The Dragon Hunters (4 page)

Alfen

The sharp crack of the whip echoed down through the dark tunnels and caves. Young Alfen Bew cringed with each subsequent scream. Only six years old, he was the youngest prisoner. No one knew where they’d been taken to, nor why they were captured. Alfen couldn’t remember much of his home. Endless days in near total darkness dulled his senses. He never saw any of the others. Their screams kept him up with an endless string of nightmares. Alfen wasn’t sure he wanted to meet the others.

Time quickly became irrelevant. He’d tried to keep track at first but his captors beat any hope of escape out of him. Kept in caves and forced to work underground, Alfen had seen too many fall under the lash and not rise. The bodies were taken away and burned in huge fire pits that never went out. He’d also seen what happened to those caught trying to escape. Their screams lasted the longest.

The ground constantly shook. Distant rumbling from the bowels of the world filled him with dread. Alfen and the others were forced to dig, and he was certain they were going to reach the center of the planet before long. His captors came from a massive castle carved into the back of the mountain, staying only long enough to oversee their slaves before returning. Alfen feared them the most. They blended with the dark, making it next to impossible to spy. The rare glimpses he got of their faces were sheer horror. Demons from the blackest night. Alfen quickly became thankful for the night. Any little bit to help keep their grotesque features and sickly grey skin hidden became a blessing.

The heavy tramp of booted feet marched closer. Alfen instinctively hid behind a small boulder at the back of his cell and whispered prayers that they weren’t coming for him.

“Next one,” growled a foul voice. “The Master wants a new whore tonight.”

Both monsters laughed. A horrible, gurgling sound that suggested suffering. Alfen closed his eyes but the darkness only amplified the grating teeth and heavy drooling. The hairs on his arms rose every time he heard one speak. Fighting back tears, Alfen tried not to think when the rusted iron door on the next cell screeched open. A woman screamed, pleaded. He heard the sounds of laughter, followed by clothing ripping. The rough slap of angry hands and the guttural groan of someone being punched. Naked, the woman was pulled from her cell and dragged away. He knew she’d never be seen again.

One of the monsters kicked his door, making him jump. “Back to sleep, maggots! Work comes early.”

Laughing, the monsters ambled off with their prey. Alfen put the moment from his mind. He lay back down and hoped to find sleep. The ground was cold and covered with a thin layer of slime. He couldn’t shake the images of the woman. Too many times he wondered if he was next. The crunch of dull steel striking flesh sickened him. He hid but wasn’t foolish enough to think it would help. Six years old and Alfen was growing immune to the horrors. The sight of bodies didn’t upset him much anymore. Neither did the smell.

He heard another woman scream. Perhaps it was the same one. There was no way to tell. People were always screaming down here. No one bothered learning anyone’s name. People simply didn’t last long enough. Every few weeks another group was brought in to replace the dead. He’d seen Elves, Dwarves, and even a few Gnomes. He never knew who had captured all of these people or why. It didn’t matter. They were brought in to work the mines.

Alfen didn’t know much of anything to be fair. He kept to himself as much as possible. The only interesting fact he’d learned from his time in the mines was a single name. Ramulus. Even the monsters seemed afraid. Alfen wondered what could inspire fear in the most fearsome. He hoped to never find out.

Suspicions

Cron titled his head back and let the cold wind kiss his face. He’d been stuck in an office for so long he nearly forgot the simple pleasures of being in the field. Rentor’s scouting mission provided the perfect excuse to abandon the endless piles of reports and command issues and return to the simpler life as a field soldier. Cron was a warrior. It was important to not only remind himself but his men as well. Winds slipped down into his tunic and he shivered at the delicious feeling.

The call of a crow turned his head to the barren branches of a nearby stand of ash trees. Unsure why, Cron called for a halt and nudged his horse closer. They were four days out of Kelis Dur and in the wilds. Any trace of civilization was lost out here. The high country was as close to pure wilderness as possible. To Cron it was a familiar friend. He’d grown up out here, learning the ways of the wild as soon as he could walk. Hunting, fishing, trapping, and, most importantly, tracking became his skills. His favorite pastime was learning how to read the forest. He and his friends spent endless hours wandering the forests while other children played games and stayed indoors. Other lands named men like that rangers. Cron was just a soldier.

