The Dragon Hunters (3 page)

“Shall I take you to him?” he asked quietly.

Rentor turned to Seldis. He seemed almost reluctant. “I need to know what I’m facing. The kingdom may be in jeopardy.”

If you only knew.
“Come. He was near death when we found him. Delirium had already set in. I doubt he knew where he’d stumbled to.”

“How long has he been here?”

“Less than a week. The Brothers have slowly been nurturing him back to health.”

Rentor nodded, absorbing every word. “His mind?”

“I’ve been seeing to that,” Seldis replied as they made their way through the main building.

The king offered a half-hearted laugh. “Some might consider you a Mage.”

“That order destroyed itself ages ago. Greed often leads to such misconception. The Mages got to greedy and suffered for it. I, however, lack hubris. Or so I’ve been told.”

“The histories say they could have ruled the world,” Rentor said, making idle conversation.

Seldis agreed. “No army in Malweir could have withstood their assault. They weren’t always corrupt. The Mages began with the purest intentions. They protected Malweir and her peoples. Who knows how many wars were avoided thanks to them? But as in all, men hid greed. They destroyed themselves to save us.”

A shiver ran down Rentor’s spine. People had been raised in fear since the end of the Mage War. Though the orders of Mages were gone, Rentor had long believed normal men were especially susceptible to cruel acts. “You’re aware of the rumors coming out of Gren?”

“It is much more than a rumor. Not every Mage was killed and many of their dark creations continue to live. They wait in the shadows for the right moment.”

“How can such creatures be defeated?”
And how can I link Gren to my troubles?

Seldis stopped outside a door at the end of the torch-lit hall. “Not even I can tell. My sight is blocked. The man you seek is within this room. I must warn you, his mind is still fractured. You may not discover the answers you seek.”

“I must make the effort.”

The door creaked open, revealing a portly monk sitting in a rocking chair beside the sleeping man. Brother Arabub nodded to Father Seldis.

“How is our guest?”

“He fades in and out. He’s also beginning to speak in full sentences. We had a lovely conversation about a woman named Shar. I believe she was his wife,” Arabub said. His eyes never left the king.

“Thank you, Brother Arabub. You may leave us now. The king would like a private word with our guest. I will come get you when we’re finished,” Seldis told him with a fatherly tone.

Arabub pulled the blanket from his legs, rose, and bowed before excusing himself.

“This is a sad state for a man to be in,” Rentor said, looking down on Fitch.

Seldis agreed. “His name is Fitch Iane, from Gend. His soul has been gravely wounded. Worse, I have seen glimpses of his darkest thoughts. Seen some of what he witnessed.”

Rentor’s eyebrow rose. “Tell me.”

“It is not my place. That is something he must tell you for himself. Ah, he’s awake.”

Rentor stared down on the shell of man. Indescribable emotions conflicted. Fitch was malnourished and needed a shave but otherwise looked well enough. It was the eyes that told the story. Fitch’s eyes were wild, betraying raw fear. Rentor sighed. He doubted he’d be able to glean any useful information from questioning this man.

The experience was vastly different for Fitch. He stared up at Rentor and, instead of a king, saw only dark shapes. Dreadful memories of monsters and fire immediately rushed forward to embrace him tightly. The smell of roasting flesh sickened his nostrils. Wicked flames stretched towards the heavens. Tears welled in his eyes. His chest racked with sobs.
Shar
.

“No more, please,” he whispered and tried to hide his face beneath the blankets. “No more.”

Seldis reached down and placed a comforting hand on Fitch’s arm. “Be at peace, my son. You are safe in these walls. There are no demons here.”

“No. This is one of them! He must leave,” Fitch hissed, suddenly cruel, spiteful.

Rentor’s cheeks flushed. Any other man might already be dead for spewing false accusations. He had no pity for Fitch, that much was certain. Rentor wasn’t the sort who believed in pity. Men were dealt the hand the gods wanted.

“No, no. This is the king of Thrae,” Seldis soothed. He moved his hand to Fitch’s forehead and whispered, “See through the veil.”

