The Dragon Hunters (31 page)

When she awoke sometime in the middle of the night, she ran her hand over his thighs. Or rather, where he should have been. Her fingers brushed empty sheets. Kialla’s first thought was that he’d walked out on her, having taken what he wanted. Her eyes flared open in uncharacteristic panic only to find Cron staring back at her from the field chair across the tent.

“I woke up a little while ago and didn’t want to disturb you,” he told her once he noticed the distress in her eyes.

“You should come back to bed.”

He grinned. “I will. I just wanted to watch you sleep.”

She propped herself up on one elbow. Auburn locks dangled in her face and the blanket slid down past her breasts. “Like what you see?”

“That’s not fair.”

She returned his grin. “No, it’s not. Now come back to bed and make love to me.”

Kialla lifted the blanket and rolled on top of him once he slid back into the bed. “I love you,” she whispered as she lowered herself onto him.

The camp was broken down before the morning dew evaporated. Scouts returned in the night with positive results. The mouth of Deldin Grim was open and unprotected. When Faeldrin questioned them on this the scouts replied that they’d ridden close to a league into the threatening pass and found no signs of the enemy. The Elves took this as a great omen and excitedly started taking down the tents. Faeldrin walked among them, taking the time to speak with many. He shook hands, slapped a few on the back, and helped with the work. There was an unbreakable camaraderie involved, forged by hardships unimagined. Every last one of them respected and trusted the other with their lives. The majority of civilians would never know such.

By the time the last vestiges of night were gone, the Aeldruin were ready to move. They smiled and joked with each other in ways only soldiers understood. Suddenly heedless of their proximity to almost certain doom, the Aeldruin broke out an ancient battle hymn. Spirits lifted. The morning sun edged across the sky and grew bright. The vast, open sky stretched forever in crystalline blue. A slow breeze cooled the sweat on each of them.

Faeldrin said, “The gods are with us. Today is going to be a good day.”

“It’ll be a better one when my sword drinks Goblin blood,” Grelic replied.

“Patience, Grelic. You’ll get the chance very soon. I expect we’ll have to cleave our way through the Deadlands, one Goblin neck at a time. What say you, Master Mage?”

Dakeb knew better than to speak the truth. No one really wanted to know what he thought. “Danger is aplenty in the coming days. We should enjoy the tranquility of this moment while it lasts.”

Alarms were going off in his mind but he refrained from speaking further. Dark thoughts of what lay ahead nipped at him. He was afraid they were going to find out all too soon the hidden meaning behind his warning. This was the moment he had long dreaded and, now that it was upon him, wanted to avoid.

Faeldrin spurred the column forward. The Elves were going to the Deadlands and to war.

Deldin Grim

The Aeldruin column seemed insignificant compared to the looming heights of the Darkwall Mountains. The mirth from the morning was gone. No trace of happiness was to be found. Weapons were drawn. Hands twitched with anticipation of the ambush each of them imagined. Long, threatening shadows reached down from unseen peaks. Temperatures dropped considerably in the mountain shadows. An unmistakable pall clung to the air.

“I don’t like this,” Cron whispered.

Supernatural mist clung to the feet of the great mountains. The Aeldruin continued pushing deeper into the murk. When asked, the scouts replied that the way had been clear the day prior. The Elf Lord sensed a trap.

Grelic scanned the terrain for clues. “It rained here recently. This morning, but how? It wasn’t wet anywhere else.”

The ground had that soft texture immediately following a shower. Cron attributed the dampness to dew and mist but the closer he looked the more he noticed pools of fresh water. “Perfect spot for an ambush.”

“Speaking of such will only bring ill down upon us,” Faeldrin replied. He shivered despite the warmth of his cloak. “We should go no further until morning. Too much can go wrong in the darkness and I don’t trust the mist.”

“We should send scouts back into the pass,” Grelic suggested. “I’ll go. I want a look at what we’re dealing with.”

“I’ll join you,” Faeldrin said.

Once it was decided, the rest of the Elves moved off to the side of the road and found a relatively suitable campsite. They’d been on the road for three days and now found themselves at the foot of the mountains. Faeldrin forbade any fires and they passed on erecting any tents. A double guard was established. They weren’t willing to take any unnecessary chances. Dakeb stalked off into the growling darkness to emplace a series of invisible alarm wards should the enemy attempt an assault. The Elves broke out dried travel rations and ate in the gloom.

