His gaze fell on Cron and Kialla. They passed longing looks when they thought no one was looking. Grelic smiled. She was almost a daughter and he was a fine man. Grelic just wasn’t sure that their pairing was a good idea, not in their professions. Then again, death was as likely an outcome as love.
Inevitably the conversation funneled towards what was to come.
“What can we expect once we enter the forest?” Ibram asked. He’d never been this far north, leaving each day a brand new experience.
Grelic was about to answer when Dakeb cut him off.
“Qail Werd was once the greatest of the old forests. A wonder from the days when man first set foot upon these shores.”
“And now?” Kialla asked. Her long conversations with Dakeb earlier left her in no mood to listen to ceaseless banter and elaborate descriptions. She’d grown up with rumors of some dark presence lurking under the branches, deep in the heart of the old forest. No one could confirm it but everyone recognized the quiet menace.
“Now? Who can say? It’s been a lifetime since I last walked the trails of the Werd. My certainty of matters is not what it once was. Had Ipn Shal not been ruined, we could have learned of the dragon’s coming long before it happened and prepared accordingly. How he’s managed to subvert an entire kingdom so quickly is boggling. But I digress.”
He cleared his throat and took a sip of spring water. “As to what lies in Qail Werd, the usual I should think. Perhaps that is where our Goblin hunters came from, though I’d guess not. What we really need to be concerned with is the Dwim, perhaps even the Gwarmoran again. Make no mistake, whoever is behind these dark spawn attacks is very powerful, more so than any of you can imagine.”
“The sooner we meet up with Faeldrin and his band the better,” Grelic said. “We are getting too close to the Deadlands.”
“Strength in numbers?” Cron asked.
“Of a sort.”
Dakeb agreed. “Thoughts of the dragon aside, I suggest we stay away from the heart of the Werd. There is talk of a tribe of savages living in the deep woods. Hermits mostly, though I have never seen one.”
“If they exist. It could just be a clever story to keep people away,” Cron speculated.
“The signs are everywhere. Trails with no reason leading off. Partially eaten animal carcasses. Townsfolk are scared to enter.”
Ibram’s face twisted. “Could the dragon be in the forest?”
“Unlikely,” Dakeb answered. “Dragons are mountain dwellers, much like Dwarves and Goblins. Druem is the only peak large enough to house one for hundreds of leagues. No, Ibram. It is the Deadlands we must travel to.”
Grelic held up his hand. “First things first. Let’s make it to Qail Werd and then worry about the foul land. How long will it take to move through the forest providing we are unhindered?”
The Mage thought for a second. “This time of year? Five days at least. Most of the old road is gone and the sun rarely reaches the ground in late spring.”
“What old road?” Ibram asked.
His studies at the monastery were ranged, going back centuries, but he’d never heard mention of the old road. A road was just a road. To think otherwise left him confused. Surely the study of so trivial a thing was not in Harr’s best interests.
Dakeb frowned, his concentration broken. “What did they teach you at that monastery? I shall have to talk to Father Seldis when this is finished. The roads, young monk, were created after the great unification wars. The council of kings needed fast and reliable ways to move armies and supplies. Originally they were built in order to combat future uprisings from the Goblins. Engineers from across the world constructed massive roadways of polished stone. They were considered a marvel of the time and were a source of pride for all of the races.”
“What happened to them? I’ve travelled across Thrae and have never seen so much as a trace of one,” Cron said.
“A casualty of the Mage War. You see, the engineers infused magic in the stones. Not only did this save countless years and lives but it also reduced the amount of toil and physical labor. No longer did men spend lifetimes cutting into mountains. Mage fire cut out the risk and trouble. We convinced the very ground to transform for our betterment.”
He smiled fond remembrance. “Those days are no longer viable. Times are considerably darkened. We face peril from every direction and all will fall should we but stumble. I feel for each of you, for you have never known the beauty the world can provide.”
He rose and made abrupt good-nights before ambling off to find a small patch of moss to curl up on. Sleep, however, was long in coming.
