“Considering how little we know of these smaller races it makes sense,” Cron said. “I don’t think Rentor knows they live in his kingdom.”
“Some things are best kept quiet. If Rentor doesn’t know, chances are his enemies don’t either. Think of the potential damage the dark Mage can do should he learn of the secret kingdom of Malg.”
“I’m thinking more along the lines of how much the strength of the Minotaurs can help us. The Goblins wouldn’t stand a chance,” Cron admitted. “Of course there is still the dragon to deal with but that’s why you’re here.”
Don’t put too much faith in me. I still don’t know the extent of my strength. There are still areas I have yet to be tested. “Thorsus and his kind wouldn’t be welcomed or accepted in Kelis Dur.”
“Do you think it would come to that?” Cron asked.
He’d been wrestling with thoughts of anarchy and chaos running rampant across Thrae as the war came closer. Those visions seemed ever closer the further they plowed into the mystery of the Deadlands. Life used to be simple. He was one of the highest ranking officers in Kelis Dur and never thought to spend long hours wondering over what might or might not happen should the kingdom be invaded. Everything changed that fateful day in Gend. Cron found himself in a world he didn’t understand. Political intrigue and positioning were as alien as the Minotaurs. He didn’t have the stomach for games on any level. This thinly disguised disdain put him in contempt of his superiors. He almost decided to return to the city and lead the defenses. The part that bothered him the most was the prospect of having to fight his friends.
“The future holds too many variables. Even I can’t discern it,” Dakeb said. “Always fluid and difficult to control. Men often suffer from the fallacy of thinking fate and destiny are within their ability to control. If only they knew the truth.”
“The truth? Surely men have some measure of control. You can’t expect me to believe that all we do is for nothing. Our actions shape the future,” Cron argued.
Dakeb fought to keep his grin from spreading. It had been decades since he and Seldis had a thought-provoking conversation like this. “Only to a minor extent. Do you think what we do today is going to have impact on whether it rains tomorrow?”
“That’s the weather, Dakeb. We don’t control that.”
“Why not?”
“It is too vast. We don’t decide if it’s going to rain any more than when the wind blows or the ground trembles.”
Dakeb nodded. “So the Dwarves mining in the deep earth have nothing to do with provoking a quake?”
“Of course not. How can a pick and hammer shake the world?” Cron replied.
“How can what we do today shape the world in the grand schemes of time? If you kill a man today, tomorrow you know you’ll be a fugitive. That much is easily rectifiable. Don’t kill anyone. But the scheme of things is another matter altogether. Who in Thrae remembers what it was like one thousand years ago?”
“You contradict yourself, my friend,” Cron smiled. “One moment you say we can’t do that and the next you give an example of how much we have affected our destiny.”
“Therein lies the dilemma. Think how easily it would be for men to make their own future in a preordained path! What troubles or life-shaping experiences could there possibly be without some measure of freedom? The old gods would be usurped from their heavens and wicked men might reign.” Seeing the confusion building in Cron’s eyes, the old Mage let out an exaggerated sigh. “I don’t pretend to fully understand myself. Perhaps if the gods wanted us to understand we’d be gods ourselves. Imagine how bad off we’d be!”
Cron chuckled. “All Malweir would be on its head. I believe I’m more confused now than when we first started this conversation.”
“You definitely have the makings of a future Mage if so,” Dakeb replied.
They looked up because of an unexpected snarl from Krek. Finally, the edges of Qail Werd lay before them.
“Many tracks,” the scout announced, pointing left and right.
Grelic rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Too damned confusing to follow.”
“That’s a lot of tracks,” Kialla added. “It’ll be almost impossible to figure out which ones are the ones we need to follow.”
“That’s why they did this. Our Elves know their business. Goblins aren’t very smart to begin with. This will just make it harder for them to figure out our intent.”
Cron stared at the hoof prints, hoping to make some sense of it all. Even his keen eyes and natural instincts proved useless. The Elves were indeed good. “What do we do now? There’s no point trying to look for them. Do we sit and wait?”
A crisp breeze tousled Grelic’s hair. After days in the musty confines of the once great Werd, the fresh air felt invigorating. He longed to ride his stallion over the open fields again. The thought grew so strong he nearly forgot his current situation. “I don’t think waiting for them is going to be much of a problem.”