“Dakeb,” Faeldrin said between bites of a rather hard biscuit. “I’d like to know more about the pass. Surely you’ve some hidden knowledge or fading memory of this dreadful place.”

“I do, though I’d just as soon forget them all. The armies of the dark Mages used Deldin Grim to rush down and take Prince Belian and the knights of Averon from behind, slaughtering them to the man. Trolls and worse burned the bodies and ate the horses. They sent the heads back to Paedwyn.”

Faeldrin was about to retract his request. This was not as inspiring as he’d hoped.

“Deldin Grim is perhaps two and a half leagues long and wide enough for three wagons to pass side by side. The way is relatively smooth from centuries of heavy use. Occasional landslides block the way and the sun never touches the ground. Winter is nigh impassible and spring rains turn the pass into grey sludge. Now, however, is the perfect time to push through. What I fear is time. The little we have left is fleeting at best. I fear the dark Mage is nearly finished.”

Grelic stared at the Mage. The bad feeling he awoke with strengthened. It was as if all he’d done had been manipulated in the favor of the dark Mage. For a while events happened without issue. They’d lost the sense of being tracked after the Minotaurs captured them. Now, so close to the end, Grelic felt eyes watching their every move again. There seemed little doubt they were being set up. It was just a matter of time before the hammer fell. He didn’t like sitting idle.

“How soon can you be ready to leave? I’d just as soon get into that pass while the mist remains,” he asked Faeldrin.

“Give me one quarter of an hour and I’ll be ready. I’m taking two others along should we encounter any unforeseen difficulties.”

“You’d best hurry. I’ve emplaced wards to keep us safe but men fight better when their captains are present,” Dakeb cautioned.

Aleor nodded silent agreement.

Faeldrin looked around the group of assembled faces. They were just as determined as he. A good sign. “Very well. Rest as much as possible. We march at dawn.”

Fifteen minutes later three Elves and Grelic were riding up into Deldin Grim.

There was no moonlight. Not this deep in the heart of the pass. Deldin Grim was ominous in every aspect. Neither sun nor moon penetrated this deep into the pass. They rode slowly. The horses grew more skittish the deeper they went. They’d been bred for the open plain, not the unfamiliar darkness of the mountains. No amount of reassuring pats or whispered encouragement eased their apprehension.

Grelic led the way. Despite the rising sense of gloom and potential disaster, he remained comfortable. He’d done some time in large armies, fought the battle much bigger than any of the others. People said he was a natural warrior. Which was true. He’d been swinging a blade for more years than he could remember. He much preferred working alone or in small groups. The full strength of the Aeldruin was almost too much to bear. If not for the dragon lurking under Druem, he might have already struck out on his own.

He sighed. Current events went well beyond his limited measures of control. Grelic didn’t necessarily enjoy killing. He’d been one to figure that men of all races deserved to live according to their own choosing. If some decided to rise up and start trouble he had no problem sending them down to the grave. Rentor once asked him how many men he’d killed. Grelic only shrugged. A man who killed in battle shouldn’t burden himself with the pain of knowing how good he was. The king laughed in response. Struggling through the battle of Kressel Tine made him see the light. In battle, Grelic became the perfect killing machine.

The night lost some of its edge. A thick cloud cover hung low in the sky. Small, shadowy objects darted over their heads. Bats. Grelic started to have misgivings about his eagerness to scout the pass. Common sense told him the Goblins had more than enough defenses to hold off a pack of Elves without suffering great casualties. That’s if the dragon didn’t swoop in and fry them first.

A sudden noise ahead disrupted his thoughts. His hand instinctively dropped to his sword as the noise grew louder. It had a familiar sound to it. Something he’d heard many times before. It reminded him of a child crushing dried leaves. He and Faeldrin edged closer to investigate. Grelic caught the faint yet distinct sound of water splashing over stone. He let out the breath he’d been holding. The demons his fear propagated turned out to be naught but an ordinary waterfall. They kept riding.

His eyes adjusted to the gloom but he almost wished they hadn’t. Total darkness served his frame of mind better. At least that way when they got attacked all he had to do was react. The semi-dark gloom left him with too much to think on. Grelic cursed his luck for bringing him here. Goblins were notorious for slinking about in the dark places of the world, preferring to move at night where their deeds would go unseen.

A soft hiss stopped the group.

Faeldrin pulled his horse as close to Grelic as possible. “We’ve reached the far end of the pass.”

“How much further?”

“Just around this bend. No more than a few hundred meters,” the Elf replied. Unlike Grelic, they saw perfectly in the night.

