The Dragon Hunters

by Christian Warren Freed

  Unseen, Cron feathered his first arrow and drew. His breathing slowed as he sighted in on his target. Taking the wind, distance, and speed of the enemy advance into consideration, Cron pulled the string tighter and loosed. The arrow whistled through the air and struck the smaller Goblin beside the whip master. He fell dead with a gurgled cry.

  “Nice shot,” Kialla said and fired a matching shot to the opposite side.

  Cron was impressed. The Goblins recoiled as a third fell dead in only a handful of seconds. “This makes dying easier.”

  “What does?”

  He fired again. “Being next to a pretty woman.”

  Kialla blushed and killed another Goblin.

  Trapped in the middle of the killing ground, Grelic held his position. Arrows whizzed by without him blinking. Goblins were dying quickly but not enough to force their retreat. Grelic was going to have to get his hands dirty after all. He jerked his sword free and exhaled a slow, deep breath as the Goblins charged. The first scout to reach him fell in two pieces. Hot blood splashed down Grelic’s legs. A second heaved a throwing knife. Grelic ducked and swung a heavy body blow that ripped open the Goblin’s rib cage. Bones crunched and organs flopped uselessly to the ground. Dark blood frothed on the Goblin’s lips before it sank to its knees. Grelic gave his blade a twist and yanked it free.

  A third Goblin went down under a crushing blow to the head. Strands of hair clung wildly to Grelic’s face and neck as he immersed himself in the killing. His eyes were wild, stern. Goblin warriors lost faith upon seeing their reflections cast back upon them. Grelic was death. The whip master bellowed for the attack. Two more dropped with arrows in their chests. By then it was too late. The Goblin ranks crashed into Grelic.

  He met them with sword and fury. His blood boiled with rage. He swung, a short chop hacking off an arm. Grelic kicked another hard in the stomach. A barbed blade caught his right bicep, tearing a small chunk of muscle away. He winced as hot jets of pain lanced through his body. Fists slammed into him. Booted feet kicked. Grelic continued to fight despite the overwhelming numbers. He hacked and slashed. Punched and squeezed. The pile of bodies grew. Finally, the whip master had had enough and sounded the retreat.

  Eleven dead Goblins lay at Grelic’s feet. He would have smiled if he thought he had enough left to fight the rest off. Truth was, he was exhausted. A week of constantly being on the run and forced into one miserable situation after the next left him with little but his reserves. Grelic cursed himself for getting old when he wasn’t paying attention and readied himself for another charge. He figured he had enough left for one good push. After that…

  The whip master snarled and lashed out at anyone unfortunate enough to get too close. “Worthless scum! Can’t kill one man!”

  A wounded Goblin snapped back. Dark blood ran down his mangled right arm. “It was an ambush. They had archers!”

  The whip master spit venom on the bleeding soldier. “Bring up the rest of the lads. Swing around their flanks. Kill them all and bring me their heads!”

  They turned away, leaving their dead, and hurried back to the center of Gend. Grelic watched them go, knowing the battle was far from over. Goblins were vengeful creatures. He picked his way through the corpses and went to Kialla and Cron. She flashed an admonishing glare in direct contrast to Cron’s open awe.

  “They’ll come at our flanks next. Maybe behind us,” he said.

  “What were you thinking, jumping out in front of a full company of Goblin infantry? You could have been killed,” Kialla scolded.

  “I had everything under control,” he replied with a hurt look.

  She had her doubts but there wasn’t time to argue. The Goblins weren’t going to wait long before they attacked again. Kialla checked her quiver and frowned. There were only ten arrows left. Ten shots before she’d have to draw her sword, Lady Killer, and slash her way through the fray. Her heart was racing despite the calm she tried to project. Get it together. They’re just Goblins.

  No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t ignore the feeling of cold dread creeping around her inner thoughts. She felt like they were being pushed in a certain direction. The enemy seemed to drive their every action since leaving the capital. She glanced at Cron, who appeared indifferent to the situation. Frustrated and helpless, she readied for the next attack.

