by C. L. Werner
‘He used the Fang,’ Rudol stated. ‘He knows how it works firsthand. I have been learning all that he knows, but it is always possible that he is holding something back. The nearer we draw to the dragon, the less keen our prisoner will be to keep things from me. After all, whatever happens to us will happen to him as well.’
Rudol stood upright in his saddle, stretching a claw-like hand forward at the darkening twilight. ‘On the horizon!’ he shouted. Visible in the distance was an expanse of jagged hills and low mountains. The creature they were looking for was there, Rudol could sense it. Since gaining possession of the Fell Fang, he found that his geas spell had persisted, now attuning itself to the monster bound to the artefact’s power. Just as he had been drawn to the Fang, so now the Fang was drawn to the dragon. ‘The Massif Orcal! We will find our dragon there!’
Brunner rose from the path, wiping the mud from his breeches before climbing back into Fiend’s saddle. There was no question about it, the men they were hunting had turned south. It made little sense, he knew these men were in the service of Augustine de Chegney. By rights they should be heading east, toward the Grey Mountains and the viscount’s domain. Instead they had turned toward the Massif Orcal. There could be only one reason: the wizard was running the show now. And the bounty hunter had a very bad feeling he also knew why Rudol might be so interested in the mountains. It had been several days since they had last seen any sign of the dragon, no new pillars of smoke rising from cremated towns and villages. Ithilweil had offered the possibility that Malok was resting, waiting until the Fang goaded him into activity once more. It was a theory that fit all of the facts, and every tale he had ever heard regarding dragons claimed they preferred to make their lairs in the mountains.
‘They are heading for the mountains,’ Brunner told his companions.
Ulgrin’s face lit up and he grinned beneath his beard. ‘Good! Should prove easy to ambush them then!’ The dwarf rubbed his hands in anticipation of a swift conclusion to the hunt. His enthusiasm dimmed when he saw that he was the only one pleased by the news.
‘The wizard.’ Ithilweil said. ‘He must know where Malok has gone. With the Fell Fang in his grasp, there are spells he can use to divine the location of the dragon’s lair.’
Ulgrin spat into the dirt. ‘Well, that collapses the shaft then! There’s no way we can go up against a dragon and a mad wizard!’
Brunner shook his head. ‘Maybe we won’t have to. If the dragon is sleeping, we might not need to worry about it.’
‘Which just leaves us with a mad wizard to deal with!’ Ulgrin protested. ‘And even if the dragon is sleeping, all this Rudol lunatic needs to do is blow on that damn elf whistle and the thing will be down on us like a cave fly on filth!’
‘We’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t get the chance to use it,’ Brunner told his fellow bounty hunter. ‘But if your courage has deserted you, then Ithilweil and myself will see this thing through.’
‘Are you saying this wench has more stomach than I do?’ Ulgrin growled. Before the dwarf could continue his tirade, the person in question span around in her saddle, looking back down the road they had been travelling upon. Ithilweil’s eyes scanned the darkness, her ears listening to the sounds of night. Brunner and Ulgrin both became silent, watching the elf with keen interest.
‘What do you see?’ Brunner asked at last, his pistol in his hand.
‘Nothing.’ Ithilweil admitted. ‘But I heard something, a rider, some distance away. And there is a foul scent on the wind.’ She looked straight into the bounty hunter’s face. ‘A smell of death.’
‘The vampire.’ Ulgrin groaned. ‘We can’t fight a dragon and a mad wizard and a vampire!’ he exclaimed, ticking each adversary off on his fingers.
‘No, we can’t.’ agreed Brunner, dropping back down to the surface of the road. He strode over to his packhorse and removed a torch from one of the sacks fixed to its harness. ‘So why don’t we see if we can’t persuade our friend back there to join our side.’
Sir Corbus strode out from the night like some nightmare visitation. The vampire was, if anything, even more foul in appearance than he had been when he had attacked the bounty hunters’ camp. The monster’s face was still scarred and mangled from the salt Brunner had cast into it and the bullet that had broken its jaw. Great gaping holes in the monster’s flesh showed where carrion crows had been at work and the putrid ruin of the vampire’s destroyed eye was missing entirely now, leaving his socket an empty pit. The vampire knight led a tired-looking draft horse, a hastily secured replacement for the animal he had lost following his fall from the cliff.
