The Dragon Hunters (30 page)

He saw their faces as darkness crept around the corners of his vision. They smiled and beckoned for him to take their hands. They offered salvation. Liberation. Seldis reached out. One of the Dwim punched the side of his head, nearly rendering him unconscious. Enraged, the dying Mage gathered what remained of his power and lashed out. The Dwim were caught unaware as they continued their furious assault. Seldis pitched back and threw his arms wide. Madness swarmed into the minds of the Dwim. None of them could move. Their internal organs were squeezed and crushed with massive amounts of pressure. Their bodies broke and died. All three Dwim dropped in lifeless heaps. So too did Father Seldis the Mage.

Rentor led the charge into the fight, already knowing it was too late. They wheeled around the corner and ground to a halt. Tears welled and broke free. It was with a heavy heart that he sheathed his sword and went to the bodies. He took a small measure of solace from the smile on Seldis’s face.

“Well done, old friend,” was all he could manage before grief consumed him.

The Last Night

The Aeldruin encampment was alive with rumors and talk of Mages, Minotaurs, and a giant of a man who wore a perpetual scowl. Strange days had indeed befallen them. Krek drew the most attention. Old hatreds ran deep between their races though few could recall the origins. There’d been virtually no contact between Minotaur and Elf since the fall of Ipn Shal.

Guards escorted the small yet steadily growing group through the neatly ordered rows of camouflaged tents. Cook fires made Dakeb’s mouth water, even though he’d eaten but a few hours earlier. He detested travel rations of any sort. Thoughts of a freshly cooked meal entertaining him, he arrived at Faeldrin’s command tent. Their escort bowed before returning to his duties. Faeldrin greeted them with open arms and a warm smile. The Elf Lord looked refreshed and surprisingly young considering how long and difficult their trek to the mountains had been.

“Ah, my friends. It is good to see you again. You’re late though. We were beginning to get worried. This close to the Deadlands the dangers become extreme,” he said.

Dakeb replied, “We were in safe hands as it turned out. There were a few bumps and bruises along the way but all worked out for the best.”

The Elf’s jewel-like eyes fell on Krek. He decided not to remark. This was no time to bring up old dogma. “Come inside. Surely you must be hungry after so long a ride.”

He took amusement from Krek’s initial hesitancy.

“I’ve never been one to turn down a free meal,” the old Mage said, patting his stomach for emphasis.

“We just ate,” Kialla reminded him.

Dakeb flashed that slick smile of his. “Different cultures, different foods my dear. Besides, it would be downright rude of me to refuse. You don’t want to insult our host’s hospitality so soon, do you?”

“I see you’ve lost none of your golden tongue through these long years,” Faeldrin laughed.

“I can only sacrifice so much, you know.”

They settled around a table filled with roasted rabbit and vegetables. The Elf Lord proved a most generous host. A rich, dark red wine was brought out for them to enjoy. Grelic passed on the offer.

Faeldrin finally addressed Krek. “My scouts tell me you guided these people to us. For that I am in your debt. I am Faeldrin and the Elves around you are the Aeldruin. We are mercenaries for all intents and purposes, but with good intentions.”

Thumping a meaty fist to his chest, Krek replied, “Krek.”

“Welcome to my camp. You are our guest and friend so long as you remain in our company. No harm will come to you. You have my word,” Faeldrin said.

He didn’t know what the young bull was thinking or the other way around. Krek did struggle to keep from laughing at the thought of being protected by the scrawny Elves. Satisfied with making the necessary efforts of diplomacy, Faeldrin turned his attention back to the Mage.

“You have a tale for the telling, Dakeb. I’m curious to know how you came to be in the company of our friend Krek here.”

“Indeed there is a tale. Fortune was with us.”

Dakeb gave the young Minotaur much credit for not dropping his food and attacking Faeldrin. While there was peace, it was fragile and not going to last. Keeping the situation from blowing up was going to be tricky. Dakeb fought back a sigh. There wasn’t time to sort this out properly. He went into great depth over what happened in the time the Elves parted company with them in Gend. Even Faeldrin balked at the mention of the horrible storm that drove them into Qail Werd. He was particularly interested in learning more of the hidden kingdom of Malg. By the time the tale ended, Faeldrin had a better understanding of their plight and a curiously growing respect for Krek.

