“What really troubles you?” he asked suddenly.
She frowned, that feeling he already knew nagging at her, but she humored him anyway. “Everything. We’re getting further into this quest and no one is bonding. I’ve been on shorter, less complicated jobs with more cohesion. Even after two attacks by creatures that should not exist we’re still at odds. It feels hopeless.”
Dakeb paused, taking a moment to look around their tiny campsite. “I can see your point but you needn’t worry so. Sometimes it takes great tragedy to bring people together. Other times all it takes is patience and understanding. Not even the order of Mages had easy beginnings.”
Considering how that order ended, she failed to find comfort. “Do we have that much time, I wonder?”
Dakeb only smiled in response.
They rode for the rest of the day. Fitch started drawing in to himself as old hunting grounds and deer trails became familiar. Gend wasn’t far off. Just a few more hours, he assured them. A few more hours until he returned to his nightmares and the place where he left his wife to die. His confidence, what little that managed to scrape itself back together over the last few weeks, waned. He doubted he had the strength needed to see what remained of his home or the sun-bleached bones of Shar. Ghosts and nightmares waited to welcome him home.
Grelic reigned to a stop at dusk. After the events in Eline and the forest road he wasn’t willing to risk their lives further by entering the village at night. Especially before the moonrise. Fitch couldn’t have been happier. He had no desire to rush into his past, though part of him subconsciously wished to get it over with under the cover of darkness. He eagerly went about collecting wood and kindling while the others saw to the horses and patrolled the perimeter. Normally Grelic wouldn’t have allowed a fire. They were in enemy territory as far as he was concerned and needed to treat every action as if it might give their presence away.
Grelic snatched up Pregen and they struck out into the lightly forested area to search for fresh meat. Thoughts of a nice rabbit stew entertained the giant as he fondly remembered what the Mage had done for them after the battle. He frowned. Dakeb troubled him. The Mage’s sudden appearance bothered him deeply, leaving him with a growing sense of foreboding. Something very bad was coming their way. He figured he might as well have a full stomach to meet it.
Giant and assassin returned with smiles and hands full. Three large rabbits were skinned and quartered before being dropped into the already bubbling broth hanging over the fire. That night the group slept soundly. Grelic volunteered for the first guard shift, allowing the others a few more hours of rest while he tried to work out all of the pieces in an ever-deepening puzzle. When Ibram came to relieve him, the big man didn’t say a word.
After a quick breakfast consisting of leftover stew, they broke camp and headed out. Dakeb cautioned before they got very far. Grelic seconded the warning. He kept them riding in a loose wedge similar to ranging cavalry units looking for the enemy. Fitch returned to the point.
The villager was surprised to find much of his old fears miniscule, almost casual. It was as if he wanted to head home, as if it were an inescapable conclusion. Father Seldis helped ease the suffering, working his mind in ways Fitch would never understand. Logically the only way for him to let go of the past was by returning to Gend and confronting his deepest fears.
They ran across the first burned-out hut an hour later. What remained was barely a meter high and covered with creeping vines. Gend died weeks ago yet a sickly, burnt smell permeated the air. Dark powers were at work to keep the world from reclaiming what had once been pristine wilderness.
“This was Lemis’s place,” Fitch told them. He’d known Lemis but never called the man a friend. Lemis was the village hermit: a crotchety old man who hated near everything and had no problem letting folks know it.
Grelic made out the curled bones of a hand jutting from the rubble. “What’s the safest route into Gend?”
Fitch didn’t understand. Gend was dead. There was no safe route. “What difference does it make? Everyone is dead.”
The giant resisted the urge to strike him. “Which way can we get into Gend without being seen?”
“Down the creek bed and around the small mountain on the eastern road. None of the roads run near it,” Fitch said after a moment.
Grelic grunted and forged ahead.
“Are you sure you are ready for this?” Dakeb asked Fitch quietly.
He shrugged. “What choice do I have? I’m already home. It’s too late to turn back.”
