The Dragon Hunters (40 page)

Dragon Attack

Faeldrin noticed it first. A fast moving shadow growing larger and barreling straight for them. His heart dropped. “Dragon!”

A great cheer arose from the Goblin army. The tide of battle had turned. Elves scrambled as the first blast of flame struck the highest tower on the eastern keep. Stone and flesh melted in one organizing groan. Ramulus soared overhead, exposing the luminous green belly plates. He bore no fear of the skinny Elves.

Faeldrin snatched a stunned Aleor by the collar. “Get them into firing positions before we’re all slagged. Snap out of it! This is what we came for.”

The Elf warrior eased out of his daze and stared back at his lord. “I…I’m sorry.”

“Save it for when we return to Elvenara. You can buy the first ale.”

Aleor grinned tightly and hustled back to the ballistae.

Mearlis watched the dragon loop around to prepare for another assault. “You’re optimistic.”

“Ha. It’s not going to be too much longer before he burns this entire area. We might as well dream of drinking ale when we die.” Faeldrin forced a grin. “Cover!”

Streams of fire washed across the barricade, turning hundreds of Goblin corpses to ash. Portions of the wall crumbled away. Faeldrin edged back from the keep and watched the dragon. As impressive as the wyrm was, he must have an exploitable weakness. For a brief instant Faeldrin considered appealing to the dragon’s sense of infallibility. He somehow doubted that was going to work, though the idea of engaging a dragon in a verbal duel proved fairly amusing. Then it dawned on him. The dragon exposed himself right before and immediately after attacking.

“What did you see?” Mearlis asked.

Faeldrin replied, “His stomach is covered with diamond-shaped, thick scales. I’d wonder if our ballistae can penetrate. Each time he finishes spitting fire he flaps his wings and arches his chest.” He took off.

“Where are you going?”

“To direct the gunners. We have a shot at this, Mearlis. We can win.”

Faeldrin left his second in command and brother thinking the exact opposite. At least the Goblins seemed content with letting the dragon do all their work. The Elf Lord ran past the wreckage of both weapons used to break the Goblin charge. Several of the logs were still burning, as were a pair of corpses. He ran on, as much as it pained him to leave his friends aflame. Faeldrin swore to avenge them and if not, he’d be seeing them very soon.

Aleor and Euorn emerged from behind a screen of boulders when they saw him coming. Both wore a grim look bordering on defeat.

“Status?” Faeldrin asked without delay.

Euorn sighed. “Cypr and Tly are dead. Both weapons are destroyed. We were going to try and fire off a shot on that last pass but he was too quick. We weren’t able to load them before he struck.”

Faeldrin winced. “It’s a good thing you hadn’t or this little plan of ours might already have failed.”

“How do you mean?”

“The dragon would have flamed the entire pass if you’d have hit him. This way we still have the element of surprise. He doesn’t know we want to kill him. Are the other weapons in position and ready to fire?”

“Yes. Euorn is commanding the battery on the right and I’ve got the one on the left. Each piece remains hidden behind a screen made by the Pell Darga. All we need is a way to convince him to fly directly towards us.”

“You make it sound difficult,” Faeldrin said. “At times you are too pessimistic.”

The taller Elf shrugged. “One of us needs to be. What’s your plan?”

“He needs bait. I’m it.”

An eyebrow arched. “How exactly?”

The Elf Lord smiled, charming and brilliant in the pale light. “By giving him something worth coming after. Is my horse saddled?”

“Yes, though I’m fairly certain he’s not overly enthused about riding out like this. You honestly intend to just sit there in the open and wait for the dragon to attack?”

“Unless you have a better way.”

“My better way involves us turning around and heading for home. This is madness, Faeldrin.”

He laughed. “I know. That’s why it will work.”

“He’s coming back around!” came a shout from one of the keeps.

Faeldrin felt his heart race. “Keep them under cover until you see my signal. Don’t move until I give the command.”

“How will I know your sign?” Aleor shouted to the already leaving Elf.

“Because it looks like I’ll be ready to become a snack!” Faeldrin shouted back over his shoulder.

Ramulus rocketed towards the Elven positions. Unnatural mist wreathed his enormous body. The effect made him glow. Fire spit and dripped from his nostrils and mouth. Hatred poured from his very spirit. Faeldrin suspected it was a forced hatred. Dragons seldom got involved in mortal affairs. The Elf Lord held his breath. The air had gone dry. All of the moisture evaporated after the first attack. He reached down to stroke his horse’s neck. The gesture was meant to bolster his own confidence.

