The Dragon Hunters (25 page)

The hall trembled under Thorsus’s laughter. “Very well. Let us see to your friends before the wyrm comes looking for the man bold enough to topple mountains.”

Lament

“You understand what I’m asking of you?” King Rentor asked the grizzled, old sergeant standing before him in dress uniform.

Sergeant Notam gave a sharp nod. “Yes, sire.”

“Whatever you do will be unofficial. I cannot risk open war with my own men before the enemy strikes. You’re certain you can accomplish this?”

Another nod.

Notam was already growing irritated. He hated being questioned, by anyone. Give him a job and it got done to standard. He’d made a career out of breaking young officers and stubborn farm boys pretending to be soldiers. His tenacity and unorthodox training methods were renowned throughout Thrae. He was the thing of troopers’ legends and tall tales. Many a new recruit quailed at the thought of having Sergeant Notam as their instructor.

Rentor leveled his gaze and asked in a very serious tone, “How much can you trust this man?”

“Sire, I’d put your life in his hands without question,” Notam replied. His stark white uniform was belted at the waist and had black buttons. Rows of ribbons and medals protruded from his chest, matched only by the green cord wrapped around his left shoulder. His polished boots reflected the sunlight.
And with good reason. It’s his brother, after all
.

Satisfied, Rentor sighed. “I have a sinking feeling men like this might be all that stand between life and death. You may go now. I urge caution. The enemy has spies everywhere, even in my throne room.” He emphasized “my” with disgust.

“Sire, you don’t live long in my profession without being cautious.” Notam saluted briskly and marched away.

King Rentor stood alone for many long minutes. Events were finally starting to unfold. He’d done everything he could think of to prevent total disaster but still had a nagging doubt about the future. He simply was unsure of too many things.

* * * * *

Rain drizzled from gutters and rooftops. The air was sweet despite being trapped in between the closely built homes and shops. Tumultuous grey clouds hung low to the ground. The tender crack of lightning played harmony to the rumbling thunder. Father Seldis stood on his balcony with his head tilted back. Cool rain splashed his face. It felt good. Satisfied by the freshness of it, he wiped his face, pulled up his hood and kept walking.

He’d never enjoyed Kelis Dur’s crowded streets and occasional squalid living conditions. Like many of his kind, Seldis needed the open air and wide plains to roam. City life was akin to captivity. The monastery was a godsend compared to what these people were forced to endure. Seldis passed several homeless along his route. Seeing children like this always broke his heart. Being powerless to change it hurt worse. The monastery’s coffers weren’t filled with much more than enough to sustain its own meager needs. Yearly donations continued to pour into Thrae’s orphanages and halfway homes, though not enough to ease Seldis’s concerns.

The steel cap on the bottom of his walking staff clicked softly on the faded red cobblestones. He avoided small puddles and tiny streams running down the sides of the streets. This wasn’t the sort of night he enjoyed being outside in but the hour was late and time of the essence. No one paid another old man swathed in robes much heed, figuring him for a beggar.

He finally reached his destination and rapped on the aging back door. A gruff-looking man opened the door, staring down on him with menace. A thick moustache concealed his upper lip and, added with shoulder-length hair and thick, bushy eyebrows, gave him a wild quality.

“What do you want?” he snarled. His voice was slurred, as if his tongue was too large for his mouth.

Seldis grinned. “Must we go through this every time? I would like a drink if you please, Kernak. Now, are you going to let me in or do you plan on keeping this old man out in the rain?” Rain pooled in his cupped hand.

Kernak snorted annoyance. “Sometimes it’s worth it just to see your reaction.” The door swung open with an agonized squeal. “He’s awaiting you.”

Seldis passed on saying “thank you” and brushed by. He was careful to drip as much water on Kernak as possible in the process. The soldier scowled deeper but held his tongue. This was neither the time nor the place. A few torches were scattered carelessly about the room. The smell of smoke clung to the air. Seldis coughed. He hated coming here and made it known every time he was summoned. His eyes settled on the imposing figure seated before a cackling fireplace. Plucking up his robes, he took the opposite chair. Seldis was no fool. He knew a half dozen more men hid in the shadows waiting to fill him with arrows should something go wrong.
Every time
.

“Must we go through this charade?” he asked with casualness few others would.

Rentor looked away from the hypnotic dance of the flames. Sadness hung in his gaze. “You know as well as I that these precautions are necessary. Or so my wife insists. There are times when I feel like a prisoner in my own kingdom.”

