The Dragon Hunters (37 page)

Faeldrin looked his brother over. He was covered in grime and dust. A few bloodstains peppered his sleeves. A tiny trickle of blood ran down the right side of his face from his tousled brown hair. Faeldrin then took in the dead. All three he’d known for a mortal lifetime. The butcher’s bill was going to be much higher before this affair concluded.

“We sure pick interesting fights,” he said halfheartedly.

Mearlis grunted.

Another salvo bombarded them, this time striking the barricade.

“A few more like that and we’ll be forced to retreat,” Mearlis said, brushing off a new coat of dust.

A pair of Elves ran by, carrying a litter.

“We’ve got to do something now. A few more salvos and there’ll be no need to retreat. We’ll be crushed,” Faeldrin replied. “Riding out is out of the question. They’d kill us before we could penetrate their ranks enough to reach the machines. If we retreat, the Goblins retake Deldin Grim and we lose any chance of hunting that dragon.”

“It would also cut off the strike force in Mordrun Bal. Dark decisions need to be made,” Mearlis added.

One of the ramps on the far tower collapsed after taking a direct hit. Unexpectedly, one of the Pell warriors emerged from the shadows wearing a lopsided grin. The Elves stared down on him, wondering what he knew and they didn’t. The rest of the night passed without further incident. There wasn’t any infantry assault. The Trolls were gone. Slowly, the Elves reclaimed their dead and offered rituals of passage to the next life. Faeldrin went to each of his warriors and made small attempts to raise their spirits. They were remarkably high considering what they’d endured thus far. Some complained about the pounding in their ears. Others laughed over the Goblins’ inadequacies. The false bravado was a necessary thing. Each silently wondered how much worse the next attack was going to be.

Sentries reported large fires springing up from the rear of the Goblin camp. Columns of smoke choked the darkness. Dawn let the Elves see how bad the damage to the twin keeps was. Holes large enough to pour entire battalions through were scattered up and down the walls. The center barricade was crumbling. Some sections continued to topple throughout the night. Faeldrin knew they couldn’t sustain another assault.

“What do you suppose those fires were for?” he asked Aleor from high atop one of the observation towers.

The scout shook his head. “Hard to tell. My eyes don’t spy any of those damned catapults though.”

Faeldrin peered harder. Something about the scene didn’t feel right. Just what, he couldn’t place his finger on. “What are all of those black shapes flanking the rear of their main camp?”

Aleor drew his collapsible spy glass. “Bodies. They look like Goblin bodies.”

How? Who? Questions leapt into his mind. The Elf Lord had a guess but wasn’t sure until a runner found him and announced that the Pell Darga had returned.

“They didn’t run after all,” he said and smiled.

Any thoughts of victory were short lived as the horrid sounds of the Goblin war horn blew on the winds.

Desperate Measures

Dark blood and gore dripped from Grelic’s sword. The weight of his muscles trembled from exertion. He wasn’t as young as he liked to think. Even his legendary strength was nothing compared to the destructive forces of time. His breath came in haggard gasps as his heart struggled to slow down. A host of corpses lay at his feet. Sensing no living foe, the giant allowed himself to relax. That’s when he noticed half of his group was missing.

“Where’s the Mage?” he asked sharply.

The others stopped what they were doing. Kialla winced as the bandage Cron wrapped around her wounded should was too tight. She passed Grelic an “I’m fine” look and noticed the horror in his eyes. A quick sweep of the area confirmed her suspicions. More than just Dakeb was missing.

“None of them are here,” Cron snapped as he raced to search the nearest hovels. “Do you think Pregen forced them away?”

Grelic shook his head. “Unlikely. Dakeb could have turned him to stone for trying anything so foolish.”

“Then what?” Kialla asked.

Krek dropped to a knee and sniffed deeply. The reek of the Goblin village was overpowering yet he managed to pick out Dakeb’s scent. His coal black eyes narrowed. Muscles on his back and shoulders bunched. Without a word he pointed in the direction the Mage had gone.

Grelic cursed. “Right under the mountain! Damnable Mage. We were supposed to stick together. This is not good.”

Stabbing his sword into the ground, Cron looked around in despair. “Now what? None of us know what that crazy old man was planning. There’s no way we can expect to go up against the dark Mage with swords and brawn. We can’t win like this, Grelic.”

“Are you suggesting we leave our friends to whatever torment lies under that mountain? I am many things, Cron, a coward is not one of them. I’m going down into Druem to find the Mage. Come or stay, it’s your choice,” Grelic said with a menacing glare.

“Damn it, Grelic. We’re all in this together. You know I’m with you, but we need a plan. We can’t just go in there unorganized.”

The giant relented. “We have one. Go inside and kill them all.”