He watched the ground come alive with flames as the dragon roared by. Faeldrin knew this was the only chance he was going to get. He donned his silver helmet and rode out into the fury of the battle. His gold-trimmed cape of dark crimson matched the destructive fires reflected off his polished armor. He drew his sword.

Ramulus had already grown weary of the games the Elves seemed intent on playing. A respectable foe would already have had the grace to die. But these Elves insisted on hiding and avoiding the death he spit. Anger consumed him and the great dragon gave in to his passions. He wheeled about for another pass. If this proved as unsuccessful as the others he had every intention of landing in the middle of the pass and setting everything aflame until the very heart of the mountains burst.

He needn’t have worried. A glint of sunlight announced his foes’ champion come to challenge. Garishly decked out in resplendent armor, the Elf warrior waited in the middle of the pass with his sword raised high in challenge. Ramulus drew back his lips. A sword was next to useless against his natural armor, and for a brief instant he considered letting the Elf live out of respect. That moment died quickly.

Snorting displeasure, the dragon tucked back his wings and dove. Wind whistled off his luminous green hide. Lines of vapor trailed after him. Faeldrin felt certain he was going to be crushed. His horse bucked, rearing back on frightened legs. As much as he wanted to, the Elf Lord couldn’t abandon his plan now. Doing so would condemn his warriors, his friends, deep in the heart of the Deadlands and quite possibly the world.

If ever he needed things to go right, it was now. Faeldrin tried taking a deep breath to relax but the air was too hot. He’d never been more afraid in the many long centuries of his existence. This single deed went far beyond any task ever done in the storied history of the Aeldruin. Dakeb owed him greatly.

The Elven gunners silently tracked the great wyrm from their concealed positions. None of them had ever seen a dragon. Euorn and Aleor vaguely recalled a brief encounter with a lesser dragon some three hundred years ago, but it was nothing comparable to the monster they faced here. Remarkably, many of the Elves eyed the upcoming fight with as much as excitement as apprehension. Dead or alive, they were about to become famous.

None of them had training in siege warfare. Few of them believed in the ballistae until seeing them in action against the Goblins. Bolstered by this, they couldn’t imagine failure. Each of them shared Faeldrin’s vow to kill the dragon or die in the process. That singular notion inspired the Aeldruin more than any blustering speech. They’d come to accept the fact of their deaths, making them more dangerous than any foe the dark Mage could conjure. Now they watched and waited as the dragon screamed downwards towards their leader.

The Elf Lord watched the mighty wyrm come and felt his heart tighten.
What am I doing? I can still escape. Escape? Pah. It’s already far too late for that
. The dragon was upon him. Faeldrin dug into his saddlebag and pulled out a long cylinder with a pointed tip. He waited until the last possible moment, when Ramulus opened his great maw. Fumes mingled with trickles of fire. Faeldrin didn’t flinch. He struck the bottom of the cylinder with the heel of his free hand.

Bright yellow light exploded upwards in a shower of smoke and sparkles. The horse reared again, tossing Faeldrin to the ground before running off. The flare did its job as it streaked into the sky. Ramulus spread his leathery wings and pulled up as hard as he could to avoid the flare. He also exposed his entire chest and stomach to the Elven gunners. Ballista bolts thrummed into the air.

The first bolt slashed past the stunned dragon’s head. Ramulus narrowed his eyes with the unfamiliar feeling of fear. The second bolt punched through the membrane of his right wing, snapping muscle and sinew, before he could react. Pain lanced through him in undiscovered delights. Another wooden missile, and then another, narrowly missed.

Ramulus realized he had a choice. He could either accept his fate, thus ending thousands of years of life. It was a tragedy but he was always curious about what the next world held. It also meant freedom from the tyranny of the dark Mage. That in itself was a most precious gift. Honor demanded otherwise. He was a scourge of the skies. These filthy Elves must pay for their brazen assault. Ramulus decided to press the attack. A pair of bolts caught him square in the chest. They drove into his scales, going deep into the soft organs and flesh of his torso. He heard bones breaking. Felt the agony of his vitals being skewered. Ramulus knew that he was going to die. The great wyrm fell from the sky, out of control.

Faeldrin rolled to his feet and ran for his life. Sixty tons of dragon came crashing down on top of him. He ran until the force of impact pitched him through the air. Unconsciousness took him. Ramulus hit the ground with the speed of a comet. Dirt, rock, and dust exploded. Greenish flames burst from the tears in his body. Heavy winds knocked everyone and everything down that hadn’t been fast enough to take adequate cover.