Brunner stood his ground in the centre of the roadway, waiting for the vampire. In one hand he held a lit torch, the other was closed about a clay jar filled with lamp oil. Some legends held that vampires could be destroyed by fire. The bounty hunter earnestly hoped that Corbus had heard the same legends.
Ithilweil and Ulgrin were hidden behind the trees. The elf had slipped into the trance-like state that characterised her enchantments, already working to disorient the vampire’s mind with her spellcraft. Beside her, Ulgrin stared down the barrel of his thunderer, a double charge of powder and an extra load of shot crammed down its barrel. The dwarf was determined that Corbus would not shrug off his next shot so easily.
The vampire glared about him, his broken face twisting into a sneer as his unnatural vision easily spotted the dwarf and elf hiding off the road. Then the Blood Dragon turned his attention back to the man facing him. The wolf-like fangs glistened in the flickering light cast by Brunner’s torch.
‘I had expected you to keep on running like the craven cur you are,’ Corbus hissed. ‘This will make things much easier.’
‘I wanted to speak with you,’ Brunner told the monster. ‘I have a proposition to discuss.’
‘Keep your lies to yourself!’ the vampire snarled. ‘I’ve already had a taste of your treachery!’ Corbus waved an armoured hand before the ruin of his face. ‘Nothing you have to say will keep me from my vengeance!’
‘Then revenge means more to you than finding the dragon?’ Brunner asked. It was a dangerous gamble, to weigh this creature’s fury and hate against his need for drinking the blood of a dragon and purging himself of the curse that ran through his polluted veins. But, as the vampire heard his words, Brunner could see the indecision shining out from his eye, see some of the ferocity drain from the vampire’s body. Good, the bounty hunter thought, I have his interest.
‘I can find the man who carries the Fell Fang on my own,’ Corbus growled. ‘I don’t need you.’
‘But you do,’ Brunner corrected him. ‘The man who stole the Fell Fang isn’t alone. There are others with him.’
‘One or twenty, no man can stand against me!’ the vampire knight boasted.
Given the horrendous toll he had taken from Marimund’s enemies in Mousillon, Brunner was somewhat inclined to give Corbus the benefit of the doubt.
‘One of them is a wizard,’ the bounty hunter informed Corbus. This seemed to deflate a bit of the vampire’s self-assurance. Even a creature like him was ill-at-ease around sorcerers and had a healthy dread of the unnatural powers such men could call upon.
‘How can I trust you to honour any truce we make?’ Corbus demanded, his voice dripping with suspicion.
‘Because I have no desire to face a wizard either,’ Brunner confessed. ‘And he has allies now. I’d rather balance the scales a bit more in my favour.’
The bounty hunter could see the vampire considering his proposal. ‘All I want is the bandit; the dragon is your affair,’ Brunner told Corbus. ‘If the wizard wins out, then neither of us will get what he wants.’
‘There is still a score to settle between you and I,’ the vampire warned.
‘It can wait until the wizard is dead,’ Brunner promised, his tone as menacing as that of the vampire.
Corbus considered his words, then nodded his head.
‘You have my oath.’ Corbus told hi
m. ‘Until the wizard is dead,’ he added.
Even with the vampire’s oath, Brunner maintained his caution. ‘They are heading for the Massif Orcal,’ Brunner informed Corbus. ‘They are sticking to the main road, but there are other paths I know of that might allow us to reach the mountains before them.’
The vampire nodded his head. ‘Then I shall continue to follow your trail,’ he said.
Corbus turned his horse around, walking the animal back into the darkness. ‘I shall meet with you an hour after sunset until our agreement has run its course,’ the Blood Dragon stated. ‘Look for me in the night.’
Brunner kept his eyes fixed on the vampire’s back as the creature withdrew. His every instinct cried out for him to destroy the foul, loathsome creature, to oppose it with every ounce of his strength. But the bounty hunter had learned long ago to subdue his instincts. As long as the monster was useful, he would continue to make use of it.