Grelic hefted his broadsword and headed towards the tunnel entrance. Darkness gaped hungrily at him, yet it held no sway. His mind was decided and no amount of petty terror was going to keep him from seeing this task through. Then came a great clamor from behind. The Goblins had regrouped and were marching on them. The four warriors spun to face the new threat, knowing they’d never make it into the tunnels in time. Grelic suddenly envisioned them trapped between this new group and the one pouring out from under Druem. The hammer and the anvil.

Krek bellowed and snorted the ancient cry of his people. The wild look in his eyes when he turned to face Grelic left little doubt in any of their minds as to his intentions. “Go! I fight. Go!”

Grelic struggled with indecision for the briefest of moments before saluting the young bull with his sword. The Minotaur was brave, seeking to embrace the honor of his people. Chances were they were all going to die this night anyway, why not meet the end of his choosing? Grelic thought he saw the young bull smile before he turned and charged into the approaching mass of Goblins. Grelic snatched Kialla and Cron by their arms and jerked them towards the tunnel before they could follow the Minotaur.

* * * * *

Scourd stood in Ramulus’s cavern for the second time in a week. Both he and the dragon were before the Hooded Man. This was a most dangerous time and the Mage had arrived the night prior. The crystal shard sat in a Dwarven crafted strongbox locked away in Scourd’s chambers. So close to success, not even the dark Mage was willing to take unnecessary risks.

Sidian, the Hooded Man and last of the dark Mages, watched his minions from the sanctuary of his hood with guarded interest. Disgust etched his face. There was a time when both creatures would have been held in utter, blind contempt. He’d owned the ears of kings. The fates of entire peoples. Then came the war and the beginning of the dark times. Greed and corruption took hold of him, subsuming the man he had once been as the will of the dark gods became his own. Foul desires twisted his soul until nothing but hatred remained. He took that hatred and perverted it to serve his will.

Goblin and dragon. Both were unwilling allies in a game they didn’t understand. Both also had secret agendas they thought he knew nothing of. Sidian would have to remove both before they had the opportunity to enact their plans. But not now. Too much was happening for him to lose these valuable assets. A deliciously wicked thought awakened. Sidian looked first at the fat Goblin warlord and frowned. Of all of the creatures in Malweir, he found Goblins the most perverse. Oh how he longed for the old days when a Mage was respected above all else. When Goblins hid in their caves and didn’t meddle in the affairs of man. The return to those days would have to wait. Foul deeds were afoot and his plans at stake.

“Your army in the pass is floundering, Scourd,” he criticized.

“How can you know this?” the Goblin snapped back, instantly suspicious of Sidian’s motives.

Sidian leaned threateningly close. “I have witnessed it. The Elves put up a worthy fight and are aided by the Pell Darga.”

Scourd spat. “The mountain monkeys? Bah. We can swat them aside as we have always done. They are of no concern.”

“Not this time. The Elves bring a secret weapon capable of destroying your entire army. We’ve come too far to be lost now. Ramulus, you must go to their aid. Only a dragon’s breath can defeat this ancient weapon. Leave quickly and finish them before dusk. It is the only way.”

“What of the shard?”

Sidian folded his arms across his robed chest. “It remains here until you return. We shall go to Gren together, as agreed.”

The dragon accepted the answer and reared up on his hind legs. Membranes lacing his wings, thick cords of power and strength, strained in irrepressible fury. Mage light electrified his already luminous green body. The horn protruding from his chin throbbed with hunger. His cold, ice-colored eyes stared thoughtfully at the Mage. “Very well, Mage. I shall go, but do not seek to betray me.”

The force from his powerful wings sent Scourd tumbling. Water and debris clogged the stale cavern air. The ground trembled under the sheer power of the dragon. Ramulus beat his leathery wings a handful of times, glad to be stretching, and vaulted towards the opening in the high ceiling. Scourd picked himself up and watched the great wyrm disappear. He silently wished the dragon a violent demise.

“And for me?” he asked once the atmosphere calmed. He swore he caught the gleam of teeth through the near impenetrable darkness of the hood.

“Our enemies are coming for us. Send the slaves back down into the tunnels where they struck the lava vein. Make them dig. Flood the caverns until lava pours back into the Deadlands. Make this place burn.”

Scourd tensed. Mordrun Bal would be destroyed.
What are you up to, Mage?

“Bring the shard to me and give the order to evacuate Mordrun Bal. We march on Thrae at dawn.”

Sidian faded in a flash of shadow, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

* * * * *

Every shadow concealed demons. Each new turn offered nightmares. The walls were polished to unnatural smoothness. Torches were spaced out, more for the slaves than their captors. Goblins had exceptional night vision and often required little to no light to see by. Sulfur laced the air, bordering on noxious gas. The caverns of Druem were poison to the very soul.

Pregen Chur nervously followed the Mage deeper into the heart of the mountain. Every instinct told him to get out while he still could. He turned and watched the huddled figures of Ibram and Fitch fall in behind. They were pathetic in every regard. A would-be warrior and the frightened villager. Pregen cursed his ill fortune and resigned to follow the Mage deeper.