The Elf Lord slowly regained consciousness and struggled to stand. Every inch of his body hurt. His breath came in ragged gasps. He choked on dust. When he finally turned to face the dragon, his heart raced. Elf and dragon stood twenty meters apart. Faeldrin stared into the ice-colored eyes. Walking on unsteady legs, he got close enough to touch the dragon.

Ramulus was still alive, if barely. The light was fading from those jewel-like eyes that had seen the birth of the world. The dragon was not ashamed to die. He had fought hard and regained his honor. Now, at long last, Ramulus had the chance to join his kind in the next world. He blinked once and died.

Aleor was the first to reach the scene and was so puzzled all he could do was stare.

Ramulus’s death broke the Goblin army for good. Cpur and his Pell Darga broke from their hiding places in full force and decimated the Goblins until only a handful remained to escape into the mountains. The Aeldruin defended the pass long enough to collect their dead and wounded. Faeldrin ordered them back to their camp in Thrae. He wasn’t finished in Deldin Grim yet. The toll had been much higher than he anticipated. It was going to take decades to refill the ranks and move past his brave friends who died. Aele, always smiling, would never grace him with his jokes again. Faeldrin and a handful of others watched the rest of the Aeldruin disappear back into the pass before turning north towards Mordrun Bal. He couldn’t abandon Dakeb and the others.

Endgame

“Come here, we don’t want to hurt you,” Kialla soothingly whispered to the six-year-old boy cowering wide-eyed in the corner of his cell.

The boy curled up behind his knees. His eyes were filled with so much pain. He shivered uncontrollably, as if ghosts had come to claim him. Torment echoed in the depth of his bones. Kialla offered a sympathetic smiled. She crouched down, letting him see her for what she truly was. He huddled further away.

“Hey, come on. I promise not to hurt you. My name is Kialla. What’s yours?” she asked with a smile.

Seeing him in such a degraded condition made her want to cry. He was wasting away. Most of the muscle was gone. His skin was taut against his frame. He said nothing, but watched her with eyes too large for his head. Kialla reached into a pocket and produced one of the crude travel rations the Aeldruin provided back in Thrae. Reaching through the bars, she offered it to him.

“Go on. You must be hungry.”

Alfen timidly reached out and snatched it from her hand. It was gone in three bites. Crumbs covered his torn tunic. “Thank…you.”

Kialla smiled again. Progress. “So are you going to tell me your name now?”

“Alfen.”

She turned. “Cron, help me with the lock.”

He hurried to her side. Cron swore when he noticed the frightened boy. She shook her head. Frowning, he popped the lock with his dagger. It took their combined strength to open the rusted door. Kialla rushed in. Alfen was almost in her arms when Grelic’s enormous framed stepped into view. The boy knew he was going to die.

“What’s this?” Grelic asked.

Kialla looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Help me get him out of here.”

Grelic bent down and scooped Alfen up before the boy could protest. He eyed the malnourished boy. “Don’t fear me, boy.”

“This changes things,” Cron said.

She glared at him. “We can’t leave him here to die, Cron.”

He held up his hands in defense. “I’m not suggesting it, but we sure can’t take him with us to fight the dark Mage.”

Realization dawned on her and her shoulders slumped. She suddenly became torn between missions.

“No, he can’t,” Grelic said. “Get him out of here, both of you. With any luck, Krek will have held his ground. Once you get out of Mordrun Bal, head for the pass and find the Elves.”

“Where are you going?” Cron asked.

Grelic smiled. “To find this dark Mage.”

Down twisting passages, flights of stairs, and an endless labyrinth of shadowed tunnels he ran. Pregen knew he was undeniably lost. That didn’t matter. His friends were scattered. A lurking deceit cautioned that he might be the only one left alive by now. As much as he wanted to turn and run home, he couldn’t. The fat Goblin carrying the crystal was too close. He couldn’t let him get away. Pregen chased on, eventually coming into a massive tunnel stretching so far he doubted it had an end. Still he ran on. The walls gradually started to spread out, opening into a cavern. He had come unto the heart of mighty Druem but hadn’t seen the Goblin.

Pregen skidded to a halt. The heavy sound of hurried footsteps echoed. Pregen smirked. The Goblin was near. The chase was almost over. He pushed harder. So hard he failed to notice the destructive light show raging ahead. The Goblin was heading directly for the violent struggle.

