The Dragon Hunters (6 page)

Council

“Exactly where do you propose I send the army, General Huor?” Rentor asked, agitation grinding through his tone. “Shall we invade the Dwarves? Just in case? Or is Averon more to your liking? It’s been a long time since they last went to war. Tell me, Huor. Whom do we bring the hammer of justice down upon?”

The gaunt Huor flustered. His face speckled red with embarrassment. Veins pulsed on his temples. “Cordon the area. Reinforce the border stations and bring the army to full alert. Personally, I doubt this is the work of an organized enemy, sire. The people need to be our primary concern. When word of this reaches the ears of the general public there will be panic and fear in unmanageable amounts.”

Cron gently cleared his throat, hoping to stop the argument from escalating. “Mobilizing the army can also have a negative effect, sir. We move too soon and risk giving ourselves away.”

“Smart words from the man responsible for losing two men without a battle,” Huor snapped. “You are the garrison commander for a reason.”

“Pointing fingers is hardly useful,” Codel Mres said and smiled. “This is time for us to band together, not fragment.”

“Prime Minister, when was the last time you swung a sword in battle?” Huor asked with a sharp glare lesser men shied from.

Codel’s face flushed but he refused to look away.

“Politicians make laws, not fight wars. My troops are constantly defending Thrae against raiders and insurrectionists. Most of the time this information never makes it back to Kelis Dur. Malweir is not as safe as you’d like to think, safe here in the palace. Leave the war making to the soldiers.”

“No one is arguing the diligence of your men, Huor. I, however, am questioning your reasoning for alerting the entire army,” Rentor said with a calm, steady voice. “Please don’t misdirect your ire to the Prime Minister.”

He missed, or ignored, the heated look Mres shot him.

Some of the color left Huor’s face. “Let me mobilize my men and deploy them to forward positions. Should the enemy strike again we will be in position to react.”

“Unless they attack where the army isn’t. How many of your precious civilians will perish then, General?” Mres asked.

“React is the key word, Huor,” Rentor interrupted.

All bickering ceased and eyes turned to the king.

Cron asked, “Sire?”

“I don’t intend on reacting, gentlemen.”

Huor shook his head, confused. “I don’t understand.”

Rentor offered a devious smile that only a king could get away with. “As I said, plain and simple. We’re going to force our enemy’s hand. Make him react to our plans.”

“Are you sure that is wise, sire?” Codel asked.

Rentor barked a laugh. “Who said anything about being wise? I’m going to strike and make the enemy so angry he can’t help but fight back but it will be at a time and place of our choosing, not his. Take the advantage away and make him fight on our terms.”

“I’m in,” Cron said quickly. Anything to reduce his seething sense of self-hatred since the incident at Gend. “When do we leave?”

Huor snorted.

“Not so fast,” Rentor said and held up his hand. “I’ll need my commanders here, planning the offensive. You stay in Kelis Dur.”

“They were my men, sire. Could you sit back and watch?” Cron asked, barely managing to control the anger in his voice. “Honor deserves no less.”

“Could a king sacrifice one of his top military men for petty revenge? We have all lost men, Cron. Make no mistake about what I tell you. We are at war. Thrae will have need of our combined military genius before this is done.”

“But I…”

Rentor cut him off before he could finish protesting. “Good soldiers follow orders, Captain.”

Cron clamped his mouth shut.

“Sire, perhaps you weren’t listening to your own arguments. Who exactly are we going to attack?” Codel asked.

“The hand behind the blow. We’re going to flush him out with a small group of men, make him so nervous he makes mistakes. Then we send in the army and end this foolishness. I seriously doubt we’re about to fight demons or other nonsense,” Rentor said. “More like Goblins or Trolls. Evil men at the very least.”

His piercing gaze unsettled Codel.

General Huor scratched the stubble on his chin. “This could work. Who do you have in mind?”

Rentor offered his most kingly smile. “I have the person created for such a quest and no, his name remains mine until he is well away from the capital.”