They both chuckled.

“Wine?”

Seldis smiled and reached for the pitcher. “Naturally.” He took a long drink, exhaling a most satisfied breath. “There’s nothing like it on a night like this. As pleasant as this is, there must be a reason for our clandestine meeting.”

Rentor wiped a drop of the red wine from the corner of his mouth. “Aye. I believe the hour is finally upon us.”

Ah, where has all the time gone
? “How much longer do you think we have?”

Rentor shrugged. “It’s hard to say. My instincts tell me Codel and his followers are ready to move. But it doesn’t feel right. He’s not that sort of man, Seldis. I’ve known him all my life. He’s always stood at my side.”

“And in your shadow. Corruption has a way of stealing the strongest of us. Codel Mres is no longer himself,” Seldis answered.

“Could it be the generals are behind his subversion? A part of me refuses to believe my lifelong friend has turned rogue so easily. Someone is guiding him. He’s never been one for plots or political intrigue.” Rentor forced a laugh. “Even tactics seemed foreign to him. Such a simple concept.”

“You’re right, of course,” Seldis agreed. “Someone else is guiding him. They’ve twisted his mind. Codel Mres is no longer himself, Rentor.”

He left out his mounting suspicions. Seldis hadn’t spoken to Dakeb since the night the king came to the monastery to check on Fitch Iane. Neither of them really knew the driving force behind the insurrection, though all evidence pointed towards the Silver Mage. He remained the only dark Mage unaccounted for after the battle of Ipn Shal. No one else in Malweir was as devious or hateful.

“Whom exactly do you have in mind? General Huor seems to have his ear.”

“Possibly,” Seldis replied. He wasn’t ready to raise the cry against the dark Mages or Huor without definite proof. The backlash across Thrae would be severe and spread quickly. Many innocent people would be taken and killed in a massive witch hunt. Seldis had no doubt on this. It always worked that way. He’d lost track of the number of men and women brutally murdered in the suspicion of heresy because some damned fool sparked a scare. Thrae would be no exception. If such an accusation broke out, the kingdom would die in flames.

All of this was happening so fast. Seldis hadn’t had much time to think, much less formulate how to stop his foes. The Silver Mage was moving remarkably swift, however. It wasn’t very surprising. He’d had hundreds of years to plan his revenge while the few remaining Mages weren’t even sure of his existence. Seldis and Dakeb were always a step behind their former friend.

“I know little of your armies and the men who fill the ranks. Your own spies are the ones who can inform you better than I.”

Rentor presented a diplomatic smiled. “There’s something you’re not telling me, Father. But no worries. My spies are indeed working hard to discover the truth. I fear what they may find. Father Seldis, I’ll not be the last king of Thrae. Too many before me sacrificed for us to live free. Watching it all end now would be a disgrace to everything they stood for.”

Seldis had always enjoyed their conversations, though of late they’d taken on dark undertones. He wished it wasn’t so, and that he might be able to enjoy the autumn of his life wandering the lands with Dakeb once more. Oh the freedom of it all. Part of him often thought of days long past when Mages openly traveled the world without fear of persecution.

Thoughts like that often led back to poor Fitch Iane and Brother Ibram. There’d been a hundred times he’d wanted to tell Ibram the truth and begin his training. Dakeb argued against it from the beginning. The time was never right for it. Whenever Seldis asked when, he was dismissed with an idle wave. No one knew when, and that became a major issue. There were no Mages left to scour the lands in search of those trainable in the arts. There was no temple, castle, or academy to train the youth. Seldis was afraid the title of Mage was going to die not long after they did. He spent many lonely nights cursing their misfortune. The days had once been glorious and filled with such promise. Now only the prospect of darkness remained. His one hope lay in Fitch and Ibram being strong enough to see the task through. Sidian had timed his offensive well. Mage-kind was in its darkest hour.

“Fear not, priest of Harr. I shall not ask your secrets,” Rentor said and leaned a little closer so that his words didn’t carry. “I think when this sad affair is done there are a great many things we should discuss, you and I.”

Seldis immediately picked out the mischievous twinkle in the king’s eyes. “I should enjoy that, provided we stem the tide of darkness and you bring enough mulled wine to last the night.”

Rentor’s chuckle was hollow. “All pleasantries aside, what can you tell me of the days to come? The Order of Harr is said to harbor prophets and mind readers. What do you see for the future of Thrae?”