“Remember your faith, Fitch,” said the Mage.
Confidence slightly bolstered, Fitch hurried to catch up to Grelic. The big man passed him a queer look but kept riding.
“I used to play in these woods growing up. My father taught me how to hunt here.” He wasn’t sure why, but he felt compelled to explain himself.
“You’ve got no need to explain, lad,” Grelic replied. “We all need memories just for ourselves. Keep them locked away. Take strength from them when dark times strike.”
He ducked under a thick oak branch spanning the game trail they started following. Fitch exhaled, feeling relieved at Grelic’s acceptance.
“How many people lived here?”
“Just a few hundred. We were never a large village, but everyone knew each other and there were never any major troubles.”
Grelic nodded. “I grew up in a village much the same. A long, long time ago.”
Fitch found it difficult to believe he and the warrior had anything in common. They lived in such vastly different worlds. Fitch was a simple hunter with limited aspirations. Grelic was renowned across Malweir as a great warrior. What commonality could they possibly share? He decided to hold the question for another time.
Grelic didn’t wait for another question. He much preferred a direct approach to issues or problems. “Fitch, I’m not going to lie to you. What you’re about to go through is beyond me. I’ve never had to experience a deed so foul.”
“You haven’t? But you’ve been in countless battles,” Fitch blurted out.
“All my life, aye. I’ve buried more friends than you’ve got people in your village but I’ve never seen anything comparable to what you endured. War is an easy task. Fight and live or fight and die. That’s it. Losing all you know is much worse.”
“I had a wife,” Fitch told him.
“I know.”
They formed up in a line at the edge of Gend. Here the stench was far worse than at Lemis’s. Dakeb frowned. He couldn’t be certain but he felt as if he knew the underlying spell that kept the land rancid. The problem gnawed at him, distracting him from what needed to be done. So much lately reminded him of the days following the Mage War.
Kialla, crossbow in hand, was the first to break cover and move into Gend. Her eyes danced over the blackened ground as she urged her mount into a trot. Snorting disapproval, her horse obeyed. Kialla tensed, expecting that initial startled cry to alert the other foul creatures lurking in the ruins. Yet for all of her appearances, she was remarkably calm. A disciple of the sword, she was in her element.
She gained the first set of ruins without incident. The smell turned her stomach. She almost threw up several times until she finally couldn’t stand it any longer and covered her face with an old cloth. Reaching down, she gave her horse a reassuring pat on the neck and then motioned the others forward.
“What do you think?” Grelic asked after pulling up alongside her.
She shook her head. “Too hard to tell. There are too many tracks and they’re going in every direction. But look here, these are made by men.”
Grelic stared down at the footprints. The human ones didn’t bother him nearly so much as the scores of hobnailed boot prints trampled over the top of them. “Goblins.”
“And worse. Those were made by Gwarmoran. I think this was more than a mere raid. Something sinister is at work here, Grelic.”
He looked around, hoping for more solid information.
Broken spears stuck in the ground. Axe heads and a few swords and rusting daggers lay scattered randomly. The villagers managed to put up a small fight. Hardly worth the effort in all actuality.
“They were searching for something,” he concluded.
“But what?”
An uneasy feeling bothered him. “I don’t know. Push through to the far side of the village. We can figure out what happened once Gend is secure.”
They moved quickly, despite the hampering lack of experience from Fitch and Ibram. Dakeb rode in to the village center and waited. Vermillion traces of magic lighted his fingertips. He closed his eyes and extended his senses across the immediate area. The heavy smell continued to bother him. A sudden disturbance, so faint it hardly registered, made him open his eyes. Dakeb spied the flicker of movement off to the right. He loosed a bolt of Mage fire. The explosion threw the lurker to the ground, where he rolled a few times to put out the hungry flames before regaining his feet and running for the safety of the trees.
“Grelic!” Dakeb shouted.
The giant emerged from behind a pile of rubble and charged.