A pale yellow glow spread from his fingers, blanketing Fitch’s head. The darkness fell away and Fitch looked upon his king for the first time. His mouth dropped open.

“Sire,” he mouthed.

Rentor eased into the chair vacated by Brother Arabub and put on his best sentimental face. “There is no need for formality here, Master Iane. I need to know what happened in Gend, if you can tell me.”

Fitch suddenly focused. His eyes lost their hazy, wild look. Rentor watched his face contort as he tried fighting the rising fear. Tried to conquer his emotions. The terror was too strong.

“Relax. Peace be upon you, Fitch Iane. The fear is your ally. Fear is our reason for carrying on when reason demands otherwise. Fear is the most powerful emotion we have. Fight it. Fight it and you will be free,” Seldis chanted.

Slowly Fitch ceased struggling. His eyes fluttered and closed. The king fought back the aggravated sigh tickling his throat.

“I am not a patient man, Seldis. There must be something else you can do.”

“Such are the times we live in. You must learn patience if you wish to see our kingdom through the coming darkness,” the monk replied.

Rentor wished he could solve the riddle with his sword. All he needed was the right target to attack. War was a simple thing. Ruling a kingdom, however, was much different. Rentor knew he wasn’t going to make progress by sitting and waiting. He decided it was time to leave.

“I was returning home from hunting,” Fitch’s voice filled the room.

Seldis removed his hand and sidled towards the door. Fitch’s tale spilled out in an uncontrollable wave, forcing Rentor to lean forward and hinge on every word.

Captain Cron

The ancient walls of the monastery groaned under the weight of an unusually strong wind. Loose snowflakes choked the air. King Rentor exhaled a plume of breath. Any apprehensions he felt before speaking with Fitch were horrifyingly amplified. Visions of terrible monsters and unimaginable hatred played out in his mind despite common sense assuring him none of those things existed. Not in the modern world. Rentor was an old man and knew where reality and imagination crossed was a dark road. Nightmares lurked on that road. Inescapable. Slip a little and the night would claim him. It was a private fear he’d held since first taking up the crown from his father’s dying hand. A good king should be afraid. Fear allowed him to rule better.

The half-moon cast a haunting, pale glow over the snow-covered lands. The effect was amplified by the low cloud cover. Rentor looked out to the mountainsides. Crooked tree branches looked like so many wicked fingers stretching out for him. He shivered, though from the image or the cold he was unsure.

“His words speak ill of our future,” he said once Seldis joined him. “What manner of creature can so carelessly slaughter women and children?”

Seldis breathed deeply, enjoying the crisp winter night. “I’ve always liked this time of year. The air feels good in my bones.”

Barren branches rubbed together in an eerie screech.

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“I know.”

Rentor frowned. “Why does that trouble me further?”

Seldis offered a thin smile. “We don’t always want to hear the truth, Rentor, despite our protests. Truth can be as evil and malicious as the past. Darkness will always try to quench the light. Will you stand against the weight of the night?”

“What choice do I have?”

“Sometimes it is better that way.”

Rentor wasn’t convinced. “How can I prepare if I don’t know what to expect?”

“Trust your heart. It will tell you the true path. Not all of us walk in shadows. There is a light, Rentor. Finding it will be your hardest task. Treachery and betrayal lay along the way, but take heart. Great friendship and heroism also await.”

“Betrayal? By who?”

Seldis paused to think. “I cannot see. That knowledge remains hidden to me. Tell me, what would you do if you knew ahead of time?”

It was Rentor’s turn to smile. “I think we both know that answer.”

“Precisely! Kill the traitor before the appointed time and you disrupt the balance. Events that should happen won’t, thus changing the outcome. Many wish to know the future and that in itself is a doom.”

“I can’t live by looking over my shoulder, Seldis. There must be a better way.”

“Be the king, Rentor. Look to faith. Aid will arrive from many sources though your biggest ally will be the least expected.”

