The Dragon Hunters (39 page)

The Butcher’s Bill

No one noticed the near invisible speck circling high above the ragged peaks of the Darkwall Mountains. Dawn was breaking but the world remained in the grip of the eerie semi-darkness. Ramulus circled lazily, for the great wyrm was in no rush. His crystalline eyes watched and saw everything. The Elves patrolling the ramparts of the twin fortresses. He watched the Goblin camp, restless and preparing for the next assault. He saw the strange brown people who lived in the mountains as they ranged the open plains in search of stray Goblins.

He found it all very amusing. Dragons suffered none of the foolishness mortals seemed to revel in. They lived in their caves and roosts with little concern for the rest of the world. The last thought brought a scowl to his elongated face. He hadn’t been free since the dark Mage came unto the dragon lands in search of the first shard. Ramulus lost his freedom on that cold winter day. Now the foolish mortals below were all going to pay. But not yet. Ramulus decided to wait and watch awhile longer. After all, what was time to a dragon?

* * * * *

Mearlis watched the Goblin camp with growing disinterest. They’d been besieged for the better part of two and a half days and the Goblins hadn’t come any nearer to breaking through. The sickly sweet smell from the last attack remained pungent, acrid even on the humid morning air. He shuddered from the memory of watching so many Goblins die screaming as they burned. The Elves had poured large cauldrons of their explosives down on the enemy as they tried to climb their assault ladders. Several corpses still clung to the ruined ladders.

The worst part was that complacency was already setting in. He’d already caught fragments of whispers over the poorly coordinated Goblin attacks or how the enemy had no chance to break through. Some of the Aeldruin laughed and assumed their duties halfheartedly. Mearlis recognized the danger but didn’t know how to combat it. He hoped Faeldrin had the answer.

“What news this morning?” asked the Elf Lord as he yawned and stretched away the last traces of slumber.

Mearlis pointed down. “They’re preparing for another assault.”

Faeldrin walked to the edge and looked down. The smell of roasted meat dangled angrily in his nostrils. He wondered where they’d gotten the meat from. Perhaps the rumors of cannibalism were true. Either way, he didn’t wish to find out. He glanced at his brother. “You have that look in your eyes. What is it?”

Mearlis absently rolled his eyes. “We’re becoming complacent, Faeldrin. I have a bad feeling, something I can’t explain, nagging at the back of my mind. This is too easy. It makes no sense to waste an army like this. They’re being slaughtered just as fast as we can kill them and none of their commanders seem willing to retire. That bodes ill.”

Faeldrin let out a repressed sigh. He’d felt the same since they beat back the Trolls. A dozen scenarios played out in his mind’s eye. Something was indeed amiss, though what he couldn’t tell. The Goblin war horn played a sorrowful dirge.

“Time again,” he grimaced. “How is that lonely note supposed to inspire their soldiers? It makes me sad.”

He grew tired of hiding behind the devilish black rock of the castles, longing to ride forth into the enemy army. He wasn’t alone. Every last one of the Aeldruin felt the same. They were cavalrymen, not infantry or skirmishers. Hiding behind stone walls was insulting, bordering on cowardice. Even so, the mercenaries reaped fine glory onto their already storied name.

Elves rose from their resting positions and took their places on the walls and barricade. Only three had been killed and a dozen wounded thus far. Faeldrin kept the numbers running through his mind. Casualties were minimal but they wouldn’t be able to sustain that pace for long before the Aeldruin became combat ineffective.

“Arrows! Incoming!”

He ducked just as hundreds of black shafts filled the sky. A handful of screams from those too slow to react accompanied the
clank
and
tink
of arrows striking. Faeldrin immediately understood what was happening. This attack was a diversion. Another volley landed, and another.

“They didn’t have this many archers the last time they tried this!” Mearlis yelled.

Indeed they hadn’t. Faeldrin risked a glance through one of the crudely made bolt holes. The sun was cresting the far horizon, bathing the plains in brilliant yellow. He dropped his eyes on the advancing infantry and drifted to rank upon rank of archers. It didn’t look good. Satisfied, he ducked back behind cover.