“Don’t kill him. We might be able to find out what happened!” the Mage shouted over the thunder of hooves.
He spurred his horse on, following Pregen and Kialla. Their quarry stumbled and almost fell. Grelic was already on him. Using the ruined buildings for cover, he evaded pursuit long enough to reach the trees. Both he and Grelic knew once the chase went into the forest it was all but over. A crossbow bolt zipped past, striking the bole of a maple tree near the man’s head.
“Damnation,” Grelic cursed.
The man didn’t pause to look back but dashed into the trees. Grelic knew he only had one chance. Ducking right, he jabbed his heel into his horse’s flank. They leapt over fallen trees, wheeled sharply around moss-covered boulders, and came up in front of their prey. Grelic slid to the ground and drew his steel.
“Drop your weapon and raise your hands,” he ordered gruffly.
The man gently lowered his sword to the last of autumn’s leaves and did as he was instructed. He lowered his hood and looked Grelic squarely in the eye. Shock rippled across the Grelic’s face. He knew this man!
TWENTY-ONE
Old Friends
“You scared the wits out of me,” Cron said after drinking deeply from Grelic’s canteen.
The big man agreed. “You’re lucky we didn’t kill you. The gods know we’ve been attacked enough along the way already not to take chances.”
“Damned near did. Between that crossbow bolt and whoever shot that fire at me I was close enough to death,” Cron replied with an uneasy voice. “Just what was that fire anyway? I’ve never seen the like.”
“That would be mine,” Dakeb interrupted. “I sometimes forget my own powers. Too many years of privilege leaves me slightly delusional. My name is Dakeb.”
Cron balked, instantly recognizing the name of one of Malweir’s last remaining Mages. “When did you find such impressive friends, Grelic? The last I heard, you were up for a hanging in one of Rentor’s private prisons.”
“Sign of the times, lad. I’m not the one to turn down help. Not his kind leastwise.”
The others joined them by Gend’s ruined fountain in the old village center. Cron’s initial assessment lowered considerably. He recognized Pregen Chur, though by a different name. Wanted posters of the thief were plastered throughout Kelis Dur. Cron shifted his gaze to the fragile man standing next to the obvious monk. He wasn’t sure if Grelic or King Rentor chose those for the quest, but any optimism he had was slipping into despair. He was about to say so when one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen rode up.
Cron was stunned. He’d never seen someone so gorgeous and was at odds trying to figure out why she was slumming with this motley assortment of characters. The boldness in her eyes enamored him the moment her gaze dropped on him. Perhaps Grelic had better taste than he’d taken the big man for. Either way, the desire to strike out on his own was dying. Grelic’s voice brought him back to reality.
“What exactly brings you out here? And alone. This isn’t the nicest place to find a captain of Thrae by himself.”
The others crowded around the soldier to hear his tale. Grelic was more interested in his intentions.
“I was the one who led the patrol here once we learned of the attack. Nothing happened until two of my men were abducted. Their heads were delivered back to Kelis Dur shortly after I gave up the search. I begged, pleaded, and argued with the king to let me come back with a larger force. He said no. I decided to go against his wishes and come back on my own. I needed to know what happened to my men.”
“A deserter,” Pregen jabbed.
Cron shot a vehement glare. “Short words for a common criminal. I’m doing my duty to Thrae, thief. Why are you here?”
“Cron is a captain of Kelis Dur,” Grelic intervened before matters grew heated. “The youngest ever chosen. You’d do well to remember that, Pregen.”
The thief offered a soured look and fell silent as Grelic went about making introductions. He’d already made up his mind by the time it finished. Cron was an incredible asset, one he’d sorely need if there was any hope of surviving what was coming. The others were decent enough people but weak. They were the oddest group of adventurers he’d ever been a part of. Yet the entire kingdom of Thrae depended on them.
“I came here for revenge and to get answers,” Cron admitted. “But now I believe I’m in over my head. There are signs and tracks of creatures I have no knowledge of. And now you show up in the company of a Mage. I’m thinking I’d be safer if I joined you.”