“You frighten me sometimes,” Rentor admitted after it became clear Seldis would say no more. “Very well. I will return to Kelis Dur and prepare for war. The day will soon come when I will call on you again, my friend.”

“We shall be there when you need us,” Seldis confirmed.

Rentor swung his gaze back to the night. “A shame winter lasts so long. I might enjoy the view otherwise. Take care of yourself, Father.”

They embraced and Seldis watched the king stalk back to the courtyard. His mind already raced ahead to what needed doing. The more he tried to look into the future the more troubled he grew. Seldis closed his eyes.
How could I tell Rentor that Fitch Iane will play one of the greatest roles in this drama?
He had much to do in order to prepare Fitch for the coming trials. Much of the torment had faded but Fitch remained in a foul place. Seldis nodded and went inside as the last horse left the courtyard.

* * * * *

Codel Mres was waiting in the stables when Rentor’s party returned. His face had a blue tinge. Never fond of the cold, winter’s additional fury left him in a soured mood. More and more lately his thoughts turned towards moving south to warmer climes. Starting a new life where the weather wasn’t so aggressive. The youth of his time were taught to embrace the rugged nature of their environment, but Codel was never the outdoors type. He preferred a warm fire and the accompanying amenities. Let others stalk the harsh winters.

“Blue is a good color on you, Codel,” Rentor announced with a deep laugh.

Codel hid a scowl. “I can’t feel my ears or nose. Did you learn anything from the monks?”

“Some and not enough.”

“A riddle?” Codel asked. He despised riddles.

“Speak with Father Seldis long enough and you will begin to understand. Come. It is time to go home. I have much to think on and we could both use a warm bed with warmer women.”

Rentor didn’t bother looking back. He knew Seldis was still there watching.

* * * * *

He awoke with a start. Sweat beaded across his brow. Heart pounded in his chest. Already fading shadows of nightmares haunted the darkened corners of his bed chamber. Melena groaned softly and rolled over. Rentor gave her a quick glance before sliding out of bed and going to the door-sized mirror hanging on the wall. Heavy rings hallowed his eyes. He couldn’t remember being this tired. Body worn down, Rentor had to laugh.
All part of the price of being king
.
I need a new job.

Splashing cold water on his face, Rentor dressed in a heavy robe of crimson with gold trim and went to watch the dawn. He made a quick stop in the kitchens and enjoyed a meal of fruits, cheese, and freshly baked rolls washed down with ice water. He normally liked some sort of meat with his meals but the recent nightmares left him without much of an appetite. Faint rays of sunlight began to seep through the curtained windows. This was the only time of the day that belonged solely to him.

He left the already forming lines of petitioners to the court appointed clerks. He ignored most of the staff and did his best to avoid Codel. Heavier matters weighed him down and he needed clarity. Rentor hoped the dawn offered more than night tried to steal. Closing his eyes, he lost himself in thoughts and harebrained schemes. It didn’t take long for one idea to outshine the others. Rentor grinned. He knew what to do.

* * * * *

Captain Cron stood looking out the window of his second floor office, hands clasped sharply behind his back. He was a young man for his rank, hardly entering middle age. Rich black hair was closely cropped. His moustache was heavy and long. His body was rigid the way a soldier should be, muscled and disciplined. Cron’s uniform and boots were spotless. Thin creases ran the length of his trousers, ending in polished boots. Everything about him whispered professional soldier.

One of the youngest captains in the army, Cron entered his position trying to prove himself. He drilled his men mercilessly. They were the best looking unit, to his knowledge, and the best disciplined and trained. Pride forced Cron to push harder and it paid off. His soldiers collectively had more decorations and awards than any other unit. They performed their tasks with flawless enthusiasm. It was no surprise when a runner came bounding up the stairs to report the arrival of a troop of the king’s own guard. Cron returned the salute and grabbed his winter jacket.

Seeing the king himself shocked him with uncertainty. Normally such matters were left to diplomats and couriers. Wondering why or how being pointless, Cron went to meet his king. Worry didn’t profit him. A twenty-year career put him in the perfect position. He was the senior-most field commander and, despite the protestations of the generals and crusty old veterans, commanded a hefty portion of the fighting strength. He surmised that if rebellion ever broke out many would turn to him before making their decisions.