“Surely you don’t have one of us in mind,” Codel protested and instantly regretted making the remark.

“No. Not one of us. Neither do I think the enemy is patiently waiting for us to make a move. Whoever it was knew Cron was coming.”

Silence gripped the room. Rentor used the break to fill his empty goblet with white wine specially imported from Harlegor twice a year. A content sigh rushed out once the cool liquid hit his lips.

“Any more questions?” he asked.

Codel Mres and General Huor slowly shook their heads, still reeling from the unspoken implication. Cron stood with a look of utter contempt. He lacked the experience of concealing his emotions and was notorious throughout the kingdom for having a terrible temper when matters worked against him. Rentor followed suit, dwarfing everyone else in the room.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have other kingly duties to perform.”

They bowed and filed out of the private study, leaving Rentor alone among the expressionless statues and endless shelves of leather-bound books. He stared deeply into the marble face of the first king of Thrae. What he faced was insignificant to the first king. A man who faced Goblins and Trolls and won a kingdom.

“If only a sword could solve my problem,” Rentor sighed.

He retired to his private chambers and changed from the formal dress to a more subtle ensemble of leather boots, trousers, and a loose-fitting dark green shirt. The rings and necklaces went back in their box beside the heavy crown. He’d often wondered why kings needed such accoutrements
. Damned things are more cumbersome and gaudy than practical.
Leaving his shirt partially unbuttoned to enjoy the warm spring day, he took a last look in the mirror to convince himself he wasn’t old and headed out the door.

* * * * *

Grelic slept on a cot far too narrow to support his massive frame. A half-eaten tray of rations sat on the simple wooden stand beside the bed. Most of it was the rangy grey meat that didn’t look appetizing when the jailor brought it in. He’d eaten his share of rotten food over the years but even this gave him a bad feeling. Maybe if he had a flagon of ale or wine to wash it down, but that was the reason he was locked in this cell.

Breaking out was a viable option. He’d studied the walls and bars intently as soon as he sobered. The task wouldn’t prove overly difficult but that wasn’t the message he wanted to send Rentor. The first few weeks went by before his mood soured. This was the longest he’d been kept and that worried him. Even if he did escape he had no idea as to where he was. Rentor’s soldiers bound and blindfolded him before Phaes managed to protest. So the days fled with Grelic becoming more convinced Rentor’s executioners were coming for his head.

He awoke with a sigh. Warriors. He’d been one once. Spent his entire life fighting in one campaign after the other. His mother abandoned him when he was barely five years old. Winter and packs of wolves nearly saw him done but Grelic was a natural fighter. He escaped his tormentors and grew to be a giant of a man. He went east, spending years as a student in a gladiator school in Harlegor. There he learned the finer arts of weapons and unarmed combat. He left at the age of thirteen without suffering a defeat. A roving band of mercenaries took him in not long after and he continued to enjoy the spoils of victory.

He was sixteen when they went up against a patrol led by the future king of Thrae. Rentor was an unassuming soldier, barely a leader, but he was wily. The boy king disguised his caravan as a pay unit to lure the mercenaries into a trap. Grelic alone survived. Not because he ran, but because Rentor watched too many men fall under his blade. It would have been a shame to kill such a warrior. They formed an uneasy alliance. Rentor offered Grelic his life back if the giant agreed to join the army and train it how to fight. He’d even offered a steady salary. Grelic smiled at the memories.
What fool would waste the chance for a steady life doing what he enjoyed after so many years wandering
?

The army became a good home for young Grelic. He excelled in every aspect of training and soon found himself being groomed for a leadership position. With age and experience he became a man and one of the most feared combatants in northern Malweir. Unfortunately, becoming a man led to the discovery of drink and women. Grelic played as hard as he trained. His excesses became the talk of the barracks, ultimately proving his downfall. Discipline slipped and he lost everything.

Grelic slipped from his cot and stared out the small circular window at the pale sun. Great sadness filled him.