Seldis rubbed his bottom lip. “People talk too much. It doesn’t take a mind reader to know what’s going on in another’s. All one must do is pay attention and understand the complications facing modern man. A beggar can become a prophet on a good day. It’s mostly guess work. I’ve never been much good at it myself. Once, long ago, I knew some with the talent. They were gifted men and women but that was another time, another land.”

“That was not the comforting answer I was looking for,” Rentor scolded.

“Should it be? These are uncomfortable times. You don’t know the horrors coming, Rentor. The Silver Mage is the physical manifestation of a nightmare untamed. It will be all any of us can do to stand against the tide. Strength and courage are our best allies now,” Seldis snapped back.

Rentor snorted. “Those I have plenty of. How can I fight a war when I’m not even sure of the loyalties of half my army?”

“I don’t have an answer. We must play out the hand given us.”

Finishing his wine, Rentor poured another glass. “How goes life at the monastery? Any more willing recruits come to join the flock?”

Seldis gladly obliged the change of conversation. Every little escape was appreciated. For now at least, they were two old friends speaking of simple matters. “Few men willingly come to join the ranks. The old gods no longer hold sway over Malweir. Youth is too impetuous. These kids today are anxious to go out into the world and make a name.”

Laughing, Rentor said, “It is no different from when I was a child. I can still remember going hunting with my father. How I wished he’d let me go out on my own. Do you have any idea how much I wanted to bring home a great horned stag just to see the looks on my family’s face?”

“The dreams of youth are so innocent,” Seldis agreed.

“Let us hope our children live to have such.”

They sat in silence, listening to the gentle crackling of burning wood and sipping mulled wine.

Partings

Thorsus led the guards personally. Their cloven feet rumbled through the winding corridors and halls of Malg with unsurpassed authority. The Minotaur kingdom was alive again. Rage and pent-up emotions reverberated through the limestone walls. Warriors gathered in great numbers, waving their weapons and snarling battle cries. Thorsus felt their hunger. He desperately wanted to be back in the heat of battle. To feel the sting of combat as warriors fell around him. He let loose a throaty roar that spread among the guards.

At last the procession arrived at the dungeons. Thorsus was mildly surprised to find his “guests” standing in a group behind the door. The larger of the humans was in the front, clearly their leader. The Minotaur king knew him by reputation. Respect was metered accordingly. He wanted to test the giant in combat or perhaps join him in fighting their common foe. What tales would be sung! Entire kingdoms would kneel to their might.

Stepping before the door, Thorsus carefully eyed each of them again. The slender one missing teeth had the feel of treachery about him. The Minotaur’s instincts warned to keep this one caged for he was surely no good for the mission. Careful not to voice his outspoken opinion, Thorsus bowed slightly to them. “My apologies for keeping you here so long, but times are not what they once were. We need caution, even in Qail Werd. Speaking with Master Dakeb, I have come to know the importance of your quest and would see you on your way.”

His heavy, black eyes fell on Fitch, who meekly stared back. Again the Minotaur king laughed. “You wonder how it is I can speak your tongue so well when others cannot? That is a tale long in the telling and there is no time. Perhaps when you return for the victory feast I shall indulge you.”

He motioned for a guard to unlock the door and made a sweeping gesture with his arm.

Grelic grinned fiercely. “Let it never be said the hospitality of the Minotaurs is lacking.”

“Many would argue otherwise.”

“Goblins and Trolls are a filth in need of cleansing. Perhaps you and I should strike up the sword and go to war ourselves.” Grelic enjoyed the thought.

Both knew it would never happen. The Minotaurs ruthlessly attacked in the forest and Grelic responded in kind. Desperate times made them unsteady allies but the killing of so many of Thorsus’s warriors demanded repayment. He’d wait until after the dragon was dead to see how far he’d go in trusting the massive bull.

There was a momentary flicker of misgiving in the Minotaur’s dark eyes. The loss of so many warriors to the humans was still too near to let go. It faded quickly as he remembered his promise to Dakeb. “Indeed.”

He spoke to the guards in their language, sounding like no more than grunts and snorts to Grelic’s band. They passed disapproving glances among each other and Grelic noticed Thorsus’s rising anger. His nostrils flared, vibrating the thick, iron ring. Any debate ended immediately.

Thorsus faced his guests. “My warriors will escort you to the arms room. There you will find all of your weapons and perhaps a few others that may better suit your quest. I leave you in their capable hands. Much is still needed to be said with the Mages. I take my leave of you now.”

He bowed stiffly, as if unaccustomed to the act.