Twenty meters from the battle Pregen overtook his prey and leapt on his back. Goblin and man collapsed in a tangle of flailing arms and metal screeching across the polished floor. Pregen punched Scourd in the mouth as hard as he could and tried to pry the crystal away. A glint of purple flickered in the Mage-light to entice him. Gnarled fingers closed around his throat, threatening to crush the life out of him. He punched again, and again, until Scourd’s hand dropped.

Pregen snatched the crystal shard free and felt true triumph for the time in his life. He jumped away from the Goblin general and noticed Dakeb and Ibram for the first time. What he failed to see was Scourd draw his dagger and plunge it into the base of his spine. Excruciating pain exploded through his body. His legs gave out and Pregen collapsed in a pile of useless flesh and bone. He was paralyzed from the waist down.

Scourd rolled to his feet, kicking his enemy savagely away. The taste of blood, hot and salty, filled his mouth and he spat. Pregen looked up helplessly. The Goblin snarled contemptuously and drew his sword. Tired of the games of men and Mage, he wanted this over. He drove his sword down through Pregen’s heart with enough force to plunge into the unforgiving stone beneath.

Many things flashed in that moment. Grelic hiring him. His conversations with the strange Codel Mres in the drunken haze of a tavern. The minister wanted Pregen to spy for him and report everything back. Even went so far as to leave signs and messages on their trail north. He’d taken the job out of greed. The promise of a king’s ransom outweighed honor. He’d done his job, but something changed along the way. He realized he was part of something greater than himself for the first time in his life. Despite his constant complaining, he had transformed into the man his father always dreamed of.

Pregen Chur died with a smile on his face, for the last thing he saw was Grelic emerging from the darkness behind the Goblin. Scourd ripped his sword free and spun. Steel clashed in a hail of sparks.

Sidian caught the episode evolving out of the corner of his eye and shuddered. The shard was so close. His robes were smoking, burned in many places. He smelled of burnt flesh. The battle tested him greatly, but he took comfort in his enemies suffering likewise.

“Our little game is over, Dakeb. Your friends are dying. They always seem to die, don’t they? The shard is right there. I know you can feel it. Sitting, waiting for its master in the grip of a dead man. You can’t win.”

Ash smeared his face. Dakeb clutched his friend for support. He hadn’t been sure until now, but Sidian had grown stronger since their last encounter. He feared neither he nor Ibram combined stood much chance of beating him.

He called out, “It doesn’t have to be like this.”

Sidian choked back a laugh. “Oh but it does. You think we betrayed the order of Mages, but it was you who betrayed us. When the darkness rose we at last understood the true meaning to life. Power! How insignificant our lives seemed until the dead reached forth to embrace us. And did any of you attempt to save us? Bring us back from that dreadful place where nightmares become reality? No! Not one of you lifted so much as a finger. You and your kind damned us just as much as the crystal.”

“That’s no excuse for the crimes you committed!” Dakeb fought back. “All of you could have sought our help but greed and corruption were in your hearts. Damn us all you want for your insecurities, but always remember that you brought about the fall of Ipn Shal. You, Sidian the Silver, betrayed all the races of Malweir with your lust for power. Everything that has happened since is your fault.”

Tiny bolts of electricity bled from Sidian’s eyes. “My, my. How testy we’ve become, my friend. I need only one more piece of the crystal, Dakeb. Just one more and the world will be plunged into the madness of the dark gods forever. You can’t stop me. Victory belongs to who wants it the most. I will prevail. It’s only fitting that Malweir suffers my fate.”

“You’re overlooking one important fact,” Dakeb said. “You have two pieces of the crystal, not three.”

Sidian laughed again. “Have I?” He reached into the folds of his robes and produced the chunk of purple crystal. “You’ve failed again. All those years wasted thinking of the perfect hiding places. Places I’d never think to look. You nearly fooled me with this one, but I still beat you. When I find the fourth shard your failure will be complete. I will rule Malweir with tyranny undreamed of. Good-bye, Dakeb.”

Ibram couldn’t restrain himself any longer. He looked down at Pregen’s corpse, knowing the thief deserved better. The former monk of Harr jumped in front of Dakeb and rushed the Silver Mage. He was determined not to let his friend die at the hands of this madman. Dakeb reached out to stop him but was too slow. Ibram raced towards his foe.

Sidian cocked his head, curious at what the youth intended to achieve. For a moment he debated whether to kill the fledgling Mage or convert him. Either prospect bore measures of enjoyment. The decision took a fraction of second. Mage fire lashed from his fingers, striking the charging Ibram in the chest. He couldn’t afford another Mage in the world.

“NO!” Dakeb screamed.

