sword and rolled up into a crouch. Time was up. He heard them first. Heavy feet crunching dried leaves and branches despite attempts at being stealthy.
At least the leaves he had Fitch and Ibram gather and lay down around the camp worked
. Grelic almost smiled. The beasts might be cunning but they were far from stealthy. Once his eyes adjusted to the gloom he caught a glimpse of Cron drawing an arrow. A quick look around the camp showed him the others in different states of preparedness. For some odd reason, Grelic imagined he was the only one who had gotten any sleep.

His thoughts were shattered the moment the first hulking shape barreled into the tiny clearing. Cron’s bow thrummed twice in quick succession and the attacker fell. Any thought of victory was short lived as another four took his place. Grelic came up swinging. His broadsword ripped into an opponent’s stomach, tearing entrails and bone loose. He ducked under a crushing blow from the spiked tulwar aimed at his head. Bark and moss flew from the tree behind Grelic. The giant stabbed into the ribcage and twisted his blade. His foe was dead before it hit the ground.

Another beast fell under a pair of arrows lancing his throat. Grelic almost had hope for victory until he noticed the night was teeming with violent red eyes and quickly moving figures. Hope quickly turned to despair. Across the embattled campsite, Fitch was clubbed to the ground. He fell over Dakeb’s body and was still. Grelic parried a slash from a crudely made sword and kicked. His boot heel broke bones.