  Fitch listened to the sounds of the battle and cringed. Being in one was bad enough, but listening to one rage so close rattled his nerves to the point of breaking completely. The small measure of confidence instilled by Father Seldis at the monastery was waning rapidly. Childishly, he wished Grelic would just kill the Goblins and be done with it. He’d seen enough of warfare and foul magic over the last few days for three lifetimes. He failed to understand why the others seemed so absorbed by it. Violence was not a worthwhile endeavor. Did they want to be killed?

  “I don’t want to die,” he confessed between hyperventilated sobs.

  Dakeb touched his forearm reassuringly. “That isn’t up to us, Fitch. We are only here for a short time. Some will leave their marks in the annals of history. Others are remembered fondly in the hearts of those they touched. Some are only known for the evil they wrought on Malweir. That, Fitch, is why we are here now. We are the chosen to stand up to evil before it is too late.”

  He still didn’t understand. “I’m no hero, Dakeb.”

  The old Mage smiled warmly. “What does a hero look like? More often than not the men and women remembered as heroes were simple people with no such aspirations. Don’t look down on yourself. Before this quest is finished you shall find your strength. Take heart.”

  Fitch opened his mouth to reply when Grelic returned. The big man looked like death.

  “How many are there?” Dakeb asked quickly.

  “At least forty,” the giant replied. “We got a little more than a quarter of them.”

  “They appear to have taken a good piece of you as well,” Pregen called from across the open area.

  Grelic snorted a laugh. “It will take more than that to do me in, lad.” Not too much more, though. I’ve spent too much time fighting in bars instead of in the wild.

  “Now what?” Dakeb asked.

  Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Grelic answered, “We need to strengthen the flanks. The Goblins won’t come at me from the front again. Looks like it’s your turn to play, Pregen.”

  “How long do you figure?”

  A black spear struck the ground a few meters away, followed by a blood-curdling yell.

  “Now.”

  A mass of armored Goblins rounded the far corner on Pregen and immediately launched into an assault. They’d learned their lesson from delaying and gave their enemy no time to react. Coming four abreast, the Goblins bellowed ancient war cries. The first one died with a dagger in his neck. The others trampled his body beneath their boots and kept coming. Pregen grinned savagely as he watched them kill one of their own. They were making his job easier, but not enough. Soon enough the Goblins were upon them. Pregen spun and slashed, taking one by the throat and another with a deep cut to the right thigh. Black blood spurted and the Goblin clutched his leg in a fruitless attempt to stop the bleeding.

  Ibram breathed jerkily and raised his sword. A small Goblin leapt over a body and flew at Ibram. Blocking the wild thrust with his downward-turned blade, Ibram stumbled back. He managed to regain his balance and ripped the Goblin’s stomach out. Blood and entrails splashed onto his boots. A second Goblin attacked before the first fell away and drove Ibram to his knees. The ex-monk stabbed upwards and impaled his foe.

  Grelic let out a horrible roar and charged into the fight. He barely managed to bring his sword up to bat away a spear aiming for his chest. Then he struck swiftly. The sword sliced diagonally down between the Goblin’s neck and shoulder. Two others rushed forward and tackled both to the ground while Grelic’s sword was still stuck in the corpse. Hot saliva drooled onto his cheeks. Claws and teeth ripped his face and hands. Grelic managed to curl a
hand around one of the Goblin’s throats and squeezed. The Goblin sputtered and gasped as life fled. Using the dead Goblin as a shield, Grelic shoved the second off and stabbed him in the heart with his own dagger. The giant rolled to his knees and took a deep breath.

  A quick look at the battle left him with improved spirits. Pregen was hacking and slashing his way through the Goblins with the skill and precision of a fencing master. This was the first Grelic had actually witnessed the thief in action and he was suitably impressed. He showed finesse the giant lacked. Grelic preferred to crush through his enemies with brute force. Grace and flare were for men afraid to get their hands dirty. Still, Pregen was holding his own against a foe with no such compunctions.