“Thank you,” Cron replied when he noticed the giant’s sudden reluctance. He reminded himself to ask Grelic about it the next time they were alone.

“This way. Come now,” snarled the smaller of the two remaining Minotaurs.

Friendly enough in his own hostile mannerisms, the Minotaur was focused on performing his king’s orders. Cron had come to understand them, slightly, and almost admired the young bull leading them. He respected the militaristic culture and wished he had a battalion to throw into his own battle lines. Still, he found it disturbing that the Minotaur kingdom thrived under Qail Werd without the king of Thrae knowing. Considering how large the human population had grown and expanded, Cron feared for his kingdom should Thorsus ever decide he’d had enough.

They came to the end of the tunnel and Cron’s eyes widened in amazement. He’d been around weapons and smiths all of his life but had never seen anything comparable to the Minotaur armory. An enormous cavern stretched out before them. Coal fires bathed the cavern with a hellish glaze. Smiths and apprentices hammered freshly poured steel. Great racks of swords, tulwars, shields, and heavy war bars lined the beginning of the bottleneck cavern. Spears and axes sat piled in large numbers. So much weaponry led Cron to imagining this fearsome army rampaging across Thrae. Impressive was an understatement.

An aged male standing behind the small counter in the near corner eyed them sharply. Minotaurs didn’t trust strangers, much less a pack of humans, so deep inside the secret places of Malg. Much like his fellow warriors, the aging arms master had spent a lifetime dedicated to the arts of warfare and peace. Where humans fought because it was their nature, Minotaurs fought to attain peace.

“Ah, the humans,” he growled.

Turning his back, the arms master went about collecting their weapons. He hefted Grelic’s broadsword with the ease of a child, much to his amusement. Even Pregen couldn’t keep from grinning despite the profound sense of negativity he felt. The steady
ca-ting ca-ting
of hammers striking cold anvils haunted him. Soon they were strapping their weapons in place and refitting for the continued journey. Grelic and Cron perused the Minotaur-made weapons, collecting what looked useful.

“Thank you,” Kialla told the arms master with a genuine smile.

The Minotaur snorted, about as close to acknowledgement as he was willing to give. Like Thorsus, he had marched with the Mages at the siege of Ipn Shal. Friends and fellow warriors he’d known for decades fell that bloody day. An arrow had pierced one of his lungs as they stormed the wall. Many good souls, too many, fell from the blind hatreds of a handful. The arms master blamed hum for the ills of the world. That the group before him hadn’t even been thought of at the time meant nothing.

Their guard led them back into the puzzling warren. No one bothered talking. There was a growing excitement. The time had come to return to the quest and move forward. They followed the Minotaur down long and winding corridors. Unsure why, Grelic suddenly realized that they hadn’t seen any females during their internment. He wondered if that had been deliberate or if the females of the species were just incredibly rare. Either way, it could mean nothing good for the dwindling population.

The other issue vexing him was the complex variety of mastery of the basic language. Lower-ranking warriors spoke it brokenly and in choppy sentences whereas Thorsus and many of the shamans sound like they’d been educated in one of Averon’s academies. The disparity was fascinating and any answers he could discover would help him differentiate between their importance. Right now it was an added complication he didn’t need.

They finally came to a halt in the reception hall. Their guard held up his hand and said, “Lord Thorsus awaits.”

Legs burning from the steady uphill climb and a decided lack of use over the last few days, Grelic knew they were close to the surface. His face held a tight grimace.
No doubt anxious to be rid of us. Good. I need to feel the open air on my face again
. They found the Minotaur king standing in front of the remarkably small door leading out of Malg. A massive double-headed battle axe was strapped to his back. Grelic spied the skill and craftsmanship the blades were made with and recognized the handiwork of the Dwarves.

“The time has come for you to return to your quest. I have spoken at great length with your Mages and though I tried, they will not be swayed from this fool’s errand. Should you return alive, you are more than welcome in the great halls of Malg.”

“We would be honored,” Grelic replied.

Dakeb and Ibram slipped out from Thorsus’s shadow, along with a youthful-looking bull. Old hunting instincts in Grelic recognized a trap. Why else would one of the Minotaur warriors be accompanying them? A sinking feeling gnawed at the pit of his stomach.
What games are they playing?

“Good, we are all here. Time to go already,” Dakeb said with a sense of finality. He turned to Thorsus. “I would have liked for our stay to be longer, but there is much to be done. Perhaps we shall meet again, Minotaur king. It has already been far too long since we talked as brothers.”