The sound of Ithilweil and Ulgrin emerging from their hiding places caused Brunner to turn.
‘I still say that this is a dangerous thing you contemplate.’ Ithilweil told the bounty hunter. ‘Corbus is determined to kill you. A creature like that does not change its ways.’
‘Yes,’ Brunner agreed, ‘but at least our intention to kill each other is out in the open. No surprises there. Better than watching our backs all the way to the mountains waiting for him to strike.’
Ulgrin began unloading his rifle, dumping the powder onto an old blanket so he could return the explosive to his powder horn. The dwarf looked up from his labour, ‘Just so long as that bloodsucker knows I’m not splitting the reward with him!’
Sir Thierswind removed his helmet, staring with thinly disguised anxiety at the masses of craggy rock looming up on every side. The Massif Orcal was a barren, desolate place, a blighted region almost devoid of life. Scraggly pines clung to some of the upper heights, and equally sickly-looking brambles crept about the lower slopes, vainly trying to wrest moisture from the thin layer of soil that powdered the rocks. This was a miserable region, shunned by the men of Bretonnia. There was no game to be hunted here, no mineral wealth to be wrested from the mountains, no fertile land to claim and build upon. Only orcs and goblins called this place home, foul remnants of the once great hordes that had been scoured from the lands of Bretonnia during the founding of the kingdom. The ruined battlements of old watchtowers and keeps built long ago to guard against the threat of greenskins sometimes loomed into view, slowly crumbling away upon some distant hilltop, forlorn reminders of a time when the goblins could still sometimes muster great armies to despoil the lands of Quenelles and Bastonne. Indeed, the path upon which the wizard led his allies was too even and regular to be any accident. Thierswind guessed that they travelled upon the remains of an old road built to facilitate the movement of troops between the watchtowers.
There had been no sign of life since entering the mountains. Not a bird or beast made its appearance known to the riders; the only sound that disturbed the silence was the ever present clop of their horses’ hooves. Thierswind would almost have welcomed the shrill war cry of a goblin or the bull-like bellow of an orc, but whatever had frightened the animals seemed to have likewise kept the greenskins in their caves.
It was growing dark once more when Thierswind noticed the smell—the thick, cloying, acrid musk that permeated the air. It was the same smell that had clung to the lands the dragon had despoiled, the scent of the old wyrm’s scaly body.
Rudol looked over at the knight, reading the apprehension in the warrior’s face. ‘Yes, it’s close now,’ he told him. ‘Ready your torches,’
Rudol called to the other soldiers. ‘We ride until we find the wyrm!’ The wizard’s words did little to encourage the men, who grumbled fearfully but made no move to obey. The brief flash of energy crackling within Rudol’s eyes, however, lent the men-at-arms a certain eagerness and vigour in producing flaming brands to light their way. None of them had forgotten the ghastly and unnatural death of the bandit Hubolt.
They rode onwards for several hours, following the narrow road as it wound its way between the jagged rocks, through the windswept valleys that slithered in the shadows of the mountains. With every step, the unease of man and beast alike began to build. Men muttered to themselves, holding holy icons close to their hearts. Horses snorted and refused to advance until spurs were dug into their flanks. Only Rudol seemed oblivious to the growing aura of dread, his face lit by an expression of feverish anticipation that caused all who gazed upon him to cringe.
At last, the narrow road opened into a broader expanse. Thierswind could see similar roads emerging from several other valleys to merge before a stretch of land as flat and featureless as a tabletop. The flat stretch was bordered on three sides by craggy mountains, and on the fourth by a deep chasm nearly a hundred yards wide. Beyond the chasm, the road continued, rising across a small hill and disappearing over its top. The chasm itself was spanned by a narrow bridge, just wide enough for two horsemen to ride across side by side. Thierswind knew that no human hand had ever built the span. It was too delicate, too wisp-like, to have been crafted by the same race that had produced the ponderous castles and fortresses of Bretonnia. The knight had seen the bridge leading into the city of Parravon, which was reputed to have been built by elves, and the span he now gazed upon reminded him of that one.