  Ibram managed to get back on his feet. His swings were wild and misdirected. A momentous waste of energy. If Grelic or the others didn’t come to his aid soon the man was going to die under a swarm of more aggressive foes. The Goblins sensed it as well and hung just out of his reach. All they needed was a moment’s distraction and a spear in his belly.

  “Grelic, over here!”

  The giant spun in time to see Dakeb plunge a borrowed sword through a leaping Goblin’s chest. Kialla and Cron were nowhere in sight, meaning they seriously misjudged the Goblin numbers. A bad feeling entertained him as he tried to decide who to help. One would live, the other would die. Then he saw the Goblin whip master. Larger and more ferocious than the common Goblin foot soldier, whip masters were cruelest of the species. Fitch Iane stood directly in his path. Hope sank.

  Uttering foul curses, the whip master backhanded Fitch unconscious and broke their line of defense. Tightening the grip on his sword, Grelic hurried to face him. The whip lashed out and struck his across the ribs. Cold, black eyes stared hungrily back at him. Even in their extreme darkness Grelic found amusement twinkling back. The whip master was taunting him.

  Grelic charged. Reaching behind his back, the whip master drew his own blade. They met in a fury of strength and steel. Sparks showered from the force of impact. Grelic recognized that he was outmatched from the beginning. He quickly found himself reeling backwards, parrying blow after blow. Then it happened. He tripped on a small rock and fell. The Goblin howled with delight.

  “Scum. It’s the knife for you,” he spat.

  The whip master raised his barbed sword high above his head for the killing blow. Grelic kicked with all of his might, catching the Goblin in the knee and ripping tendons and shattering bone. The whip master bellowed in pain and buckled. His sword fell away, giving Grelic the opportunity to snatch his dagger and land on top of the prone Goblin before he could roll away. He plunged the dagger deep into the whip master’s chest, killing him in one stroke.

  Nearby Goblins saw their leader fall and lost faith. Others renewed their attack, breaking any hope Grelic had of smashing their spirits. This was going to be a fight to the death. He heard the sudden thunder of many hooves but ignored it, thinking the sound an illusion caused from too much action on the battlefield.

  Arrows suddenly filled the sky. Several Goblins dropped after the first salvo. More white-feathered arrows continued to rain down, unerringly striking only Goblins. Grelic thanked whatever god had sent them rescue and ducked low just in case. Cloaked horsemen broke through the defensive line. Halberds and spears slammed into the confused Goblins. The enemy finally broke and fled back towards the opposite side of Gend. War horses trampled them underfoot. Dark blood flew in thick ropes. Bones snapped and broke. Grelic watched a rider spear a Goblin through the back with enough force to propel it through his chest and into the bole of a tree.

  The lead rider, his face masked, pointed his sword at the fleeing Goblins and yelled, “Let none escape! Stop them before they can report to their masters!”

  Riders thundered through Gend. Grelic kneeled to wipe the blood and gore from his sword and dagger. Exhaustion ate at him. Combined with blood loss, it was all he could do just to stay on his feet.

  “Greetings, Grelic of Kressel Tine,” the leader said after reigning in beside him. “I am Faeldrin of the Aeldruin.”

  Grelic smiled weakly and passed out. There wasn’t even time to figure out how the Elf knew his name.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  War Council

  Rentor sat in the royal meeting chamber with a dissatisfied glare that he seemed to have more of lately. His red robes of state stood out against the pale backdrop of aged furniture and brass lamps. There’d been no word from Grelic since leaving Kelis Dur and that bothered him more than he was willing to admit to the others. It left his hands bound. He couldn’t act until he knew who his enemy was and where to direct his army. His enemy, whoever it may be, had him right where they wanted him. Helpless.

  His adopted council sat opposite of him. Father Seldis had quickly turned into one of his staunchest allies, offering wisdom and advice from a completely different perspective. Rentor often found their conversations lasting into the early hours of the morning. A fact not lost on Codel Mres. The king found it refreshing to get another point of view on matters. Too often the politicians wrapped themselves up in their affairs so tightly it was almost impossible to find reality.