“Journey safely, Master Mage,” replied Thorsus with the authority of a king. He wasn’t pleased by the sudden change of events, but knew full well that this may be their only chance at ridding the lands of a horrible evil. “Krek will guide you to Deldin Grim. He is young by our standards, but a tested warrior with more than ten kills. He shall do you good, Dakeb.”

The scout nodded sharply, clearly unimpressed with the pitiful hum but more than willing to prove his worth in his king’s eyes. Dakeb smiled respectfully. He’d noticed the conflict the moment they met and decided it would prove interesting on the journey, if nothing else. The Mage then looked to each of his companions. A mixture of emotions confused them. He wasn’t sure which was the biggest threat. Of course, he knew who the spy was. That bit was fairly obvious to his heightened senses, but a spy and a threat were vastly different entities. This quest was already dangerous enough without matters suddenly compounding.

He silently wondered how long it would be until the first of them snapped.

Sunlight beamed down on them, forcing them to shield their eyes from the suddenly hostile glare. The heat warmed them soothingly and did wonders to erase the cold and damp impressed upon them by Malg. Thorsus remained in the cooler shadows, amused by their reactions to the sun. Part of his unusual enjoyment stemmed from the knowledge that each had been certain they were going to die lost underground.

“This is as far as I go. Krek will take you the rest of the way. You can rest assure that your arrival has delivered newfound hope and meaning to my people. War bands are already forming to cleanse the Goblin filth from Qail Werd. Go with the peace and giving of the Minotaurs. My handlers will bring your horses out. You shall be pleased to find your packs filled and ready for a long journey. Fare thee well, humans, for the fate of Malweir rests in your hands and hearts,” Thorsus told them.

A flock of pure white egrets erupted from a stand of nearby trees. They circled the clearing once before trailing off to the east. The old Mage smiled, taking the display as an obvious good omen.
Now if only the rest of the path was so mild
. Cool wind blew through, sending refreshing chills through each. Surprisingly, many of Dakeb’s companions found themselves invigorated. They were going to need it. It had been many years since he’d last entered the Deadlands and the memories remained foul.

The Deadlands were exactly that. No sentient being would purposefully live there. The air was hot and humid year round. Every breath felt like the air was trying to kill you. Foul winds scorched the forever plains, blanching everything sickly yellow and brown. Fields of thorn bushes seemed to be the only thing that thrived there.
And now the Goblins have rebuilt their strength and invited a dragon, no doubt under the control of the Silver Mage
. Between those two, which were extraordinarily powerful, and the multitudes of Goblins, Dakeb was not looking forward to his return.

His private memories were interrupted by a handful of Minotaurs leading their horses out from a small game trail leading back to Malg. Dakeb had always liked horses and their finicky temperaments. He much preferred the feel of fresh spring grass bouncing under his feet, but the exhilaration of riding instantly made him smile.

Grelic and the others wasted no time in mounting up. It was a toss-up as to who was more anxious to get away from the hospitality of the Minotaur king. The old Mage followed suit and took his own reins in hand.

“I don’t know if we shall ever meet again, Thorsus. It was a blessing to cross your paths and now that we are leaving I find myself wishing to have your army at my side,” he admitted quietly.

“The days of old are long gone, my friend,” Thorsus replied. He carried undeniable regret in his voice. “I am forced to look after my own people now. Should the day of despair come crashing down on this land, we will meet it with all of our might. The old alliances are forgotten by most, yet the people of Malg shall return to fight beside men should the dark Mage rise again.”

He looked to the others. “Farewell to you all. You have earned my respect and curiosity. Never let it be said that my hospitality was denied to you. Now go and may you meet an end worthy of song and tale.”

The handful of warriors and shamans raised their fists into the air and bellowed ancient battle cries. Krek, most of all, seemed excited. Pride beamed in his features and his roar went louder than even Thorsus’s. Dakeb supposed he couldn’t blame him. This was a momentous occasion, if not fatal. The deeds of this obscure handful of people held the balance of good and evil in their hands. Most would have shied away if they knew the implications associated with their future actions.

Thorsus gently pat Dakeb’s horse on the neck. He leaned close to the Mage and whispered, “I say this for your ears only. Look not to trust for victory. One of your band will betray you before the end. Do not let his deeds foul your quest.”

Dakeb nodded solemnly but said nothing. Thorsus nodded back, so slight it was almost imperceptible. He stood and watched as the band of would-be heroes rode off to certain doom.