The Dragon Hunters

by Christian Warren Freed

  The king stepped away. Fitch Iane was half a man at best, more liability than help. “You ask me to entrust the lives of every man, woman, and child in this kingdom to the will of a broken man? A difficult proposition, Father.”

  Rentor knew Seldis had reasons he wasn’t going to give. That was the monk’s way. Give just enough information to entice, leave you wanting.

  “Normally I’d caution against such a move, but here I can only ask, what does your heart say?” he finally said. A queer look crossed his face, as if he already knew the answer.

  “Grelic’s not going to like this. I hope he doesn’t kill the boy before they leave the gardens.”

  Seldis grinned. “I doubt anything so drastic. In fact, I believe Fitch and Grelic will get along just fine.”

  Rentor had his doubts. He’d seen plenty of wonders in the world, but evidence of Grelic’s kindness wasn’t one. The giant was a warrior through and through with little use for men like Fitch. Rentor wanted to laugh, knowing he had no use for broken men either. If only I weren’t king and twenty years younger.

  “One day you’re going to tell me how it is you can remain so optimistic when darkness falls around us,” he told Seldis. “More around here need your attitude.”

  Shadows crept into his memories like dust on forgotten bones. A time of reckoning was approaching.

  “It’s not difficult, once you figure life out.”

  They stood in silence for a time, staring at the tiger-patterned orchids coming into bloom. Rentor had much to think on.

  “What are they talking about?” Fitch asked quietly.

  He didn’t know, but Brother Ibram felt just as nervous, if not more, than Fitch was. Memories were slurred. Fitch barely recalled being visited by the king. In fact, he barely remembered anything of his time with the monks. How he got to the mountains was a mystery equal to why he now stood in the royal gardens of Kelis Dur.

  “I don’t know, but Father Seldis is a wise man. If anyone knows what he is doing, it’s him,” Ibram replied, hoping to instill confidence in them both.

  Fitch had already stopped paying attention and allowed his mind to wander off in the sheer amount of rare plants and trees surrounding them. Flowers of every color came into bloom, filling the gardens with almost intoxicating scents. The wonder and beauty trapped within the stone walls brightened his heart.

  “I never imagined such a place could exist this far north,” he breathed.

  Ibram agreed. “Father Seldis says there is equal beauty in all things. For myself I seldom see it.”

  He was about to say more, revealing a darker part of his character, when a giant of a man strode past. Ibram’s mouth dropped. The man was unmistakable. Everything suggested confidence and strength. Ibram stood in awe as Grelic presented himself to the king. An old fear crept back into Fitch. Flashes of demons and nightmares stabbed at him. He feared he wasn’t ready to accept the task Seldis seemed so sure of.

  “Who is he?”

  Ibram balked. “One of the greatest warriors to have ever lived.”

  Rentor appraised his guests. He hadn’t expected a young woman when Grelic demanded the right to choose his own people. She was quite attractive, though he doubted he’d want to cross blades with her. That same intensity lingered in her eyes. Grelic wouldn’t have brought her if she wasn’t dangerous.

  “I see today holds many surprises,” Rentor said. “There are a lot of people who think you’ve already fled south.”

  “I don’t run from a fight.” Grelic barred his teeth.

  “The true mark of a man,” Seldis said with just enough sarcasm to rouse Grelic’s ire.

  “You are?”

  “Of no concern for the moment,” Rentor stepped in. The last thing he needed was a murder in his gardens.

  It didn’t take long for Grelic to roll his eyes and notice the two men standing in the background. His eyes narrowed angrily. “We had a deal.”

  The king held up his hands, attempting to calm him. “The deal stands, but you need to hear me out. There are forces at work much more powerful than either of us knew. It’s going to take more than you and this girl to resolve our problems.”

  “This girl,” he ground through clenched teeth, “is worth more than fifty of your best.”

  Rentor’s skin crawled as Grelic’s entire body tensed, preparing to fight.

  “We can leave now.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Grelic,” Seldis said in his calming tone. “Times are trying enough without friends abandoning one another. Hear him out, please.”

