The Dragon Hunters (34 page)

“Are you satisfied, General? Your greed sent these men to their deaths,” Notam growled in Huor’s ear.

Before he could respond he was shoved forcibly and led to Field Commander Whorl. At last the one-eyed veteran smiled.

Maen leaned back in his field chair and exhaled the breath he’d been holding since the strike force left. He thanked the scout for news of the victory and finally allowed his nerves to calm. He’d managed to prevent civil war but something unspoken still nagged at him. He just wasn’t sure what. Maen rose and went outside to watch the dawn. Somewhere out there, lost in the world, was his brother. He didn’t know where or how to find him, but he vowed to never stop until they came home together.

* * * * *

Kelis Dur slept peacefully. Stray dogs dug through trash and drunks lay where they’d passed out. Nothing seemed out of place except for Codel Mres running for his life. The Dwim had failed to kill Rentor. His trust in General Huor’s abilities were marginal at best and the Hooded Man all but told him he was useless to the main objective. Codel barely had time to collect a cloak before royal guards burst through the front door of his luxurious home.

He’d made it to the sewers, where he thought he’d be safe. Such was not the case. It wasn’t long before the baying of hounds in the tunnels behind him forced him to run again. Heart pounding, he ran harder. The only sounds were his ragged breath intermingling with the splash of his slippered feet as he ran through the scum and waste of the city. Fear propelled him yet also made him hesitate. He suddenly realized he had nowhere to go. Even if he managed to make it to Huor’s camp, what would he do? The appearance of so many guards led him to believe the rebel general had been defeated. Else the city would already be under siege.

Misery entered Codel. All of his plans evaporated. He once aspired to become king but Fate betrayed him. Codel hardly noticed as the surrounding blackness took on a bluish tinge. That haunting feeling turned to pale mist. Time froze. He instantly recognized where he was. Codel dropped to his knees to pray. The giant man in armor strode from the ghostly light. Moisture glistened from his bald scalp. He looked down on the quivering man and hefted his massive battle axe. Lord Death had come to claim his prize.

“It is time, Codel Mres,” he said in a booming voice.

Darkness followed the swinging axe blade.

The Deadlands

The air was very dry. Malweir’s sun burned down hotly through the thick cloud cover, bathing the tiny band sneaking across the expanse of the Deadlands in sweat. Ancient Druem loomed ahead, but Dakeb assured them it would be at least another day before they gained the foothills. Pregen insisted the old man wasn’t reassuring and all but begged to stay with the Elves. He much rather wanted the option of escape back into the mountains. Here awaited only death.

“What a miserable place,” he complained. “How could a land be so desolate?”

Dakeb looked back over his shoulder. “War and corruption turned this land from green to brown, Pregen. They are the bane of civilization but it is the way of the world. All societies rise from obscurity, become more than what they were meant to be and fall into ruin. You didn’t think that right was reserved for the Mages did you? Even Thrae will fall as Fate deems fit.”

“What are we fighting for then?” Kialla asked. Her interest suddenly sparked.

“We fight to keep evil at bay. There are many plains of existence. Ours is but a strand in the great cosmic web. There are forces out there wishing to destroy all that is good and pure. World enders. If they succeed, our way of life is finished. The dark gods will devour all souls and leave Malweir a husk of decay. We fight, dear Kialla, because if evil is allowed to grow unchecked, we are all doomed. Empires rise and fall, but it is in our hearts to rebuild anew.”

Grelic wiped the crust from the corners of his mouth. “You paint a bleak future, Mage. Is our future in such doubt?”

“The future is fickle. It flows and ebbs without regards to our wishes. What you do or don’t do can affect any number of possible tomorrows. One never knows how matters will play out. But it is all we can do to protect what little we have and keep the great darkness at bay.”

“My skin would crawl were I a lesser man,” the giant admitted with a broken laugh. “Perhaps we should save talk of doom for when we stop this dark Mage of yours. A cold mug of ale would go good with such conversation.”

“I agree,” Cron added. “Besides, chances are the enemy has patrols roving the countryside. We’re not here to fight a war. They’d overrun us with no effort at all. We need to enforce tactical discipline if we’re to reach Druem undetected.”

The conversation slowed but continued on into speculation of what might happen. Much of it was lost on Ibram and Fitch. They hung at the back of the group with Krek. Fitch impossibly believed they were safer in the back, at least until Pregen told him they were surrounded by Goblins and it didn’t matter where they rode.

“What are you going to do when this is over?” Ibram asked, trying to shake the feeling of being hunted.