“They were resupplied during the night,” he said.

Mearlis shook his head. An arrow struck the wall near his head and skipped off in a shower of sparks. “I really wish they’d get this over with so we can focus on that damned dragon.”

Faeldrin grinned fiercely. “I didn’t tell you the best part. Their infantry is massed under a canopy of heavy shields. The wedge is pushing for the barricade. They’re going to batter it down while the archers keep us pinned down.”

Mearlis looked down and saw the iron wedge draw closer. Worse, he saw their plan had a chance of succeeding. With such a sustained rate of fire, the Elves wouldn’t be able to redirect their own fire down on the advancing infantry without serious risk.

“What do we do?” he asked.

Faeldrin drew his sword. “Let’s go fight some infantry.”

Together they crawled to the staircase and hurried down to join the defense.

“They seek to break us!” Aleor told the Elves on the barricade. He pointed, “See, look there. They’re bringing battering rams. Heavy infantry is forming up in column behind for the final thrust into our perimeter. I don’t think we can hold.”

Faeldrin spied his enemy. Hidden beneath a ring of iron shield came the heavy rams. The heads were carved in the likeness of fire-breathing demons. He had the idea that they’d seen war before and, no doubt, success. Behind the initial engineer assault came close to a thousand infantry bearing axe, sword, and war bars. Too few Elven arrows bounced off the thick shields.

“Not good,” he finally said.

He didn’t bother to explain what they all knew. If the infantry managed to break through, the sheer weight in numbers would swarm over the Elves. All stood to be won or lost on this assault. Faeldrin retracted his earlier thoughts that Goblins were unorganized. A new dark thought entered his mind. The Aeldruin had been set up!

The Silver Mage knew exactly what he was doing. Pride and the jubilation of easy victory quickly changed to arrogance. He angrily punched the rock. That arrogance led the Elves to where they now stood. Archers were virtually useless and the main body was outnumbered better than ten to one.
That’s a lot of killing. There’s no possible way we can win this. I have damned us all
.

A sudden thought sparked. He rounded on his war leaders. “Bring up the ballistae. Archers may be of no use to us now but we’ve still got a fight to win. Quickly now! Detail two squads to bring them up.”

Aleor and Mearlis overcame their initial confusion and dashed off shouting orders. Neither knew exactly what Faeldrin was planning, though both had a good idea. If this last minute scheme worked it would break the Goblins for good. If not, their quest was doomed. Elves ran through the field of fire to gain the secreted weapons. The sun was already starting to warm up. Shadows receded into the crags and deep mountain ravines. Arrows struck all around. A handful of Elves pushed and pulled the heavy weapons forward. Faeldrin cursed. They were moving too slowly. The Goblins were within two hundred meters.

Finally, he shouted, “Help them! Everyone!”

The rest of the Elves manning the barricade exposed themselves to fire in order to finish the task. Three fell. Both ballistae were rolled into position and ready to fire moments later. The Aeldruin had trained extensively in the time since joining with Dakeb. Elves emplaced both weapon systems and loaded. Gunners sighted in on the enemy wedge and the defenders hurried back to the barricade to take up sword and shield.

Faeldrin stayed with the gunners. “Put both shots right down their throats. Once that wedge shatters I want you to keep up your fire into the infantry.”

“Yes sir!” both gunners replied and adjusted their aim.

Cocking arms cranked back, rounds loaded, the ballistae were ready. The Elf Lord whispered a silent prayer. He’d never been the one to kill for pleasure, but at this moment he wanted every last one of the Goblins dead. He slowly raised his right hand.

“Fire!” he roared and dropped his hand sharply.

Both weapons thrummed as the heavy projectiles rocketed forward. The Goblin wedge advanced, grunting cadences and slamming their heavy shields. The effect was meant to inspire fear, having proved successful numerous times. A handful of Elves were brave enough to risk getting shot just to watch the enemy attack. Those who did saw the heavy timber projectiles slice into the wedge with unparalleled fury.