  For reasons he couldn’t explain, Grelic almost felt compelled to listen. Odd feelings resonated off of the old man. Some whispered danger, others content. Either way, Seldis was a man to be wary of.

  “Your tongue has a strange bite, but I know when I am up against power. I will hear you out, old man, just this once.”

  They stared at each other for a moment, each testing the measure of conviction.

  “Enough of this. I let you out of prison for a reason, Grelic,” Rentor scolded.

  The giant squinted as sunlight struck his eye. “Aye, and I accepted for reasons of my own. Remember that, King.”

  Kialla had had enough of their bravado. Her words were sharp and hostile. There was business to conduct. More importantly, she wanted to know what could instill such latent fear in so many powerful people. “It is extremely rude not to introduce a lady.”

  Their banter stopped as all three men turned to Kialla. Seldis wore a charming smile, as if he’d been waiting for her. Grelic seemed at a loss for words and Rentor’s face flushed with mild discomfort.

  Grelic spoke first. “King Rentor, this is Kialla. She’s a tracker without equal and the closest friend I have. And as I said, she is worth fifty of your best.”

  Kialla curtseyed awkwardly and flashed a dazzling smile. “Sire.”

  Rentor returned the smile. She just might be more dangerous than Grelic. No doubt her tongue is as sharp as her blades. At least something is going right.

  THIRTEEN

  Deals Struck

  They stared at Father Seldis with incredulous looks. No one believed what he’d just said or how he casually mentioned the one place people in Thrae purposefully shunned. The Deadlands. Mothers warned their children of darkness and pain. Even Rentor kept his men far south of the Darkwall Mountains, the border between Thrae and the Deadlands. Ancient texts suggested Thrae once went from the Thed Mountains to the south, up past the great forest of Qail Werd and the Darkwall mountains to the edge of the Great Northern Sea. But that was before the darkness settled in the far north. Now Rentor’s patrols barely went as far as Qail Werd.

  Rentor spoke first. “Father, we all know the Deadlands are a place of growing despair, but no one has gone there in decades, at least not during my time as king. What cause is there to send men now?”

  “Some of what you speak is true. The Deadlands are void of life. No plants grow. No animals make their home in the dead forests or barren plains. As you say, I cannot recall the last time I saw the peaks of mighty Druem for myself. Evil now gathers under the great mountain because we allowed it. Our enemies know our natural reluctance to enter the Deadlands, making it the perfect place for them to build and grow strong. War is coming, King Rentor, as you accurately predicted. A war so fierce it threatens the security of all Malweir, not just Thrae.”

  Ibram felt a perverse excitement building. The war of all wars! A war unlike any other in all of Thrae’s history and he was going to be a part of it. Ibram started having delusions of being a hero. Reality shook him when he noticed Seldis glaring at him.

  “So we are going into the Deadlands?” Grelic asked. “I’ve roamed Qail Werd and even the lower foothills of the Darkwall. Many strange creatures lurk within. Some without name. I’ve also heard rumors of the Deadlands from the Pell Darga. The mountain folk warn of great evil at work in the north. If all this is true, we cannot hope to defeat it with a handful of fools.”

  Rent
or was impressed. He hadn’t expected caution out of Grelic. Maybe we have a chance after all.

  Kialla cocked her hips aggressively. “What are we waiting for? Let’s get packed and head out. There’s no point in wasting time if the monk’s predictions are accurate.”

  “I’m afraid it’s not so simple, my dear,” Seldis cautioned. “There are many forces at work here. Some for evil, others for good. We must trust to the east wind. I have seen things, images in my dreams. The Deadlands are not the place to go.”

  Grelic snorted. He grew tired of the double talk. “Then where?”

  Seldis leveled his gaze on Fitch. “The beginning. Gend holds many secrets we haven’t yet unlocked. Go to Gend. There you will find the clues to your long journey.”

  “My men tell me there is nothing left in Gend but ash and bitter memories. What secrets can there possibly be?” Rentor asked. He failed to see Seldis’s logic. “The dead are buried. Nothing remains.”