“What makes you say that?” Pregen asked suspiciously. The surrounding area was calm, almost supernaturally still.
The giant’s gaze focused on a copse of ash trees.
“Because we’ve been waiting for you for quite some time, Master Chur,” Euorn’s voice called out from behind them.
The Aeldruin had been true to their word.
THIRTY-NINE
Betrayal
Three men stood in the empty storage room in one of Kelis Dur’s garrison barracks. Each bore somber expressions foretelling of the horrible chain of events they were about to initiate. Yet for all of their desire and inert malevolence, none could bring it upon themselves to gaze upon their fellow conspirators. Only one, hidden behind the shadows of his hood, bothered regarding the others. And, though they couldn’t see his eyes, each felt the intense hatred burning.
“Is everything in order?” the Hooded Man asked in a gravelly voice.
Codel Mres flinched despite his bravest attempt not to. “Yes, m’lord. King Rentor has no idea what is about to happen. I have taken care of everything, just like you ordered.”
The oppressive hood shifted to the overweight general standing to his right. Evil managed to manifest itself in so simple a thing as the turn of his head. The lone torch attached to the far wall flickered without any wind. The room was cold, almost freezing. “General, how long before your forces can secure the city?”
Huor bobbed his head nervously. “They are. I have units positioned strategically across this part of Thrae to push in and seize control of the major cities as soon as the current government is removed. All we need is the word to begin.”
“You’re sure Rentor suspects nothing? There can be no room for failure. Operations under Druem are proceeding well. Soon the crystal shall be mine.”
Codel managed a brief look at his master. “What of Thrae? You promised me this kingdom.”
Shadows gathered menacingly around the Hooded Man, making him look larger, more menacing. “You dare question me? Remember who makes this fanciful dream of yours reality. You mean nothing to me, Codel Mres, traitor-son. I’ve seen hundreds of leaders and would-be kings come and go like so many passing seasons. For all of your scheming and selfish thoughts, history won’t even recall your name. The one goal of this endeavor is the shard. Nothing else matters. Speak to me again and I shall crush the air from your lungs.”
“Yes, m’lord,” Codel whimpered.
The Hooded Man turned back to Huor. “The hour is almost upon us. As soon as I take control of the king, send your army into the city and enforce martial law. Kill any that get in your way.”
Huor bowed meekly. “But m’lord, how do you plan on removing Rentor? The might of the military is easily subverted but his palace guards are loyal to the death.”
“Then we will give them what they want. Let me worry about Rentor. My minions are already at work. Be ready by dawn.”
Not giving them room for further conversation, the Hooded Man gathered his robes and disappeared in t
he shadows. General Huor and Codel stood staring at the empty corner where he’d been.
“I don’t like this,” Codel whined. “Too much can still go wrong and I think he’s going to replace me the moment this coup is ended.”
Huor scowled. Thoughts of replacing the sniveling bureaucrat before it got that far delighted him. “Pull yourself together, Minister, or I’ll run you through myself. We have a job to do and you falling apart like a child is not conducive to our success. You started this mess, now buck up and see it through.”
Part of him strongly desired to see Rentor dragged before his people and beheaded like a common criminal. The only thing missing would be the complete and utter humiliation of Cron. The one man in all of Thrae who successfully managed to inadvertently thwart all of his plans time and again. Every single instance where his people were in position to make a bid for power ended with Cron countering. Huor hated the man more than anything and desperately wanted him dead.
Codel stared back at him as if he’d just been stabbed.
“Go back to your gilded halls and prance about until we’re given the go-ahead,” Huor ordered.
“Where are you going?” Codel asked.
“To the encampment just north of the city.” Huor stormed off, leaving the once best friend to the king standing alone with naught but suspicions and doubts. He wondered how much longer it was going to be until Lord Death came to claim him. Codel started to sweat. His skin, once crisp brown from the sun, had taken on a pale, waxy sheen. Fear kept him from sleeping. He barely ate and hadn’t enjoyed a woman in months. Codel Mres felt as if he was slowly slipping away.
Surely Rentor had to doubt him. Everything he’d done, right down to the way he behaved, was embarrassing and telltale. Rentor had to know. He had to. Deeply engaged in his compounding misery, he never noticed the tiny shadow of a bat spread its wings and flutter away through a slender crack in the ceiling.