Body parts flung in every direction. Shields dropped amidst a shower of dark blood. The mighty rams hit the ground with bone-crunching sickness. Few had time to scream. The bolts ripped through the shielded wedge and into the front ranks of the follow-on infantry. Massed so tightly together, they never stood a chance.

Rear ranks continued to advance, unaware of the horrors they were forcing onto their comrades. The Elves wasted no time watching the effects of their gunnery. Firing levers were already cocking to fire again. The ballistae let loose again and dozens more died. The offensive broke after the third salvo. Goblin archers drew back, staying long enough to cover what was left of the infantry.

Despite the severity of the present situation, none of the Elves bothered to return fire. Some stood in simple disbelief. Others felt elation. All stared at the nightmare scene in various shades of shock. Close to five hundred bodies littered the battlefield. Blood pooled so thickly the air was drowning in the smell of iron. A few of the Aeldruin dropped to their knees and vomited. It was a scene none of them ever wanted to see again and wished to have never seen in the first place.

Faeldrin wiped the bile from his lips and watched the disorganized regiment of Goblins flounder about. A deep sense of loss rattled them. They realized they couldn’t win. Too many lives had been lost. This single, costly siege laid to waste their dreams of conquest. An eerie silence drifted over the slaughter. For his part, the Elf Lord knew his Elves would never be the same again.

“I believe we have won for the day,” he said dryly.

Mearlis found difficulty forming the right words. “Shouldn’t we ride out and end this now?”

Faeldrin shook his head. “There’s been enough killing. Let them retire and think about what happened. Fear will keep them from attacking any time soon.”

“What if the dark Mage comes? Or the dragon?” Aleor asked.

Faeldrin half smiled. “The dragon we are ready for. At least as much as we can be. Let’s hope Dakeb has a handle on Sidian. Or the Goblins may still win the field.”

Lazily circling Deldin Grim, the great dragon Ramulus rode the air currents and watched the battle develop. He’d suddenly grown bored, and hungry. The dragon roared and dove. His time had come.

Dark Reunion

“Back!”

Dakeb shoved Ibram aside and raised a shield of shimmering, colorless magic before a blast of vermillion magic crashed into them. The old Mage buckled under the impact. Hissing laughter followed the attack. Dakeb let out a slow breath and thanked his reflexes for not failing. A figure sidled out from the shadows.

“Dakeb! How good it is to see you again,” Sidian taunted.

“If you say so. I, for one, had hoped to never see you alive again.”

Sidian glowered. “These chance meetings are becoming quite boring. It doesn’t need to be like this. The others are dead. Their lives and dreams no more than faded memories for you and I. Seldis was the last. My creations killed him in Kelis Dur some nights ago.”

If he was expecting a reaction from Dakeb, he was disappointed. Dakeb already knew what fate had befallen his friend. Only Ibram seemed stunned by the news.

“What’s this? A new pet?” Sidian asked upon seeing the young monk. “Can’t let the old ways go, can you? I recall the arrogance of that age. Scouring the lands in search of those with the gift. The forgotten children of ancient Gaimos. Taking children from grieving mothers against their will. You would return Malweir to such a state?”

Dakeb leveled his gaze contemptuously. “We were all taken by the dream. Do not hold the nature of your being against the order, Sidian. You were chosen by the gods to serve higher purpose. Many parents grieved at first.”

Lightning bristled over his cloak. “You know nothing of my grief! I was torn from her arms by knights of the order before I knew how to speak. Her hair was in my hands even when they brought me to Ipn Shal. She died of a broken heart not long after. I visited her grave on my very first trip away from the temple. Then I learned what twisted fate befell my father. He turned to drinking and fell in with whores and thieves. A petty criminal cut his throat in a dark alley in Paedwyn for a mere handful of copper coins. Don’t lecture me on grief for I know it well.”

“Your grief is of your own choosing. We were all victims of the same deed. You and your dark brothers turned and used that against the orders. I cannot help you with your loss. Nor will I allow you to continue this quest,” Dakeb replied evenly.