“Where exactly are you leading us?” he hissed at Dakeb’s back.

The brown cloak seemed to pick up speed. “We must find the shard before Sidian does. Hurry, now.”

Pregen froze in place. “Dakeb, this dark Mage of yours isn’t even here.”

At that Dakeb stopped and turned. “He is much closer than you think. Prepare yourselves, my friends. The Silver Mage awaits.”

Heavy silence forced his words to soak in. Fitch clutched Ibram’s arm, struggling to keep his feet lest his knees gave out. “I don’t want to be here. Let’s get out.”

Panic threatened to consume him.

“We’ve no choice,” Ibram replied gently. His own courage was but a thread of false bravado. “Dakeb knows what he’s doing.”

They pushed further into the tunnels. The sound of boots marching threatened them with discovery or worse. Dakeb huddled them together in the pitch of shadows clinging to the walls. Four Goblins marched past. They reeked of filth and ale. Each bore a cruel, barbed sword and had whips coiled at their belts. Even drunk they appeared malevolent. One of the wooden-skinned Dwim marched at their front.

Ibram shuddered as too many powerful memories rushed back. The Dwim strode with unnatural stiffness. Each footstep whispered death. The way they moved, the poise with which they carried themselves. Ibram had hoped to never see another, but his luck was ill. The Dwim slowly turned and looked down the tunnel where they were hiding. Ibram stared back into those cold, dead eyes and understood the true meaning of fear.

He felt the Dwim stare directly into his soul. Every secret, every scrap of life he’d ever clung to was laid bare in that brief moment. The Dwim’s mouth twisted into a smile. Tortured mouth the vision of misery, it turned and marched on. A sudden grip on his arm jerked Ibram out of his stupor. Dakeb’s warm eyes calmed him.

“Take heart, young Ibram. Much is left to be done this night and I will have need of you before the end,” the Mage whispered. “My strength alone cannot defeat the Silver Mage. Only together can we succeed.”

Ibram managed a nod. The surprise of Dakeb’s confession disturbed him. What could one of the most powerful Mages in history possibly need in him? He suddenly grew afraid of the answers.

Dakeb poked his head around the corner and ensured the hall was clear. What he discovered proved disheartening. The tunnels seemingly stretched on endlessly in each direction. He didn’t know which way to turn. Either way presented great danger but only one was the correct path. Dakeb knew what he had to do, though he was loath to do so.

“What’s the hold up?” Pregen asked. His knuckles turned white from the strength of fear in his grip on his sword.

“We must separate. Take Fitch and head to the right. Ibram and I will go left. Find the shard and double back to the surface, and Grelic. This is the only way. I have no recollection of this place. We are lost,” he answered.

Pregen shook his head vehemently. “That’s not a good idea. What happens if we get ambushed? This whole hair-brained scheme of yours is bound to fail.”

“There is no other way,” Dakeb insisted.

“You’re playing at something,” Pregen accused.

The old Mage smiled. “Finding the Silver Mage and renewing an old acquaintance is my priority. You grab the shard, thief.”

Pregen watched Dakeb disappear into the darkness ahead and suppressed a groan. This was not what he wanted. The only reason for agreeing to Grelic’s proposition in the first place was the promise of an easy job and handsome compensation. Nothing seemed to have gone right upon leaving the lush pickings of Kelis Dur. The entire adventure devolved into a series of deteriorating nightmares. He was no prophet but even a blind man could see the way out was narrowing ever so slowly.

Making matters worse, he now had to babysit Fitch. Dakeb strongly argued that the man was useful and still had some mysterious part to shaping the future but he was damned if he could figure it. The only comfort Fitch provided was another warm body in the tepid atmosphere beneath Druem. If not for that Pregen would have already killed him and slipped away.

“Search for the damned crystal,” he muttered. “How are we supposed to do that if we don’t know where we’re going? This is an impossible warren filled with everything nasty. We’ll never find it.”

“You’re the thief. Haven’t you done this before?” Fitch asked timidly.

Pregen whirled about, nearly snapping. Further thought made him realize Fitch was actually right. He was a thief. And a damned good one at that. If anyone had a chance of finding the missing shard it was him. Pregen forgot, for the moment, that this entire quest was bordering well beyond the impossible and remembered the old ways.
Where would I keep the crystal? In the most secure location naturally. But where is that?

He absently scratched the tip of his dagger against a cheek.
Think, man. Where?
A twinkle brightened his eyes. “I’ve got it! Fitch, we need to find the main quarters. If they found the crystal it will be with whoever is in charge. We should be going up, not down.”

Fitch wasn’t so sure, but anywhere was better than standing in the middle of the Goblin kingdom.

“Are you sure we should have split up?” Ibram asked. “I don’t feel half as comfortable without the other two.”