“An interesting tale,” he said as Dakeb eased his parched throat with a glass of wine. “It makes our endeavors seem almost trivial.”

Faeldrin went on to explain the making of the ballistae and the relatively uneventful trek along the mountain road. Cron breathed a sigh of relief at the mention of an Elf scout being dispatched to Kelis Dur. The Aeldruin seemed to have taken care of everything.

Grelic set down his apple core on the table and wiped the residue from his mouth with a sleeve. “Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, we need to get down to business. How difficult will it be getting through the mountains?”

Faeldrin showed them the map covering the table. The corners were frayed and yellowed from time. “We’re less than a day’s ride from Deldin Grim. I’ve already sent out scouts to the east and west with specific instructions to only recon, not engage. There are far too many Goblin patrols roaming for my liking.”

“We came across tracks for a war party in the forest,” Kialla told him. She blushed after catching Cron’s smile.

“It appears our enemy is ready to make his move. Time is running out, I’m afraid,” Dakeb added.

“Hmm, if that is so, how difficult will it be for us to make it past Deldin Grim? Fifty riders dragging giant bows aren’t going to go unnoticed. Is there another way?” Grelic asked.

Faeldrin shook his head. “Not for hundreds of leagues. We’d have to skirt the entire Darkwall range and then ride back. The pass is the only way into the Deadlands.”

“We’ll never make it if they discover us. They can keep us bottled in the pass long enough to bring the full weight of their army down. That’s not a chance I’m willing to take, considering we have no idea how large a force awaits at Mordrun Bal.”

“Or the dragon,” Fitch piped in.

Faeldrin flashed a smile. “We’ll take care of the dragon, Master Iane. He’ll either fall dead from the sky or flee back to his roost in shame.”

“But you’ve never fought a dragon before,” Ibram added.

The Elf Lord squared on the former monk. “And you’ve never taken a life before this quest. Don’t lecture me on what my people have done. One way or the other, I’ll have your dragon.”

“The pass it is,” Dakeb cut in. He saw no point in arguing over what might or might not happen. “I can attempt to conceal our presence but without promises. These are dangerous times and our enemy will be able to sense any use of my magic.”

Pregen made no effort to stifle his yawn. He always found talk like this tedious at best and mundane on every level. The desire to abandon his companions and return home continued to strengthen, stymied slightly by talk of rebellion and war in Thrae. Leaving one battlefield to enter another wasn’t a wise business decision. The longer he stayed with these people, the more he regretted accepting Grelic’s proposal. Suppressing a groan, he downed the rest of his wine.

“I’ve had enough doom and gloom for one day. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to find a place to sleep and contemplate tomorrow,” he interrupted.

Frowning at Pregen’s rudeness, Faeldrin managed, “Of course. I don’t wish to keep any of you too late. The way ahead is dangerous, but largely known to us. Aleor is waiting outside to take you to your tents.”

Only Grelic and Dakeb chose to stay behind. Both felt there was still much to discuss before they struck out on the final leg of the adventure.

Aleor greeted the others with a widening smile. He was the friendliest Elf in the camp and the perfect choice for the task. Kialla appreciated the gesture as she and Cron walked side by side in the fading daylight. They were close enough to touch. For his part, Cron enjoyed that closeness. He’d had strong attractions to her from the very first time they’d met but was unsure what to do about it. Neither of them needed any romantic entanglements now.

He cursed his sudden weakness. He was a soldier. A defender of his kingdom and that had to come first. There wasn’t time for women or serious relationships. Still, he couldn’t help but notice how attractive she was. Her high cheek bones and smoothly angled face hinted at hidden tenderness. She was toned and lightly tanned, adding a certain exotic feel to compliment her dark, auburn hair. Her personality was sparkling even in the worst situations. If he didn’t know better, he’d say he was falling in love.

There’d been women in the past. At fifteen he even thought he was in love with Lien Tal. They’d practically grown up together. She gave him his very first kiss and, together, they enjoyed the pleasures of each other’s bodies under the new moon. Then he left and joined the army. Trips home became rare and often short. Before he knew it, Lien was married off to a baker’s son and had a brand new baby girl to care for. Cron was happy for her but suffered many nights with the loss.