“Allow?” Sidian bellowed in rage. “You overestimate your worth to this world. There is nothing you can prevent me from doing. How long have we played our little game? Two centuries? Three? You can’t possibly think you have enough strength to best me after all this time.” A demonic gleam lit his eyes. “The age of Mage-kind is finished, Dakeb. Our arrogance saw to that. The crystal of Tol Shere was a harbinger of doom to us all. Every ounce of malice, corruption, and hatred was pulled forth into the lands. The fault lays in all of us,
brother
. You, me, the hundreds of dead and thousands of civilians who paid the price.”

“Those people died because of your greed,” Dakeb accused. “Your kind has always lusted for power. That is why I took the shards and hid them across Malweir. The cracked crystal must not be remade.”

Sidian spat venom. “What can you do to stop me? You took the four shards to the corners of the world and I have already found all but one. One left before the return of the dark gods.”

“This shard does not yet belong to you, else you’d have run back to your dark master in Gren. Oh yes, I know of your dreams of empire.”

“This conversation is over.” The Silver Mage stepped back into the shadows. “You should not have come here. The cracked crystal shall be remade and the rise of the dark Mages will cover all Malweir. You are too late. With the last of the great order of Mages dead, I shall finally fulfill the prophecy. Good-bye, old friend.”

Sidian lashed out with violent green hellfire that washed over them both.

“I’ve never seen such a place,” Cron gasped, trying to comprehend what he saw.

Even Grelic nodded in agreement. Dozens of bodies, if they could still be called such, were hung from rusted shackles at various points along the walls. All were wasted away until their bones clearly showed beneath the fabric of their flesh. The stench was worse than anything they’d ever encountered. Piles of bones cluttered the shadow-laced corners. Row upon row of cages and cells stretched the length of the dim chamber. The giant edged closer and gently poked his broadsword into the yellowed skin of what used to be a man. Sickly puss leaked from the wound. Grelic gagged.

“They look to have been dead for some time,” he managed.

“Who could have done this?” Kialla asked, dismayed. Suddenly she was more frightened than at any other point in her life. “How?”

“My guess is this is the work of Dakeb’s dark Mage. I’d say the majority of them were failed experiments.”

Cron asked, “And the others?”

Grelic shook his head. “Savage entertainment? Look at the bite and claw marks. Evil was at work here.”

He stalked off to continue searching. The ground was soft, almost musty with the pulp of a hundred victims. Everywhere he looked there were instruments of torture. Madness. Grelic wasn’t a god-fearing man, but what his eyes saw made him question the foundations of theology. How could any god allow such filth?

“It’s a torture cell,” Cron uttered.

Holding the torch over a long metal table, Grelic wasn’t so sure. “No. It’s a laboratory.”

“I don’t like this,” Cron admitted. “Grelic, we need to leave. I don’t want to get caught in this death trap when the madman returns.”

“Agreed. Search the cells for survivors, then we make for the tunnel,” Grelic ordered, and the three separated.

Kialla wanted to voice her disapproval but a bare whisper kept her quiet. She knew deep inside that she’d never be able to look at herself again if she were responsible for leaving anyone behind in this madness. Dutifully, Kialla carefully covered her nose and mouth and went looking.

The chamber was a long ellipse. Cells and cages were burrowed into the rock and sealed with near unbreakable iron bars. Grelic had no doubt they were infused with magic to better contain the prisoners. Most of them held assorted remains in various states of decomposition. Rats and mice crawled across the corpses, tearing chunks of flesh away with their needle-like teeth. Kialla wanted to stab them but knew there was no point. They were only doing what they were designed for.

A number of cells were conspicuously empty despite looking very lived in. Kialla shook her head. This didn’t make sense. Why would there be so many living cages in a slaughterhouse? Her best guess was that they were used to hold the results of whatever hideous experiments happened down here. She was just about to give up when the faintest flicker of movement caught her eye. Kialla drew her sword. Someone, or something, was still alive.