Grelic listened emotionlessly. “I hear your words, Cron. You are a sure sword and honorable heart, but I warn you. We face more spawn of darkness than you could ever imagine possible.”
“I thought King Rentor hired you for reconnaissance?”
“Aye,” confirmed Grelic.
Pregen stared Cron dead in the eye. “I’m sure he thought so as well.”
Cron held his retort. “You’re not telling me everything.”
“We’re not sure what to tell,” Kialla said.
To him her voice sounded like birds singing in early twilight. Cron didn’t know what it was about her but she had strength he recognized. Even through streaks of dirt and sweat her high cheekbones beckoned.
Dakeb interrupted his lust with a quick slap on the knee. “The tale is long in telling but I’m almost positive it gets worse. Is that not so, Captain?”
“Speak plainly, Mage,” Grelic asked. Dakeb’s seemingly directionless babble continued to infuriate him.
“Very well, though I don’t think this is the place for such conversation. I’ve finally figured out what this stench is.”
Silence fell across them as they waited for Dakeb to continue. Obvious enjoyment painted on his face, he smiled.
“There are unusual amounts of sulfur and brimstone in the air. There is but one creature on Malweir capable of doing this. Fitch, do you remember seeing anything in the skies that night?”
Fitch sat quietly, unwilling to revisit his pain. Too often his nights were filled with the hollow echo of screams and ghostly figures storming through the mist and smoke. Demons. Fire. His eyes widened from sudden shock.
“I remember fire raining down from the sky.”
Unable to stand it, he rose and walked off.
Ibram started to follow but Dakeb stopped him.
“Let him be, Ibram. He needs to face his own demons. He’ll return when he’s ready.”
“The fires,” Kialla reminded.
Dakeb smiled again. “Yes. The fires. The only creature on Malweir capable of doing this is a dragon. Nothing else is so powerful. It must be one of the great wyrms.”
Eyes popped open. Mouths dropped. Going up against Goblins or even Gwarmoran was one thing. A dragon was something far, far worse. Pregen shifted nervously. He’d never fancied himself a particularly brave man. Facing down a dragon was not
on his list of things to do. Doubts started growing. He considered leaving in the night and returning to his meager life.
“Are you sure? No one recalls the last time a dragon was seen in this part of the world,” Grelic said.
“A dragon didn’t kill my men, unless you know of one skilled enough to decapitate,” Cron added.
“No,” Dakeb replied. “Those murders were done by Goblins.”
“This doesn’t make sense,” Kialla said. “What would a dragon want with Thrae?”
The Mage offered a thoughtful look. “A good question. I fear there is more going on we don’t yet know. Something sinister brews in Thrae.”
“Not for me,” Pregen finally said. “I didn’t come here to hunt dragons or any of the other monsters that have been hounding us since we left Kelis Dur. I’m being paid to find out what happened and report back to the king. Nothing more, Grelic.”
“No one has decided anything yet,” Grelic warned.
“Sounds they have to me.”
Kialla fumed. “He’s right and you know it. We can’t fight a dragon! If the Mage wants to risk his life against a dragon so be it. I say we leave now. We have our answers. Let’s go tell Rentor and collect our pay.”
“That won’t solve anything. King Rentor will know but to what ends? There’s nothing any army has that’s capable of slaying one of the great wyrms,” Cron said.
Pregen snorted. “And we do?”
“We have a Mage,” Grelic added.
“What are you saying?” Kialla asked.
A gust of wind blew hair in Grelic’s face. “We’ve reached the crossroads. Aye, it’s true we did our job and the king specifically forbade us from taking further action. Rentor doesn’t know about the dragon. A beast that strong can drive Thrae to her knees. The gods seemed to send Dakeb to us for a reason. I say that reason is to find this dragon and tame it.”
“That is…a hard choice,” Dakeb commented.
The Dragon Hunters Page 15