Ibram froze in his tracks. Agony stole into him, ravaging the heart of his soul. He screamed in unimaginable pain. Smoke poured from his ears, nose, and mouth. His flesh blackened. His hair burned and fell away. Ibram tried to resist, but was no match for the overpowering evil before him. Finally, he burst into flames. Ibram screamed one last time before his body became ash. Broken bones crashed to the floor in a cloud of dust. Brother Ibram was no more. Sidian turned his rage on Dakeb, but the old Mage was ready for it.

Bolts of purple Mage fire shot from his hands. They burst around Sidian, hammering him back. Neither one of them had the strength of their youth. Both faltered. Sidian hadn’t counted on Dakeb’s wrath at the death of his pupil. No matter. He had the shard and had killed a potential rival. Victory was his. He silently summoned his escape spell.

A shield enveloped him, protecting him from Dakeb’s rage. “It’s over this time, Dakeb. Perhaps you shall think twice before assuming a new apprentice. I leave you in defeat.”

A monstrous figure dropped down from the darkness high above. Dakeb reeled. A Shimmering! He’d thought they were all destroyed during the Mage war. An uneasy feeling settled over him as the hulking brute reached out to claim his master. Dakeb tried getting a better look at the creature but the unnatural glaze surrounding it kept his vision unfocused. Claws, spikes, armor plates. A dozen eyes looking back at him from the seemingly shapeless head. The Shimmering lifted up and bore Sidian away while the helpless and defeated Dakeb remained far below.

Grelic blocked Scourd’s swing without effort despite the Goblin throwing everything he had at him. The Mage battle going on in the background bathed the combatants in unholy lights. The sound of thunder battered his ears, deafening him to the sounds of his own combat. Scourd staggered backwards. His arms stung from the shock of his last swing. Grelic knew the slower, heavier Goblin didn’t stand a chance unless he stooped to trickery. Still, it didn’t do to take unnecessary chances.

“Come on, maggot,” Grelic taunted. “You have crimes to pay for.”

Pregen’s body lay crumpled against the rock wall, his dead eyes staring at Grelic accusingly. Rage consumed the giant. He hadn’t felt so angered since the battle of Kressel Tine when a Dwarf nearly took his head. He charged after the retreating Goblin, driving Scourd steadily back. The force of his attacks kept the Goblin off balance. Bringing down an overhand chop, Grelic ran his sword along Scourd’s blade all the way to the hilt guard before flicking his wrist. The sudden shift made Scourd lunge too far and in that instant the Goblin knew he had lost. Grelic’s heavy broadsword swung almost effortlessly and severed Scourd’s head at the shoulders.

The giant sheathed his sword after wiping the blood on his opponent’s body. Bending down, he gently closed Pregen’s eyes. A growl got stuck in his throat. This was all his fault. He’d coerced the thief to join them under false pretense and now he lay dead under a smoldering volcano. The weight was much harder to bear for a man used to losing friends.

“Grelic, over here,” Dakeb said softly.

He looked up to see the old man kneeling over a pile of dust and bone. He didn’t want to ask what happened, though he knew well enough. Dakeb sobbed gently, pausing to stare up at the giant with sad eyes.

“Ibram deserved better,” he whispered.

Grelic nodded. There was nothing for it. He only hoped his other friends met with better success in their escape from Druem. “Where’s the dark Mage?”

“Gone, bore away by an old creature. He killed Ibram first. The boy wasn’t ready for this. I didn’t train him. Sidian was too powerful. Brave boy. He tried to protect me. He rushed Sidian when it looked like he was about to escape with the shard. There was nothing I could do.”

“So it’s over? The dark Mage won.”

Dakeb shook his head and withdrew the crystal from his robes. “No. Sidian thinks he has the shard but it was merely an illusion. He escaped with a simulacrum, nothing more. Ibram died for an illusion. Where are Cron and the others?”

“Already on their way out. I’ll explain along the way.”

He helped Dakeb up and went to collect Pregen’s body. He’d be damned if he was going to let another friend rot on a forgotten battlefield. That’s when he realized he was still missing one person. “Dakeb, where’s Fitch?”

The old Mage looked around. He hadn’t even thought about it until Grelic brought it up. Instinctively he knew Fitch was fighting demons of his own.

Thousands of nightmares rolled in different versions of misery. Fitch knew in that single moment that he was truly one of the damned. The Dwim facing him, in testament to maliciousness and cruelty, was his beloved wife. His Shar. Shock robbed his strength. He couldn’t move. The love of his life stood before him, twisted and perverted by some dark power beyond his comprehension. He wept.