  Tears welled in Fitch’s eyes. Shar. His heart cried out. Brother Ibram saw and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder to steady him.

  “The words may sting, but I know no other way to speak them,” Rentor said after seeing the reaction they caused in the villager.

  Seldis added, “Your family has moved on to a better world, Fitch. The troubles of this one are forgotten. They await you. You will see them again when it is time.”

  Grelic shifted balance to his other leg. “This one is weak. Taking him is wrong. No matter what the monk says, he is a liability.”

  Ibram stepped forward, compelled to defend Fitch. “He’ll do his part, as will I.”

  The words, spoken from the heart, only made Grelic laugh. “Your part? There’s no need for priests on this adventure. Leave your gods behind. I need warriors.”

  Shame stung Ibram. His eyes bore the hurt and his fists were clenched in a useless gesture.

  “I agreed to let you choose certain members for this quest. You bring one. One more to stand against the potential Goblin horde you are likely to face. Or worse. Don’t argue with me on this, Grelic. Thrae is my kingdom and I have more to worry about than just your ego. Accept my will or find yourself back in irons,” Rentor threatened.

  “Fine. The monk and farmer come,” Kialla said. “But understand this, sire, my life is now affected by their deeds. I’m not about to put myself at risk if they don’t perform. I agreed to help Grelic because he is my friend. I’m not bound by oath or allegiance. If I feel I am in peril due to them I leave.”

  “Fair enough,” Rentor said, though he suspected she was the sort to stay to the bitter end.

  He watched them, studying each. There couldn’t be four more distinct people. Grelic was the veteran warrior with too much pride and experience. The combination might very well work against him. Fitch Iane was shaky at best, a broken wreck of a man who struggled for dominance of his own soul. Ibram was as close to a defrocked monk as they came and suffered from his own delusions. Rentor wondered what made a man so unhappy with his life that he was willing to throw it away for causes he didn’t understand. The only saving grace of the group was Kialla. She had a calm presence and a level head. He quietly picked her as the hinge on which success or failure depended. Rentor knew they weren’t going to be enough.

  “I’m not asking any of you to fight a war for me. All I ask is that you prevent the coming storm. If what Father Seldis says is true, there are dark times ahead. Find out who attacked Gend and report back to me. I’ll have the army ready to strike as soon as I get word. You are all that stands between peace and the sheer destruction of our way of life. I wish there was more,” Rentor said.

  “Perhaps there is,” called a youthful voice from the shadows under a stand of maple trees.

  The garden exploded with the song of steel being drawn. Rentor spun, hand instinctively reaching for the short dagger hidden in the folds of his golden robes. Grelic and Kialla already had swords drawn and were crouched in defensive postures. The king strained into the shadows and was rewarded with the slightest flicker of movement. He stepped forward.

  “That’s far enough, King.”

  A black shaft raced by Rentor and split the chest of an alabaster statue ten feet behind him. Rentor froze. His guards were too far away to be of use, knowing this was a private meeting that never officially happened. “What do you want?”

  He’d survived numerous assassination attempts in the past. None had been this close, leaving him unsure of how to proceed. Charging ahead would leave his feathered corpse on the ground just as standing helplessly would. He could hope for a distraction by Grelic or the others, though none of them seemed inclined to take the fight to the assassin.

  “I should have thought that was obvious.” There was an innocent charm in the tone.

  Rentor lowered the dagger and spread his arms. “You’ll never escape.”

  Laughter insulted him. “I got in. I’m sure getting back out won’t be a problem.”

  The shadow moved. A man stepped into view. He was dressed in form-fitting black clothes and had enough weapons to start a small war. His face was painted black, leaving only his piercing eyes exposed. And he was grinning. “Killing you is not why I’m here.”

  Rentor startled at the sound of Grelic sheathing his sword, followed closely by Kialla. His eyes narrowed, assuming the giant had turned on him. Treachery for treachery. Rentor slowly dropped his hands and waited for the stranger to make his move. The man was slender and toned. His eyes were dark, almost black, and he was not afraid. He’d broken into the palace, threatened a king’s life, and wasn’t concerned with the consequences. Impressive, or incredibly stupid.