The crow looked down on him with mocking indifference. Considered ill omens by the upland folk, most of Cron’s men shied away from the dark bird lest bad times befell them. Some made protective signs while others furtively glanced around. Cron scoffed at the nonsense. Crows were just birds but he never once admonished his men for their beliefs.

“What do you know?” he whispered, staring up into the crow’s cold, black eyes.

The crow cocked its head and cawed. Cron didn’t like it. He understood birds, even respected them. The crow launched into the drab grey sky and disappeared. Watching it go, Cron took careful note of the direction. The air suddenly grew colder. One crow. Only one. Cron took that as a bad sign.

Sergeant Notam pulled up alongside his commander. A permanent scowl crossed his face, influenced by the scars running from his left cheek down to his collarbone. He liked to tell people it was an old battle wound though truthfully it was a bad run-in with a bear when he was a child.

“What’s on your mind, sir?” he asked in a scratchy voice.

Cron continued to watch the bird. “I don’t know. Something feels amiss.”

The same uneasy feeling continued to grow the deeper into the wild they went.

“Snow’s starting to melt. About damned time too,” Notam observed. He knew better than to pry too deeply. “The cold never did sit right with me.”

“You are the master of understatement. Plus you’re getting old,” Cron smiled. “I have a bad feeling about what we are getting into.”

“The crow?”

Cron nodded. “Keep the men alert. I want them ready should any surprises pop up.”

“The men are always ready, sir. Maybe if you left that big fancy desk more often,” Notam snarled.

“I’d what, Sergeant?” Cron demanded.

Notam broke out in laughter. “It’s nice to see your sense of humor hasn’t dimmed. What are your orders? It’ll be dark soon.”

“There should be an old way station not far from here. It’ll provide enough shelter for the men. I think after that we need to go in the same direction as the crow.”

The veteran sergeant wheeled back towards the column barking orders. Riders formed ranks and pushed on to the dilapidated way station just as the sun dropped below the horizon.

Winter may have finally decided to release Thrae from its grip but the nights remained close to freezing. Cron’s men huddled together under heavy riding blankets and cloaks. They had one small fire to provide warmth, despite it being against Cron’s better judgment. A watch was set and those not on duty struggled to find sleep on the bitter, frozen ground. Most of the soldiers stayed just far enough away from the fire so as not to sweat during the night. Otherwise they’d freeze come the morning.

Notam and Cron sat off to one side quietly talking.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on or do I need to keep second guessing you?” Notam asked once he saw the last man fall asleep.

Cron immediately felt at ease. He and Notam had been working together for nearly a decade. They knew how the other operated and could think ahead. Very few sergeant and captain relationships worked so well.

“We’re being watched,” Cron finally admitted.

Notam bit back his laugh. “Aye. We’ve been tracked since leaving Kelis Dur. A scout?”

“More like a spy. I’ve been sending the rear guard back every league or so. They haven’t found a single track that wasn’t ours.” He ran a hand through his thick black hair, hoping they had more time. “If we wait and try to catch him we’ll lose.”

“Or walk into an ambush,” Notam added thoughtfully.

“I don’t think so. There’ve been hundreds of places for ambushes along our route. I think whoever it is wants to know what we’re going to find in Gend.”

He poked a stick around in the fire. A burned-through log collapsed in a pile of heated coals. Neither soldier noticed the pale yellow eyes watching them from the safety of the night.

“What’s your plan?” Notam asked.

“We can’t armor up or we give away our hand. It’s possible the enemy doesn’t know what we do. I say we keep riding as is, throw an extra eye on the tree line from time to time. Whoever it is seems content with watching.”

“For now.”

“For now,” Cron agreed. “Rouse the watch at dawn. We break camp and strike for Gend. I don’t want to spend any more time there than necessary.”

“Is it that bad?”