They slid from their horses, handing the reins to Aleor. Elf and man crept on foot the rest of the way, hoping to make less noise. The mouth of Deldin Grim slowly widened until they couldn’t make out the walls. Haunting torchlight suddenly reflected off of the pass, robbing Grelic’s night vision. Thoughts of sneaking into the Deadlands slowly died. The sound of rough voices grinding in a foul language mocked them.

“Trolls,” Faeldrin whispered.

It only gets worse
. Grelic’s hope faded. Two monstrous towers of black stone were carved from the mountainsides. Goblins and other dark creatures patrolled the crenellated levels. He counted fifty before they became too much to keep track of.

“They won’t need a dragon to finish us,” Grelic replied. “This is a death trap.”

“Agreed. There’s no way we can fight our way through an entire garrison. It appears our Mage isn’t up-to-date on the fledgling empire here.”

Grelic absentmindedly scratched his chin. “What should we do?”

“Hard to say. If time is running out as Dakeb says, we’ll never make it all the way back around the mountains. There’s no point in trying to fight our way through this. We should get back before they spot us. I don’t like the looks of those battle Trolls. Perhaps Dakeb will have a better way to deal with them.”

Grelic’s heart warned that Mages weren’t infallible. Keeping his tongue to himself, he followed Faeldrin back to the horses. Harsh laughter trailed after.

The journey back through Deldin Grim was eerier than the trip in. Appearances were the same for the most part though they immediately picked up on the building tension. Despite Grelic’s concerns, they arrived back at the main body without incident and proceeded to summon a hasty council. Faeldrin wasn’t sure whether to remain calm or give in to his apprehensions. The camp had an unusual feel he couldn’t quite place. His Elves were quieter than usual and it didn’t take long for him to discover why.

Three figures stood beside Dakeb. They barely came up to his shoulders. Each had similar features. Black, matted hair hung down unevenly to their shoulders. Their faces were flat with no distinguishable characteristics. Lean muscles and large brown eyes stared up at the Elves.

“I wasn’t aware we had guests,” he said with a suspicious smile. “I would have dressed more appropriately.”

“As well you should have,” Dakeb seconded. “These are the Pell Darga. They live in the Darkwall, seldom coming down from their haunts. Their language is broken but understandable. I believe they are one of the old tribes, long forgotten by the rest of the world. They might prove useful.”

Grelic eyed the diminutive men cautiously. “What brings them down now?”

Their leader glanced to Dakeb before addressing them. “We wish to help. I am Cpur, patriarch of my clan. Goblins hunt my people for sport. Hundreds have died for this reason. We will help destroy Goblins.”

“Hundreds?” Grelic asked incredulously while thinking about the boost a hidden army this deep in enemy territory could give.

Faeldrin nodded approvingly. “How do you know we’re here to kill Goblins?”

“We have watched you for days. We’ll help.”

Grelic couldn’t help but laugh. “Brave little bastards!”

“I killed six already,” Cpur claimed boldly. The look in his eyes dared anyone to question his statement.

“The Aeldruin accept your offer, Cpur. We are glad to fight alongside the Pell Darga,” the Elf Lord replied.

“I didn’t think we’d come here to fight a war. We’re after the dragon, right?” Pregen asked with idle boredom. “This is really starting to grind on me, Grelic. I wish we’d make up our minds and be done with it.”

Kialla scowled and drew back to strike him. He threw up his hands in disgust and stalked off.

“A rather depressing man,” Faeldrin said. “Is he always like that?”

“More often than not,” Grelic admitted. “I’m starting to regret bringing him. He does have a point. We came here to stop the dragon. If what Dakeb claims is true, we need to be quick about it.”

“Quick is in the interpretation. It’s a three-day ride across mostly open terrain. The only constant is Druem. Up close or far away, it dominates the landscape,” Dakeb told them.

“We’ll never get the chance to find that out if we can’t get past the garrison at the far end of the pass. Goblins, Trolls, and more bar the way. I fear this quest may be finished,” Faeldrin said.

“There is secret way through mountains,” Cpur told them. “Big enough for your machines. Guardians should not see us if we come out at dusk.”

Faeldrin clapped once. “This could be the break we’re looking for! If we can circle the garrison and get into the Deadlands undetected, the Aeldruin will return to help you cleanse the mountains of Goblins.”

“Agreed.”

The mood brightened immeasurably and the call went out. The Aeldruin wordlessly mounted up and prepared to ride.