  “Why have you come? Give me an answer good enough to let you live,” Rentor demanded.

  The man bowed. “Well said, King. Malweir needs more like you. My name is Pregen Chur. I am a master thief, part-time assassin, and all-around ladies’ man. As to why I am here in your lovely garden, ask Grelic.”

  All eyes turned on the giant, who maintained his rock-hard composure.

  “I need people I can trust. People who know how to operate with limited guidance and won’t run from a fight. Pregen works alone by nature,” Grelic answered.

  Pregen smiled brightly.

  That man has the brightest teeth I have ever seen. Rentor shook his head.

  “Relax yourself, King Rentor. He is one of the best at what he does. Do not let youth or charm beguile you. Pregen Chur is needed for this task.”

  Fitch swooned as the power of a future vision wrenched his stomach. Ibram balked at the statement. Assassins weren’t the heroes of tales. Only Father Seldis seemed unaffected by the revelation.

  “What need have I for an assassin? You are not to make contact with the enemy,” Rentor reinforced.

  Pregen bore a hurt look.

  Grelic stood his ground. “I was thinking more along the lines of thief. They come in handy in a pinch and we don’t know what we’re getting into.”

  “I don’t like this.”

  The giant smiled. “There’s nothing to like. This is war. You and I have both been there. Forced into situations against our choosing where no answer is right or wrong. The fancy dreams of monks and wizards can’t help us.” He tapped the hilt of his broadsword. “You’ve given me a want-to-be-warrior and a broken man. Fine. They’ll come along though I suspect neither will return alive. They’re not made for the kind of life you force upon them. Of course, there’s the very real chance none of us will return.”

  “These men were handpicked by Father Seldis, a man I trust above all others. If he has faith then so do I. Come. If this is to be it, so be it. Time is wasting and I would see you leave before dusk.”

  Codel Mres watched the exchange intently from his hiding place. Anger trembled through him. He felt betrayed. How dare Rentor go against the council! He resisted the urge to strike down his childhood friend here and now. Demonic voices begged for release. He screamed back at them and collapsed. When he awoke, darkness surrounded him. Fit
ting, considering how close Thrae stood to utter annihilation. Codel smiled wickedly. Rentor’s heroes didn’t stand a chance.

  Pregen Chur was the last to leave the private gardens, choosing to remain alone rather than muddle in the company of others. Too many people in one place made him nervous, stole his edge. His best work was done at night and alone. Here, in the late morning and amidst a host of strangers, Pregen was out of his element. His senses felt dulled, as if he’d forgotten a lifetime of training and rigid discipline. Still, a familiar sensation crept up his spine. Pregen turned slowly and methodically scanned the gardens. There was another person here. Watching them. He waited patiently as Minster Codel Mres stepped out of the shadows to confront him.

  * * * * *

  Grelic, the warrior: the legendary hero and part-time miscreant. He sat astride his massive horse looking down on the people who were about to follow him into doom or glory. Two were proven in the field and knew their way about the land. They’d both taken their share of lives and had extensive experience in the wild. He didn’t trust them fully, knowing both would look after self interests if things got too hairy. Grelic didn’t mind. He knew exactly where they stood. There would be no surprises.

  The other pair was going to prove problematic. Brother Ibram, now dressed in simple riding clothes, had cast aside everything he’d spent a lifetime to achieve for the vain ambition of glory. Grelic doubted he’d achieve anything worthy of song, much less remembering. History was full of fools. Fitch Iane simply shouldn’t be here. Grelic looked at the man and saw only distress. He briefly contemplated finishing the man one night and putting him to rest. A foul taste filled his mouth. The man was a coward, but for reasons Grelic couldn’t understand.

  Rentor strode up to him and stroked the horse’s neck softly. “Save this kingdom.”

  Grelic grinned, savage and demented, and kicked his horse into a trot. Rentor and Seldis watched the small party ride out into uncertainty. The old monk closed his eyes and wept. Not even his fervent prayers to Harr would be enough to save them when the dark rain finally broke.