A nod confirmed his fears. Cron went on to explain everything he’d been told. The tale was brief and grim. Notam felt his stomach churn.

“An entire village gone. And people celebrate we’ve been at peace for so long. You don’t think it’s the Dwarves again do you?”

Cron didn’t know. “I doubt it. They are above killing innocent civilians.”

Both men remembered how a handful of sturdy Dwarf warriors ambushed an entire company, one hundred twenty riders, and slaughtered them to the man. All Cron’s company found the next day were shredded corpses and blood stains. Not one of the enemy had fallen. The incident quickly sent panic rippling through the ranks and nearly turned the tide of battle against Thrae. It wasn’t until Rentor made his stand at Kressel Tine did men take hope and turn the Dwarves back. Neither Cron nor Notam remembered the battle as victory. The war ended when both kings met and agreed that enough had already died. The mines in the Thed Mountains lay abandoned ever since.

“Goblins then?” Notam asked in bored speculation.

Cron did his best to steer away from the conversation. He didn’t want to spend the night wondering who was going to attack or when. Sleep was rare enough for troops in the field. Notam didn’t suffer from such delicacies. All he needed was a place to lay his head. Sleep found him.

“There haven’t been any Goblins in Thrae for hundreds of years. If it is their work we need to know why now. Why here? There’s something about this whole affair that doesn’t feel right. Something sinister.”

Notam spit into the fire. “You’ve spent too much time around politicians and their games. This could just be the prelude to a good old-fashioned war. We’ll do the fighting. Let the people in Kelis Dur worry about the rest. Soldiers shouldn’t care about making nice. Kill them all and be done with the matter. Get some sleep, Captain. You’ll need your wits about you on the morrow.”

Cron wormed his way through the snoring bodies and found his spot. His eyes closed but sleep was a long time coming. The pale yellow eyes blinked and disappeared.

“Do you smell that?” Notam asked shortly before midday.

He reigned in his roan mare. Experienced eyes shifted slowly across his field of vision. Nothing moved. Not even the wind. Any tracks were lost in the slop of melting snow and mud. Notam felt uneasy for the first time.
Curse you, Cron. Your stories have me jumping at shadows
. Several times already he thought he heard strange bird calls. Heard bushes rustle that shouldn’t have. He sniffed again, catching the faint aromas of acrid smoke and sulfur. Notam instinctively drew his sword.

“Fire. Somewhere in that direction,” he said and pointed across the lightly forested hills.

Cron paused to study the map. “Gend should be just ahead.”

The veteran would have replied if he wasn’t already barking out orders.

“Weapons out! Battle ready! Form ranks for village search!”

That baleful sound of steel leaving leather, familiar as an old friend, sang through the trees and underbrush. Axe and sword, lance and pike. The soldiers of Thrae adjusted their helmets and body armor one final time. Each squad dispersed into a loose arrowhead formation. Squad leaders took point. Cron and Notam assumed their positions between the first and second squads and ordered the advance.

Decay choked the forest air. Though the flames had long since died, the heavy odor of smoke and ash seemed fresh. Miniscule rays of sunlight filtered down through the clouded sky. Blackened branches stretched out in agony, scratching against each other when the wind blew. Every footstep sounded sickly and diseased in the sucking mud. A horse snorted. A boot clanged against the lower edge of a shield. The entire forest looked dead the closer they got to the village. Ash mixed with forming puddles of melted snow to make a thick paste. A flight of fattened vultures burst into flight at the sound of approaching horses.

Cron looked down at the heaps of gnarled bones and scraps of flesh still clinging to a human arm. Normally such sights wouldn’t bother him. He couldn’t say why today was different, but it was. Steeling himself up for what was yet to come, he mentally prepared for the brutality of his expectations. More than one man lost strength when they entered Gend. Horses were reluctant to press on. Soldiers leaned right and left to vomit.

The column halted at the rubble that had been Gend’s temple. Not even grizzled, old Notam kept his food down. Arranged neatly in double rows were the impaled heads of the villagers. The parts the scavengers hadn’t already eaten.