Emerging from the fourth chamber, Pregen disgustedly punched the wall. Not finding the shard was getting irksome. He’d searched everywhere. All of the usual hiding spots or favorite places. Nothing. None of his tricks or intuitions seemed to work. He cursed quietly in case there were any Goblins lurking about and idly chewed the inside of his cheek.
Think, damn it. It must be here. There’s no other place to look
.

For his part, Fitch stood quietly until frustration and anxiety got the better of him. He eyed the thief with new found uncertainty. “Where could it be? This isn’t safe.”

Pregen whirled on him. “Don’t you think I know that, village boy? If I knew where it was we’d already be on our way out. I don’t even know what it looks like!”

Fitch blushed. “What can I do to help?”

“Stand there and shut up. I can’t think with you making this racket. Keep an eye out for Goblins or worse.”

He wasn’t sure what made him say that last part. Perhaps it was from having had too many encounters with worse on this quest. Or it could have just been fate. Either way, his words were about to turn prophetic. He left Fitch on guard and entered the last room on the level. If this didn’t produce the shard, he hadn’t a clue where to go next.

The barrel-bodied Goblin storming out of the room bowled him over. Pregen saw his enemy’s eyes widen with shock. He also noticed something else. This Goblin was extraordinarily nervous. Pregen rolled to his feet with dagger in hand and stared after the Goblin. Not only was he an officer, it looked as if he was in charge. He slammed Fitch against the wall and disappeared around the corner.

“That’s it!” Pregen shouted.

Fitch pulled himself off the wall, dazed, and asked, “What? What are you talking about?”

“He’s got the stone. We need to catch him before he takes it back to the Mage!”

Pregen was shouting now. All thoughts of secrecy were gone as he was within grasp of the shard. He forgot the petty cowardice holding him back. All of the latent inadequacies marking him a lesser man. This one deed, if performed correctly, had the potential to save Malweir and redeem his family name. Pregen raced ahead without consideration for anything else. He had to get to the stone before it was too late.

He ran so fast Fitch couldn’t keep up. Still stumbling from the force of the blow, he barely managed to worm his way through the twisting passages. Soon he didn’t even hear footsteps. Fitch was impossibly lost. Worse, he knew it. Despair crept into the hollow corners of his soul. Whispers urged him to break down and cry, and he would have if not for the shame of having done that exact same act when Goblins destroyed his village months ago.

Shame scarred him, forcing Fitch to buck up and face reality. Pregen might already be in need of help. While he was no accomplished warrior, Fitch believed in friendship and his own skill set. Hunting and tracking consumed his previous life. Both Pregen and the Goblin had bolted so quickly they were bound to leave tracks. All he had to do was pick them up.

Doubling back the way he’d came, Fitch ran headlong into one of the Dwim. The nightmare creation reeled back and crouched to attack before Fitch blinked. The frightened villager eased back and fumbled for his dagger. He managed to take a long look at the creature for the first time. It was nothing like Ibram had described. It was much worse. Still, Fitch found something familiar about it. Like he’d known it for years.

The Dwim inched closer and Fitch felt his world suddenly collapse. The body was horribly disfigured and almost wooden. The face was withered but still bore an uncanny resemblance to a human being. Months of nightmares and torturous visions came crashing to a head. Recognition robbed his strength. Fitch stared into the eyes of his beloved Shar. She’d been twisted and broken into one of the Dwim.

Blood soaked almost every part of his body. Fatigue assailed his powerful frame but still Krek battled on. He bled from a dozen wounds and was near the limits of exhaustion. A host of Goblins already lay piled around him. Goblin warriors stalked warily just out of reach. None of them seemed interested in fighting the bull Minotaur. If Krek didn’t know any better he’d say they were waiting for some sort of sign to save their lives.

A horn sounded from the dismal village and those Goblins still able took flight. The fight was over and the enemy warriors were abandoning their posts. Krek slumped down to his knees and howled. Great honor had been heaped upon his name. At last he was a warrior.