That’s when he stopped thinking about tomorrow, stopped worrying over what he didn’t control. His job became his sole focus. There were certain houses he visited when the loneliness grew too much. Not quite a relationship, but an acceptable release of tension for an army officer. Duty and Thrae always came first. Until he met Kialla. He’d spent more time than he wanted thinking about her. Their discussions ranged from her father and upbringing to what the future might hold.

Her laughter brought him back to the present. Cron was shocked to discover their hands were woven together. He looked around quickly, hoping no one was paying attention. Fortunately, the others were focused on their own affairs. Satisfied his secret was safe, he breathed a quick sigh of relief. He also made no effort to disengage.

Kialla passed him a seductive glance, dazzling him with her smile while laughing at one of Aleor’s jokes. Cron felt like pushing his head into a bucket of cold water and keeping it there. He’d never been so glad to reach his tent as he was right then. Flap closed behind him, he enjoyed the Spartan accommodations, which were more than adequate for a night or two. He sat down on the small cot and ran his hand through his hair, trying to push away thoughts of Kialla. The harder he did, the more prominent she became. Then an idea struck. He needed to exercise. An hour or so of calisthenics would be enough to take his mind off of her.

Stripping down to an undershirt and trousers, the captain of Kelis Dur started stretching. Most of the Elves were gathered around the campfires or off out of sight. Warmed up, Cron pushed himself to the limits of his endurance. Sweat streamed down his face and soaked his shirt. His muscles burned, screaming for relief. He swung his sword until his sore hands couldn’t grip it anymore. Only then did he stop.

Satisfied his urges were evicted, Cron dropped his sword and found that bucket of water. He stripped off his sweat-soaked shirt and poured the lukewarm water over his head. It was refreshing, making him shiver. The soldier set the bucket back down and snatched up his belongings before stalking back to his tent. He meant to snatch a quick bite to eat and then fall asleep.

She knew she shouldn’t, but Kialla couldn’t help watching Cron through her slightly parted tent flap. She’d already made up her mind. Tonight was the night. Her only fear came from not knowing what his reaction would be. That uncertainty terrified her more than she cared to admit. She’d never been in love before so the term held no meaning for her. What she did know was her heart fluttered when she was around him and it was often difficult to think straight.

Kialla gasped as he eased out of his shirt. There were a handful of scars on his back, reminders of the hard life of a professional soldier. His body was extremely toned with just the right amount of muscle to make her heart beat faster. He was lean and hungry, just the kind of man she enjoyed.

Water rushed over him and he went back to his tent. Kialla waited until he was out of sight before stalking her way to him. She moved lithely, like a hunting lion. Her mind was made up. Every step had confidence and grace. She knew what she wanted and was determined to get it. She slipped into his tent without him knowing.

He stood with his back to her. Kialla watched him, an almost animalistic desire running through her body. Arms folded across her chest, she watched him push his trousers down over his hips. Standing in just a pair of undergarments, he was the vision of perfection. Kialla cleared her throat. Cron spun around.

“Kialla! Wh…what are you doing here?” he stammered.

She gave him her most seductive smile and started unlacing her bodice. The garment was on the ground before either of them spoke.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he protested weakly.

She closed the gap between them and covered his mouth with hers. Her kiss was hard, urgent. For a moment he was too stunned to react. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, swirling around his while her hands caressed his back. Finally, his hands broke free and he gave in to desire. She shuddered from the feel of being touched. Her skin flushed. Her knees weakened, threatening to buckle. She kissed him harder.

Cron let himself go. Primitive urges long suppressed burst free. He pulled away from her devouring kiss and left her gasping for breath. Lust burned in her eyes. Without waiting, he curled his fingers inside the band of her trousers and jerked them down. Kialla eagerly stepped out of them. He watched her tanned body in the flickering lamp light. Watched the way her soft breasts rose and fell with each breath. Her nipples hardened under his gaze. The curve of her flat stomach and patch of auburn hair between her gorgeously shaped legs beckoned him. Unable to control himself, he rushed back into her embrace.

She lay draped over him, kissing his chest. Kialla enjoyed the sound of his heartbeat. It was so calm, so gentle. Everything was perfect. She knew that on the other side of that tent flap the very world was falling apart but in here, right now, all was the way it was meant to be. She felt like a child again. Safe in his arms, Kialla closed her eyes and drifted to sleep. It was the first time in years she’d been able to know tranquility.