The Dragon Hunters (41 page)

Fitch blamed himself. All of this was his fault. Shar took a step back and dropped into a fighting stance. Whatever was left of the woman he loved meant to kill him. She was no longer human, instead a manifestation of the very evil they’d come to destroy. Now that he had confronted that evil, Fitch found doubt. He didn’t have the strength to kill her, no matter what she was.

“I’m sorry, Shar,” he told her.

The Dwim stopped moving and cocked her head in recognition.

“None of this would have happened if I had been a man that day,” he pressed. His voice cracked as months of repressed emotions poured out. “It was my cowardice that let you be taken, Shar. Taken and turned into this monster. How could you ever forgive me?”

She shook her head vigorously in confusion. She was a Dwim, a servant to the dark master. His true guidance gave her courage in the face of doubt. She growled softly and flexed her claws.

“You have become evil, Shar. For that I am truly sorry, but not as sorry as for what I know I have to do.” He drew his sword. The heavy weapon felt clumsy in his hands. “I can’t let you escape. You’re not a murderer. You’re better than this. I’m going to set you free. Set both of us free.”

He took an uneasy step forward. Tears streamed down his face. He trembled, wishing his strength to hold. The Dwim leapt. This was the moment he’d been awaiting since that dreadful winter day his world ended. Fitch had wanted to die then, but Fate saw fit to keep him alive. He didn’t know how or why so many others took interest in him.

Here at last, buried under the once mighty volcano that had helped shape the world, Fitch was reunited with the woman he loved and his true purpose in life. He held his sword straight forward and met her assault. Steel pierced wooden-like flesh with a sickening sound. Shar screamed. Her claws raked into him, ripping strings of muscle away as the force of impact took them both to the ground.

Shar fell on top of him, impaled on his sword. She swiped at the side of his neck, tearing open his jugular vein. Life blood flowed away, as if excited to be free of the mortal constraints. Fitch jerked the sword up into her chest cavity and twisted. She started to shake. Her body spasmed uncontrollably as his sword pierced what was left of her heart. Finally, she stopped fighting and lowered her head onto his chest where she looked him in the eyes one last time before dying.

“I love you,” Fitch whispered. He struggled to reach up and touch her lips again but never made it.

Fitch Iane followed his beloved into death and a silvered new world beyond. All of his nightmares were finally laid to rest.

Grelic reemerged into the sunlight and instinctively tried to protect his eyes from the menacing glare. He and Dakeb kept moving past the host of slain Goblins until the giant ran out of strength. Grelic laid Pregen’s body down and collapsed beside him. Time and age had finally caught up. Dakeb fell next to him and wept a single tear. That was how Cron found them a short time later. Neither had ever been so grateful to see another living soul as in that moment.

“We figured you didn’t make it,” Cron told them.

Grelic relayed their tale in choppy sentences, for the pain was much too real. Both he and Dakeb learned how Cron led Kialla and the boy through the remains of Mordrun Bal and rescued hundreds of slaves along the way.

Grelic stared at the group of people milling aimlessly about. “What is this?”

“There must be hundreds, of all races,” Dakeb added.

Cron nodded with pride. “We found them trying to dig through a lava vein. Kialla and I killed the few Goblin overseers and led the slaves out. The city was deserted by the time we got back to the surface.”

“Some good came of this after all,” Grelic grunted. He was beyond exhausted. “Now what?”

“I say we wait a day or two until most of them regain some strength and push towards the Darkwall. I’ve got details scouring every hovel and cave for supplies. Some are fixing old wagons for those too weak to walk. We should make it all right provided there’s no dragon in wait.”

Dakeb flashed a knowing wink. “Oh, I think we don’t need to worry about that. Faeldrin is a most capable commander.”

He said no more.

Grelic awoke to the sounds of hooves late in the afternoon of the following day. He and Cron rose and went to greet their arrivals. They passed Krek, who gave Grelic the nod of a complimenting warrior. Grelic returned the gesture and carried on. Faeldrin and nine of the Aeldruin reigned to a halt. All wore genuine smiles.

“What now?” Cron asked.

Grelic felt the weight of the world fall from him. “Now, we go home.”

Lost in the maddening shadows of his obsidian tower, the Silver Mage sat upon his throne. Anger twisted and marred his features. In his hands sat the purple crystal he’d taken from Druem. A useless chunk of rock. Dakeb had tricked him! All of his carefully laid plans had gone to ruin, again, because of that doddering old fool. Sidian crushed the false crystal into powder and let the grains trickle through his clenched fist. He had lost this round, but the battle was far from over.

The Silver Mage sat upon his barbed throne and let his thoughts drift off towards the age when the curtain of darkness would forever eclipse the world of Malweir. His wicked laughter echoed through the empty halls.