Grelic decided it was past time to stretch the horses. Jabbing his heel into his great stallion, he urged the roan into full gallop. The others followed suit. Only Dakeb remained at his casual pace. He was much too old to go galloping across the world with the wind in his hair and no worries. Muttering curses to the impetus of youth, he struggled to keep up for the rest of the day.
The next few days passed without much fanfare. League after league went by at a steady pace. Shadows from Qail Werd gradually loomed across the ever-approaching horizon, dampening the overall mood. Dakeb insisted the forest was safe but no one would listen. The fourth night left them a few hours from the forest borders. At his urging, Grelic allowed a small fire. The Mage placed a ward over the camp and soon the smell of roasting meat settled over them. No one noticed the mixture of herbs Dakeb dropped into the small pot of stew. All they cared was that it filled their bellies and left them satisfied.
Dakeb was the only one to greet the dawn. He let the others sleep, knowing time was fast approaching when there’d be little rest. He looked to the breaking dawn for some dormant sign or portent. Purple and black gradually lightened to grey and then blue but he found nothing useful in the transition. Groaning inwardly, he decided the old gods must have a sardonic sense of humor. Thunderheads broke the horizon, coming down from the Darkwall Mountains. Lightning charged the atmosphere and the land took on an amber hue.
Only once before had he seen such weather at dawn. That day the winds howled and twisted so fiercely he’d never forget the screams or destruction. Whole villages were immolated by the funnel of wind angrily cast down upon them. No one knew exactly how many had died that day. The horrible images still plagued him and it was happening all over again.
He looked frantically around, feeling the sudden charge in the air. The wind stopped blowing, leaving the land encased in deathly silence. Dakeb knew there wasn’t much time. He knew from experience that rain and hail was fast coming, followed closely by the funnel. The old Mage quickly roused the others and helped break camp.
Pregen groggily wiped the crud from his eyes. The middle guard shift had been particularly brutal. “What’s the hurry? The damned forest will still be there later.”
He cringed at the sudden look of anger shot at him and held up his hands in mock defense.
“There is no time!” Dakeb spat. “We must hurry before it’s too late.”
“He’s right,” Grelic said after studying the skies. “The weather’s changing. A storm is coming.”
“More than a storm. There’s great danger. We must find shelter right now,” Dakeb insisted.
Cron finished saddling his horse. “Where exactly? There’s naught but empty plains between here and the Werd.”
“We make for Qail Werd and pray.”
“We’ll never make it in time. It’s too far,” Kialla added and climbed into the saddle.
Dakeb shook his head. “It’s the only chance we’ve got! Now ride, all of you!”
They left the unessential gear and bolted towards the ever-looming forest. The distance closed rapidly but not enough for Dakeb’s liking. He knew they weren’t going to make it. Qail Werd was almost unreachable. They’d started too late. Winds were already blowing with the force of a deep winter storm on the open sea. It started to rain, hard and punishing.
Dakeb couldn’t help but replay his previous experien
ce with this sort of storm. The air grew hotter. He almost hoped a fire was driving the winds and heat, but that was wishful thinking. They’d be hard pressed to outrun a fire, even on horseback. Nature was almost as dangerous as a Mage in its purest form. Wanton destruction traded out of callous spite. The rain hammered into them now. The stinging pelts were irritating at best, causing their share of groans and complaints. Dakeb had never been a big fan of rain before. This only made his dislike worse. Dark clouds, almost black, rolled across the horizon under a chorus of thunder. He was sure the mountaintops trembled with each clap. Lightning shredded the darkening skies, pushing closer. Time was almost up.
The winds stopped suddenly. Rain turned to hail, coming down in abusive sheets at slanted angles. The sky suddenly darkened, turning pitch black in mere moments. One of the horses screamed and bolted. Dakeb laughed at his own short sightedness. Of course! What a fool I’ve been. Fear is precisely what we need right now. He closed his eyes and began whispering an ancient incantation. An invisible blanket of fear spread from his fingertips, surrounding the already beleaguered group.