  He mused that this was where his suddenly strained relations with Codel stemmed from. He loved his boyhood friend like a brother, but there was a disconcerting feeling coming from him. He had grown darker somehow. Rentor passed a fleeting glance at his friend, not liking what he saw. Codel’s flesh was particularly pale, giving him a cadaverous appearance. His cheeks were gaunt. His eyes were sunken with heavy, dark bags circling them. He was skinnier than normal and increasingly difficult to talk to. Rentor also noticed how Seldis constantly studied the man.

  “They’re late,” Codel hissed.

  Any trace of his original cheer and good humor was gone. He’d turned bitter over the last few months. Rentor wondered whether it was because of the impending war they all knew was coming or something much darker. Evil was at work in Thrae, but where? And through whom? Until Rentor had those answers he was helpless to react.

  Seldis passively turned his head towards the minister. “Patience. The army is your greatest asset right now. The generals have much to do in order to ensure Thrae is properly defended. They will be here.”

  “I have no doubt of that, monk,” Codel spat back. “When they’re summoned to an audience with the king it would be in their best interests to hasten!”

  Both men jumped at the sound of a heavy fist slamming into the polished teak tabletop. “Damnation, Codel! I am the king. Do you hear me whining? They’re our first line of defense. Would you alienate the army before the war begins?”

  Rebuked, Codel sank back into his red-cushioned chair. “Of course not, sire. Forgive me. Times are particularly stressful of late.”

  “For all of us. I agree with Father Seldis. Patience is required if we are to discover the truth behind all of this and focus our defense.”

  “Even with the lives of every man, woman, and child in Thrae at risk?” he asked. There was no mistaking the condescending tone.

  Rentor stiffened. “Especially for that reason. I’m unwilling to commit my forces in the wrong direction without careful thought. The enemy knows what we’re doing. How or why I do not yet know. Until I can be sure of absolute intelligence, the army stays put.”

  Codel fell silent. The embroidered dragon on his right breast almost flared to life in the flickering firelight. Rentor eyed him suspiciously. He’d never understood his friend’s fascination with dragons or other mythical beasts. Codel had been obsessed with tales and written stories of Goblins and wizards since they were small children. Whereas Rentor was content playing the heroic knight complete with wooden sword, Codel pretended to have magical powers.

  The study door opened and General Huor walked in with a blustered look. His cheeks were wind burned and weathered. A steel edge tinted his eyes as he marched up to the king. He bore the look of a man with a foul taste in his mouth. Soldiers often joked when he was out of sight about his lac
k of humor and severely limited personality. The Iron Legions of Thrae viewed their commanding officer unfavorably, a fact not lost on the king.

  “Sire,” he said gruffly.

  “Huor, please be seated,” Rentor replied.

  Codel shot the general a disgusted look.

  Rentor ignored the barb and began, “I trust matters are progressing according to schedule, such as it is.”

  “As well as can be expected. Some of our scouts have not returned but the majority have nothing significant to report.”

  Seldis and Rentor exchanged the same warded glance. The enemy might be inadvertently tipping his hand.

  “Which areas haven’t reported back?” asked the king.

  Huor unrolled a small scroll from his tunic pocket and studied it a moment before answering. “Mostly from the area surrounding Vorshir Lake. There are two still not returned from the plains south of Qail Werd as well.”

  Qail Werd. The great northern forest separating the Darkwall Mountains from southern Thrae. The forest was older than any of the current kingdoms of men, perhaps other races as well. Many great and horrible secrets were kept beneath the thick, double canopy. Rumors of Elves and a dozen other races dwelling within circulated the academic realm though none could say for certain. Qail Werd spanned the length of the mountains, taking several days to cross. Few dared to enter, mostly due to the proximity to the Deadlands.

  “Do we know where Grelic and his people are?” he asked Seldis.

  The monk quickly replied, “Somewhere around Gend. I have not been able to sense them for some time. It is almost as if my senses are being blocked, but by what I don’t know.”

  “Are they still alive at least?”

  “Yes, from everything I can tell.”

  The king leaned back and let out a long, deep sigh of relief. “Then we still have hope.”