“Do you ever relax?” Rentor asked.

Cron nearly let the smile break his stern facade. “Sire, such activities often lead to a warrior’s untimely death. A man needs an edge. Besides, my men have been chosen for enough of your special assignments to know when alertness is required.”

King Rentor merely smiled. He liked a man who wasn’t afraid to speak his mind. Too many others told him what they thought he wanted to hear rather than what he needed to. Cron always told him the truth in no uncertain terms. That, more than anything, was cause for respect.

“Precisely why I am here now, in person. Come, let us get back in your office. Some matters are best left unheard by the wind.”

Cron asked nothing and led them back to his office.

“No questions?” Rentor asked along the way.

“Sire, you haven’t given me anything relevant to ask questions on.”

The king eased himself in the comfortable leather-covered chair opposite of the desk. “Tell me again why I haven’t made you a general?”

Cron mirrored the king, leaning forward on the desk and steeping his hands. “You and I both know I am more useful at this level. Leave a sword in its scabbard too long and it rusts. What do you require of me?”

“The village of Gend was attacked and destroyed a week ago. I want you to have a company go and investigate. Find out what you can and report directly to me. No one is to know of this.”

Cron felt his collar tighten. “Do we have any ideas who did this?”

“You wouldn’t want me to take out all of the fun, would you?” Rentor asked.

The slight hesitation in his voice told Cron all he needed to know. Rentor had suspicions but couldn’t act without evidence. Nor could he freely give away the data, not yet. A danger crept into Cron’s mind. This was unlike the king. He broke his own rule and asked himself a double-edged question.
What is he hiding
?

“Sire, I trust you understand that the security of my men must come first. If they’re to give their lives I would like to know it is worth it.”

“Some circumstances even a king may not discuss, Captain. Doing so now would tip our hand and give our enemies time to react. See what you can find out. I’m not asking you to fight a battle. I’m not asking much nor can I give much. Your trust and usual professionalism are all I ask. We don’t know who did it and I don’t want to go to war with the wrong people.”

Cron rose slowly. “I’ll see to it personally, sire.”

“Nonsense. This is a task for normal field commanders. Your position is irreplaceable, Cron. I need you to stay in Kelis Dur and prepare the army.”

Cron wasn’t convinced. “Sire, you and I have both been on enough campaigns to know there are times when a true leader must be in front of his troops. I feel this is one of those times. If we’re about to go to war I need to have firsthand intel of the situation. What better way for me to get that than by going to Gend myself?”

Rentor threw up his hands in surrender. “You are a very hardheaded man, Captain. Very well. The captain of Kelis Dur will ride forth but do not engage anyone. We’re not ready to go to war. Oh and Cron, remember this, for there are times when a king must also be in front of his people to lead.”

Rentor viewed Cron as a son. Losing him would not only hurt the kingdom, but the army and his own feelings. Slowly the king rose and left the young captain to his planning. There were times even a king wasn’t welcome.

Cron waited until Rentor was gone before fixing his adjutant with a menacing glare. “Come in here, Resh. I want to speak with you about the importance of early warning and etiquette.”

Swallowing hard, the teen slipped in and shut the door behind him.

Thirty riders waited in two lines. Cron, at the head of the column, looked over each man. All three squads had been personally selected. He knew each of the riders but two, those being fresh replacements for two retiring veterans. A stiff wind shuffled their forest green cloaks. Swords and shields, axes and bows were all strapped in place. Each squad had enough combat power to equal an entire infantry company. Cron left nothing to chance. Better men had died for less.

Their faces were stern, betraying no hint of their true emotions. This was their duty. Though Cron hadn’t briefed them on the possibilities for violence, danger was a constant companion. Seasoned professionals, they understood the cost of leaving their base. Each man was prepared and willing to die for Cron and kingdom.

Leaning down, Cron gave his horse a soft pat on the neck. “Column, forward!”