Dakeb designed the spell to only affect the horses, and it did. They whinnied and screamed in fright before taking after the first horse at speed. The old Mage held on for his life and shouted, “Run! The storm is upon us!”
With no real choice, they charged towards the forest. Nothing could stop their horses now, nothing but the funnel cloud descending less than a league behind. Dakeb hoped his actions weren’t in vain. He was convinced he had to succeed. Or no one would be left to stop Sidian. Stop him from what, he still wasn’t sure. The end of the world inched a little closer. He shook the dark images loose. There was simply no alternative to success.
A howling scream ripped across the heavens. The strange combination of wind and unabated fury dipped down like a skeletal finger. Grass, rocks, and trees were torn from the ground wherever the funnel moved. Dakeb groaned. It was heading straight for them. His fears developed so rapidly he couldn’t focus on anything else. Imminent doom was after them. Shadows closed around them as row after row of massive, overgrown trees slowed their progress. At last, they’d come to Qail Werd. Whether in time or not remained to be seen.
TWENTY-NINE
Lurking Fears
Fitch knelt in the small ditch clutching his ears. He screamed but no one could hear him. The storm drowned out every sound but its own. He wasn’t sure if the others were safe or not. His eyes were screwed shut. The protective bubble Dakeb raised was gone, effectively destroyed by the storm’s raw power. The cast of fear drained their emotions, leaving him exposed. The last thing he saw before the darkness overwhelmed him was the old Mage passing out. Fitch knew he was going to die.
Heavy winds battered Qail Werd, but the trees were ancient. Their thick roots dug deep and refused to give. They swayed back and forth; branches and leaves ripped away to fill the sky. Small rocks and clumps of hard dirt whipped into the trees like projectiles, tearing gouts of bark. The howling increased at a frenzied pace until Fitch felt his eardrums threatening to burst.
They’d ridden as deep into the Werd as possible before the tornado struck. Grelic’s earlier doubts bled away as the full force of nature’s wrath lashed out. Dakeb tried his best to protect them with what little strength he had left, but it wasn’t enough. The giant clung to a maple tree for all his life as heavy winds smashed rock and rain into him. His body was already covered in bruises and he’d be fortunate to see this through.
When the winds screamed their loudest, Ibram lost his nerve. He screamed back, afraid and angry. The former monk whispered prayers and curses to Harr in the same breath. He begged for salvation but his god remained silent. Ibram briefly considered Harr being angered by him turning his back. Perhaps leaving the Order wasn’t wise after all. He wasn’t a warrior. That cold reality slapped him in the face. He was just a man trying to live out boyhood fantasies. The stark brutality of the truth mocked him as the storm ravaged the area. Ibram closed his eyes and continued to pray.
Cron sheltered Kialla under his body. His legs were entwined with exposed tree roots for extra leverage. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hang on. His strength failed rapidly. Long years of battle and hardship left him conditioned better than most but even his strength wasn’t limitless. A large chunk of rock crushed his spine, hurting him more than he wanted to admit. It tore into his flesh. Serrated edges ripped his tunic and skin. As glad as he was to protect Kialla from the brunt, he wished it wasn’t necessary. Another rock like that and he might not make it.
As a leader he made it a habit to always put his men ahead of his own needs and desires. He felt urges and desires with Kialla he hadn’t felt since entering military service. Cron felt the urge to protect her; to keep her from harm’s way as much as possible despite the fact that she was highly capable of taking care of herself. It was a ridiculous notion that might only succeed in getting both of them killed. Cron recognized his foolishness but didn’t want to stop. A woman like that didn’t need a man in her life to take care of her.
Cron pushed down as hard as he could. There was no way he was going to let her suffer if he could prevent it. Another rock struck his shoulders and he nearly blacked out. Only Pregen seemed unaffected. The thief dug himself as far into the soft dirt as he could and pulled his heavy riding cloak up over his exposed body. Using a confiscated Goblin shield for additional cover, he tucked his chin to his chest and went to sleep.