He wasn’t sure what made him ask the question. Maybe it was the overpowering heat. His tongue was thick and his mouth felt clammy. It wasn’t just the heat. A thick odor reminding him of death clung to everything. Their clothes reeked of it. Their skin was tainted with an unhealthy pallor. Ibram knew the others felt it. He also knew they were wise enough to keep silent.

“A bath would be nice,” Fitch replied with a wry grin.

Truth be told, the villager hadn’t thought of it. His old life was dead, right along with Shar and all of his friends in Gend. Retribution had consumed this new life. His sole purpose was to help these few people on their quest to prevent a war. What would happen when the dark Mage was defeated and they returned to Thrae didn’t worry him.

“I don’t know,” he said with a sad head shake. “Everything has changed so drastically this past winter, I feel lost. All of my dreams were taken from me. I shouldn’t have survived, Ibram. I know I shouldn’t have.”

They rode on in silence. Ibram knew nothing he said would ease the burden of shame Fitch felt.

Fitch eased some of the tension. “Maybe I’ll head south towards the sea. I’ve always wanted to see the great sailing ships. You could come with me.”

Ibram sighed. “I wish I could. I’m afraid Dakeb won’t let me now that the Minotaurs helped expose my powers. I don’t care to be a Mage but can’t see a way around it. Do you ever wonder what it was like? The age of Mages? Malweir must have been a most wondrous place. What if we could bring it back?”

“I don’t know, Ibram. That age fell, just like Dakeb said,” Fitch replied.

“That’s the beauty of history. We can learn from mistakes and ensure they don’t repeat themselves. Think about it! Technology and science bringing man-kind to levels never before reached. Imagine stone roads and grand libraries where all of the folk in the world can come to study and learn. No more wars. Just peace and prosperity.”

Fitch felt his eyes water. “I’m afraid you’re living in a dream. Everything I’ve seen on this adventure tells me we are made to war with each other. Peace is a lie.”

“Wouldn’t you like to see the end of violence?”

“More than anything,” he quietly replied.

Krek halted suddenly. His nostrils flared. Muscles tensed. The Minotaur, after taking the lead scout position, turned his gaze skyward. Hunter instincts took over and he crouched under the branches of a broken tree. He snorted once and raised his tulwar.

“Everyone down,” Grelic hissed and hurried to the young bull. “What do you smell?”

“Wyrm,” he said in a low growl.

Grelic cursed. Mordrun Bal was still a day away. If the dragon spotted them now it was all over. There was nowhere to run. They’d be incinerated, even with Dakeb along. Thrae and the rest of Malweir would stand open to invasion. The Aeldruin would die for nothing and wouldn’t have knowledge of the others’ demise.

The giant shuffled back to Dakeb as quietly as possible. “Krek smelled the dragon.”

“If he discovers us…” Cron started.

Grelic held up a hand. “I know. Dakeb, can you do anything?”

The old Mage took the time to search the skies for the dragon. “No. If I used magic now, the Silver Mage would be alerted. We’re still too far from Druem to risk it.”

“What can we do?” Cron asked. His fingers curled reflexively around the hilt of his sword. He knew it was useless but the gesture was comforting.

“Do? Nothing. We sit and wait until the dragon passes. It should be safe to carry on after that.”

“Didn’t we come here to kill the beast?” Pregen asked.

Dakeb frowned slightly. “We did, but matters are much more complicated since leaving Eline. Let Faeldrin and his Elves worry about the dragon. We must stop the Silver Mage from getting the shard. If he succeeds in re-forging the four pieces of the crystal he will cover the world in horrible darkness. Everything you know will be corrupted by his filth. There are very few Mages left to oppose him.”

“You stopped him before,” Grelic suggested.

“At great cost. It took ten of us to destroy the crystal. Of those ten only two survived. If we don’t stop him now, before he has the shards, we will never have a second chance. This is it.”

The air suddenly grew warmer and then unbearably hot.

“Be silent. The dragon is near.”

Dakeb’s warning didn’t need to be said. Dull fear began throbbing, gaining strength the closer the wyrm came. Their greatest nightmares echoed in their minds. Air pressure doubled as the great wyrm sailed overhead. His massive bulk blocked out what sunlight filtered through the clouds. His wings made a vile rushing sound. His bellow trembled the very ground. They clasped their hands over their ears in a vain attempt at keeping his voice from gripping their souls. Tears streamed down their cheeks and madness seeped into their imaginations. Then he was gone, heading east in search of a meal and seemingly unaware of the invaders in his kingdom. Grelic slowly rose to his full height in defiance to the dragon’s raw power. He stared long at the sky.