“One more day in the sun,” he whispered. “One more chance to prove my worth.”

A deep voice behind him replied, “Be careful what you wish for.”

Grelic turned. He knew the voice almost as well as his own. He looked back at Rentor. Neither blinked. Grelic showed no fear. Either Rentor had come to finally finish the job or he hadn’t. It was that simple.

“Come to do the job personally eh?” Grelic said with a smile. “I expected no less.”

“Think what you will of me but I saved your life more times than you know. For the life of me I can’t figure out why. You’ve cost me more in hospital expenses and tavern upkeep than the rest of the army combined.”

Grelic’s cheeks flushed. “You’ve no need to justify yourself to me, King Rentor. I know what I’ve done.”

“Damn you, Grelic,” Rentor cursed. “The ministers want to see you finished. They’re tired of punishing you and think having you banished or executed will send a clear message to other lawbreakers. If I could find a way to put them on the front lines of a battlefield I would. Then again I don’t care to lose a battle.”

“You mentioned about being careful what I wished for?”

Grelic wasn’t in the mood to bandy with the king. There wasn’t any point in aimless pondering or supposition for a man trapped in a dungeon with death hanging around his neck. That made the whole conversation terribly frustrating.

“You want a war, to feel the power of the blade one final time before Lord Death comes to claim you,” Rentor stated.

“I’m listening,” Grelic replied.

“I’m offering you the chance.”

“Against who?” Grelic asked, mirroring the king’s movements. “There is no war that I know of.”

“I’m trying to keep it that way.”

Grelic laughed. “By involving me?”

The king nodded. “As odd as that sounds, yes. We’re already under attack. An unknown enemy has been raiding small towns and villages outside of the protective blanket of the army.”

“You want me to find out who’s doing it and stop them?”

“More or less.”

Grelic slowly reached up and wrapped his curiously strong fingers around the slightly rusted bars. “Tell me why I should care.”

Rentor wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting but selfishness was certainly on the list. Still, he nearly walked out before realizing Grelic was testing him. “It gives you back your neck. Or perhaps you’d prefer the enjoyment of the ministers while your neck snaps after the drop. Take your pick. Go on the hunt one last time or inspect the gallows. The choice is yours.”

“Not much of a choice when you think about it,” Grelic replied without thinking. “It’s too drafty down here for me anyway. Who do I have to kill?”

“That’s what I need you to figure out. Once you get released, come to the rose gardens behind the palace. Make use of the back gates. Climb the wall if you need to. Just don’t get caught. The last thing I need is to be seen consorting with you.”

Grelic nodded, finally noticing Rentor’s casual attire. He didn’t come dressed as a king. If it weren’t for his naturally imposing stature, people might not recognize him. He wondered what game the king of Thrae played at. Grelic praised the decisions though doubted the reaction of the public once they discovered he’d set himself free.
Or is it escaped?
It didn’t take much to imagine betrayal at the end of this foolishness.

“You trust me to do this alone? What’s to keep me from grabbing a horse and heading south? I think I’ve had enough of cold winters and jail cells,” he said.

Rentor stifled a small laugh. “Don’t be absurd. No other land will take you and you know it. As for going alone, let me be perfectly honest. I think you are the best chance we have at avoiding a war. We lose if you fail. No, I’m not sending you alone. I need you but don’t trust you a lick. The others chosen will have just as much experience as you. Perhaps in different arenas but skilled nonetheless. Grelic, you and I may not see eye to eye any longer but you’re the finest warrior this land has seen in a hundred years. Thrae needs you. I need you. If ever a man had a calling it is you.”

Grelic pretended to give the matter some thought. He’d known his answer the moment Rentor gave his proposal. Truthfully he couldn’t wait to have a purpose again. Too many aimless nights were spent getting drunk and whoring. The chance to swing a blade again was almost a dream. A violent demise was something he’d planned for a long time. Rentor almost offered him one. As a youth he’d gone to see a shaman. The wizened old man confirmed he was going to die in battle.