‘Across the bridge,’ Rudol said. ‘What we are looking for is on the other side.’ Given the degree to which the musky stench of the dragon had increased, Thierswind was inclined to believe the wizard’s statement. Rudol looked over to the man-at-arms holding the reins of Gobineau’s horse. The wizard leaned close, sneering into the outlaw’s face.
‘Perhaps there is something you’d like to say?’ Rudol asked. Gobineau shook his head, eyes wide with fear. The wizard withdrew. ‘Keep him close,’ he ordered the soldier. ‘I want him near me at all times.’
The passage across the bridge was an especially unpleasant one. The drop was prodigious. One of the soldiers had flung his torch into the abyss to test its depth and the light had been a long time in reaching the bottom. Thierswind imagined that its end might lie at the very roots of the world. It was a possibility the knight did not like to dwell upon. He was thankful when Mannsleib rose into the night sky, the pale moon bathing the ruinous landscape in soft silver light, allowing him to make out the road ahead in greater detail. He could already see Rudol and the foremost of the men-at-arms on the far side. The wizard was pointing angrily back the way they had come. Thierswind looked back over his shoulder, surprised to see four riders emerging from one of the valleys. The knight cursed: whatever mischief the newcomers might portend, there was nothing he could do about it until he gained the other side, the bridge being far too narrow to turn around on.
The knight was nearly the last of his party to reach the far side. Looking back across the chasm, Thierswind could see that the newcomers were already on the bridge and making their way across. He looked over at Rudol. The man’s face was twisted into an angry scowl.
‘The bounty hunter thinks to meddle in my affairs again!’ Rudol spat. His stormy eyes fixed upon Thierswind’s. ‘Cut that scum down!’ the wizard ordered. Thierswind nodded, removing his great helm from where it was tied to his saddle and settling it over his head.
The prospect of battle, far from agitating the knight, had a profoundly calming effect. Dragons, wizards and hoary old artefacts were things beyond Thierswind’s understanding. Sharp steel and spilled blood were arenas of knowledge in which he was far more comfortable. He would dismiss the unease, the doubt and fear that had been plaguing him with the blood of these interlopers, whoever they were.
Thierswind led his soldiers back onto the bridge, moving with such haste as they dared muster to meet their foes. The knight had always found combat to be an invigorating experience, a purifying ritual that purged soul and mind. He felt his confidence swell. Was he not a champion of Augustine de Chegney, the most feared lord in the Grey Mo
untains? Had he not been tried by the fires of battle time and again and always emerged victorious? When he returned from dealing with this rabble, it would be time to remind Rudol that a wizard was just as human as anyone else and that two feet of steel would spill his guts like any other man.
Brunner watched the soldiers return to the bridge, galloping across the narrow span with as much speed as they dared. The bounty hunters fist closed about the hilt of Drakesmalice, his knuckles whitening beneath his gloves. He recognised the colours these men wore, the heraldry that belonged to Viscount Augustine de Chegney. More, he recognised the bull-horned helm of the knight riding at the forefront of the soldiers. Sir Thierswind. It had been at the end of another life that Brunner had last laid eyes on the knight. Now it was time to settle that score and send de Chegney’s dog to yap at the gates of Morr’s dark realm.
Beside him, the vampire knight Sir Corbus grinned with the ghastly ruin of his face. For the vampire, battle was the only thing left of his former life, the only way he could experience again what it was like to truly be alive. Brunner could sense the eagerness boiling within the monster as Corbus drew his sword.
‘The knight is mine,’ Brunner cautioned the vampire. Corbus gave the bounty hunter a savage look. ‘Consider it a term to our agreement,’ the bounty hunter added in a voice too chill to brook argument. Perhaps there was still enough humanity left within the vampire to remember what it was like to feel honest human hate.
Corbus gave Brunner a grim nod, then put the spurs to his steed, charging forward at a reckless speed. Brunner hissed a command into Fiend’s ear, urging his own horse to keep pace with the vampire.