EPILOGUE

Most the world would never find out what happened in the Deadlands. Rumors of a growing darkness spread across the face of Malweir. Kings spoke of a plot to overthrow the monarchy in Thrae and the failed military coup. Suspicions rose among the ruling houses and caused many needless deaths. For the most part life went on oblivious to the bluster or threat of conspiracy. The enemy plotted through it all from his newly forged kingdom in Gren.

Cron and Kialla were wed by King Rentor in the royal gardens. It was a day-long celebration and not forgotten for years. Both Cron and his brother, Maen, were awarded Thrae’s highest medal for valor. Alfen Bew decided he liked his rescuers so much that he wound up being adopted by them. He grew to be a fine man, surpassing his father at every aspect. He died holding the rank of general.

The heroes took Pregen’s body to his family home for burial. He was laid to rest beside his beloved sister. Some say you could hear the ground sigh in relief as his body was covered with the soft dirt. To this day the ground remains cold and an eerie light haunts the area during certain times of the year. Pregen Chur was forgotten as a thief and assassin and remembered for a hero. Dakeb never told the others that Pregen had been the spy. Some things just didn’t need to be said.

Krek returned to the great cavern city of Malg and won great honor to his family name. His deeds in Mordrun Bal quickly became legend. Minotaurs spoke of him for generations. The memories never left Krek and he used them to carry on. Hundreds of years later he led the Minotaurs into the final war against the dark gods.

The riders of the Aeldruin went back to their home wood, bloodied and abused. Faeldrin discharged those who had had enough of violence and went searching for new recruits to replenish the ranks. That proved no problem. In fact, he had to turn away a great number. Tales of the Aeldruin’s bravery at Deldin Grim kept their legend alive by all races until the breaking of the world.

The day Grelic came home to Kelis Dur was the last time he ever held a weapon. He’d been witness to far too many devilries and carnage. He suddenly lacked the stomach for it. He took his leave from his friends and rode off into the forests to enjoy his remaining days. Some say King Rentor was one of his pall bearers some years later.

The brave actions of a handful prevented the destruction of all in the barren wastes of the Deadlands. They preserved peace for the time being but the Silver Mage wasn’t defeated. He was beaten for the moment, but it was only a matter of time before he discovered the final pieces of the cracked crystal of Tol Shere and made his war on the world.

And of Dakeb? He went back to Druem to collect the ashes of Ibram and took them to the ruins of Ipn Shal. There Ibram was laid to rest beside Seldis and the hundreds of other Mages who’d died in the defense of good. None of the heroes ever saw Dakeb again, but if you pay close attention you just may catch a glimpse of him shifting through the forests of the world in his lonely struggle to keep the Silver Mage from finding the final piece of the crystal.

END

Begin the third History of Malweir Novel, Beyond the Edge of Dawn, by following this link:

Beyond the Edge of Dawn

The Northern Crusade Series

Hammers in the Wind

Tides of Blood and Steel

A Whisper After Midnight

Empire of Bones

The Madness of Gods and Kings

Even Gods Must Fall

A History of Malweir Series

Armies of the Silver Mage

The Dragon Hunters

Beyond the Edge of Dawn

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Stanford Parker has a choke-hold on the legalized slave industry. Breeding his brand of clones for whatever horror his clients may have in mind—from hard labor to spare organs—there’s no questioning his product’s quality. But his days may be numbered when someone hires the crew of the airship Masamune to put him out of business. Violet: the gun-slinging airship captain, Moriarty: a disgraced former Inspector, and Tibbs: a genius inventor struggling with a ‘pheta addiction, have a tall order in front of them in bringing down Parker’s heavily defended ranch. They have a plan, but a secret from one of their pasts will endanger the mission; tensions between Violet and Tibbs over differing moral ideals will heighten; and Moriarty’s inquisitive nature will draw him to ask: why haven’t they met their client? Look Homeward, Clockwork Angel is the first in a series of Steam Punk novellas and stories chronicling the harrowing post-apocalyptic adventures of the crew of the airship Masamune and the lives they touch along the way.

Christian W. Freed was born in Buffalo, N.Y. He recently retired from a twenty year career in the U.S. Army. Armies of the Silver Mage is his first book for sale and was written during his tour of duty in Afghanistan. Much of the experiences and battle sequences in his novels come from his three tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan and a keenly developed understanding of military tactics. He graduated from Campbell University with a degree in history and is pursuing a Masters of Arts degree in Military History from Norwich University. He currently lives outside of Raleigh, N.C. and devotes his time to writing and to his family and their two Bernese Mountain Dogs.