The storm died out soon enough, much to their collective relief. Grelic was the first to stretch his sore body and assess the damage. He didn’t like what he saw. Darkness was already spreading through the Werd. Smaller trees lay scattered recklessly about. Huge branches, now mostly stripped of leaves, dangled like broken fingers. He smelled smoke from a distant fire. The forest itself was remarkably still. No birds or small animals could be seen or heard. The now familiar bad feeling stayed with him. He set it aside long enough to check on the others.
Cron tried to stand but his back seized up and left him prone. Groaning, he couldn’t move. Kialla managed to wiggle out from under him and immediately assessed his injuries.
“Hey, somebody check out the Mage! He doesn’t look too good,” Pregen called as he stifled a yawn.
Ibram and Grelic rushed to the old man’s side. Unconscious, Dakeb’s flesh had turned sickeningly pale. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. At least he was still alive. Aside from that, he wasn’t moving. Ibram wondered if it wouldn’t be better if he just gave in and passed away. They checked for injuries but found nothing. Whatever was affecting him went far beyond Grelic’s limited battlefield triage.
“Is he all right?” Fitch asked.
Lingering fear slipped back over his face like a protective cover. Grelic wondered how close he was to the breaking point.
“Damned if I know,” Grelic said and shook his head. “I’ve seen a lot of wounds. Seen men die a hundred different ways but never something like this. He doesn’t have a scratch.”
“Not compared to the rest of us,” Cron managed through the pain. Kialla had gotten him up and he let him use her for support as he tried to regain full use of his body.
“Aye.”
Kialla glanced down on the Mage. “I say we don’t move him until we know for sure what’s wrong.”
“Look around you, Kialla. We’re not in the friendliest of places. They say dark things linger in the Werd. I personally don’t want to meet one,” Pregen said and threw out his arms in an exasperated gesture.
“I’ve had enough of your bad attitude,” Kialla snapped. “No one wants to hear your bitching anymore.”
His hand reflexively lowered to his sword. “Mind your tongue, woman. We all have our opinions. This quest has been cursed since we left Kelis Dur. I say we turn back now before one or more of us get killed.”
“Turn and run? That accomplishes nothing!” Ibram fired back. “All we’d do is let them know they won. Are you ready to throw away the lives of everyone in
Thrae because you’re afraid?”
“Careful, boy, you speak words you don’t understand. This isn’t our job,” he said, turning to the group. “We’re not here to fight a war. Let the army do that.”
Cron cleared his throat. “The army isn’t even preparing for war. Our forces are frozen in the middle of a feud between the top commanders. If the enemy strikes now he will crush us. Grelic, I think there’s conspiracy at work in the city. Too many front line units have been reassigned to the outlying border posts and quiet villages out of the way.”
“What are you saying? That your very generals want us to fail?” Pregen asked. Much of the anger had burned out, leaving him deflated.
“I’m saying that there are traitors in the city. Traitors with the king’s ear. Rentor is a strong man and a good leader, but even a king may be beguiled during perilous times. Treachery roams the halls of the castle.”
“It makes sense,” Kialla agreed.
“You would say that.”
She shot Pregen a withering glare.
“She’s right,” Grelic said. “We all know that our every move has been tracked from the beginning. As secretive as Rentor was, only a handful were told. All were among his closest advisors. There must be a traitor.”
Pregen remained steadfast. “That still doesn’t prove anything.”
“Either we’re being followed or one of us is the traitor,” Fitch piped in.
They stopped their bickering and turned to stare at him. Each face ranged in emotion, from fear to amusement. Grelic had a wild flicker in his eyes.
“He’s right, and I for one would like to believe we’re being followed,” Ibram said. “Pregen, look at me. I’m no hero. I was a monk a few months ago and a poor one at best. I’ve never had to steal for my next meal or kill to stay alive. That doesn’t make me any less of a man. I’m no braver or better in battle than any of you, but I refuse to let my kingdom get destroyed when I had a real chance of saving it.”
The Dragon Hunters Page 21