Faeldrin watched as Cpur and a handful of Pell Darga began making their way towards the Goblin outpost blocking the mouth of Deldin Grim. Dusk turned the sky into a hazy morass of grime. Torchlight already flickered from the ramparts and crenellations of the twin gates flanking the pass. The Elf Lord wished he knew how many Goblins awaited them. Despite having the Pell, he had an uneasy feeling with this operation. The Aeldruin were cavalrymen. While there’d been occasions in the past of sieges and dismounted warfare, the Elves were more comfortable on horseback.

He paused to look behind. The ballistae were camouflaged in the scrub trees along the mountainsides. Only a blundering patrol or possibly the dragon would be able to spot them. The Aeldruin waited in the shadows, eating a final meal of travel rations. None of them were talking. The air was still and thick. Tension electrified them. Pre-battle jitters spread from Elf to Elf. Even after hundreds of years the Aeldruin succumbed to the same frailties as normal men.

“This should prove interesting,” Aleor commented as the last of the Pell Darga disappeared into the shadows.

“To say the least,” Faeldrin replied.

The younger Elf watched the blackening sky. “Do you think they know about the Trolls guarding the pass?”

“I don’t think they care. Trust me, Aleor, Trolls are the least of my worries.”

“The most being?”

He ran a fingertip over one eyebrow, smoothing the slender hairs back in place. “Well, providing we capture the pass with limited casualties, we have to hold both sides of the keep. Then there’s the actual Goblin army out there. How many thousands do you think are waiting for the signal to invade the lower kingdoms? Let’s not forget about the dragon. We must plan on being attacked from the air and ground simultaneously. This will be unlike any battle we’ve ever fought.”

“But we are the Aeldruin. We’ve never lost a battle. That has to count for something,” Aleor countered.

“Perhaps,” Faeldrin conceded. “But one thing is certain. We’ll be heading back to Elvenara for volunteers to replenish the ranks when this is finished.”

Cpur returned alone at the break of dawn. Dark blood stained his clothes and weathered brown skin. He bore no expression though Faeldrin sensed he was filled with satisfaction. He gestured for the Elf to follow.

“Give me ten men and we’ll be back shortly,” Faeldrin told Aleor. “Have the company ready to move. We attack as soon as I return.”

They clasped forearms and Faeldrin took off. The trip was short, only three hundred meters and made in silence. Cpur traversed the rocks with the ease of one who’d grown up in this harsh terrain. His movements were fleet and nimble; so much so that the Elf often found it difficult to keep up. Daylight showered the jagged spires of the Goblin fortress. Faeldrin was repulsed.

The black, rock walls emanated a foul presence, but there was more. Faeldrin looked closer at the dark shapes littering the field in front of the ominous structures. The spires jutted into the sky like broken teeth defiling the sanctity of the heavens. Decay blanketed the area, hazing the image of the fortress.

Faeldrin was surprised to discover the shapes he thought were boulders were in fact bodies. Most were half dressed with barely a sword in their hands. All bore varied degrees of pain on their dead faces. A pair of Trolls slumped against the open doors at the base of the towers. Both had several short spears sticking out of them and their throats were cut. The Elf Lord’s mouth dropped open.

Hundreds of Pell warriors could be seen scurrying over the ramparts. Most of them were carrying or dragging dead Goblins down to the edge of the scrub forest. Although he disagreed with what they were doing, Faeldrin appreciated the psychological effect of seeing so many of their dead when the reinforcements arrived from Mordrun Bal. Pools of dark blood dried in the warming sun. Faeldrin’s skepticism turned to wonder and awe.

“How in the world did they manage this?” one of his Elves asked.

Faeldrin could only shake his head. “Don’t question it. I expected to lose many lives taking this fortress. The Pell Darga are an addition I didn’t foresee. Go back and bring the others forward. I want to hurry up and start preparing our defenses.”

The Elf nodded and rode off. They were still a long way from thinking about victory, but Faeldrin found himself smiling anyway. He figured he had roughly two days before the Goblin army learned of the defeat and managed to deploy a counter strike. Two days of doubt and fear. Once the battle started and he got a feel for it, everything would be fine. It was the build-up that bothered him. Hundreds of years and Faeldrin still found waiting the hardest part.

Soon enough and the dying will begin
. He still wasn’t sure if they’d be able to kill the dragon.