* * * * *
Drifting over the tiled rooftops of Kelis Dur, partially hidden behind thin wisps of clouds and the ever-darkening landscape, flew the little bat. Normally such a night was filled with snatching bugs from the sky. But not this night. This night the bat was tasked with much too important of a job. Large predators soared through the night. Unhindered, the bat spiraled down towards an open window with the warm glow of candlelight filling the frame.
Father Seldis sat beside a gentle fire drinking from a decanter of mulled wine. His eyes were sore and bloodshot. The nerves in his right hand twitched the way they always did when he’d strained too much. His eyes drifted closed. Seldis hadn’t realized just how exhausted he was. The last few days had put a terrible strain on him. Not much longer now and I can finally rest.
He could almost see his friends through the haze of distant memories. All of them were smiling, but seemed sad. Seldis frowned. That shouldn’t be. His memories were from before the breaking. Long before the darkness of that terrible war. Occasionally he spent time thinking of what he could have done differently to change things for the better. It was pointless and never ceased to further his depression and guilt.
Seldis suffered from two agonizing secrets. The first he’d managed to conceal for over three hundred years. Though he was fairly certain Rentor had guessed, and that being only recently, less than a handful knew he was a Mage. Or perhaps it was proper to think of himself as a former Mage. Seldis had turned his back on the order when the idea of creating the crystal of Tol Shere was approved. Years later, he continued to regret his decision to leave. As a result, he suffered from massive depression. That was his second and most damaging secret. One he’d been battling for so long, he almost looked forward to the coming struggle.
The bat drifted through the window, circled the fire once to ease away some of the midnight chill, and settled on Seldis’s outstretched palm. The Mage smiled softly and brought the creature close to his face. He listened intently to the confusion of chirps and squawks as the bat told what it had seen. It was a tale he didn’t want to hear but no less than he expected. Mixed emotions collided as he thanked the bat and bid it on its way. The hour was growing late and there was still much to do before he could rest.
* * * * *
The halls of the royal palace of Kelis Dur appeared more like a morgue to the king. Rentor paced down the faded marble floors like a predator through the jungle. His massive frame stalked slowly, each step deliberate and calculated. Hands clasped behind his back, he watched the moonlight streak through the ten-foot-high windows lining both sides of the main hall. The atmosphere was haunting, surreal. He wasn’t a superstitious man, but dark dreams scarred his nights of late.
Ghosts walked in his nightmare landscapes. His father and grandfather scolded him from the grave. There was shame in what was happening around him and they made no efforts to hide his displeasure. Condemning and accusing, the admonishment of his forefathers stung. Rentor slowly felt his world being ripped away. He’d lost any notion he once had of ruling with a firm yet gentle hand. Current situations weren’t going to allow for it. Too much had already been lost because he’d been blind to the dealing of his own court. Now, decades after they became the closest of friends, Codel Mres was coming to kill him.
Laughter suddenly filled the hall, deep and troubling. No, Codel doesn’t have the nerve for killing. He’s a snake. He recalled how his one-time friend retched half the night after a gruesome skirmish with Dwarven axe throwers. Rentor had lost that fight but had earned the respect of his opponents. Dwarves were notorious for their love of ale and deep sense of honor. That honor kept the growing bonds of friendship between their two kingdoms since the war ended.
Codel Mres, however, was a man without honor. He didn’t dare do his own dirty work. Not here in the king’s own lair. No. If it was coming soon, and Rentor was certain of it, it would be assassins. Rentor slowly thanked Grelic for taking Pregen Chur on his crusade. Thoughts of the assassin chilled him. Death stalked the shadows whenever that man came near. The thought of the drunken giant brought him mixed emotions as well. There was no great love lost between them, but deep down Rentor knew Grelic was a good man. He wondered if they would ever have become friends if they’d been allowed more time. Surely the quest was dead by now. He hadn’t heard word of their progress in over a month and Rentor seriously doubted he had much time left.
Determination gripped him. It was time to prepare. He’d already sent the queen away, off to visit one of her cousins in Averon. Naturally she’d fought and protested the entire way. He expected nothing less. Still, much of his heart was ripped away when her carriage finally disappeared across the horizon. He had come to rely on her strength and dispatched wisdom more than he wanted to admit. He could deal with dying in the name of his kingdom but would never be able to live if anything ever happened to her.
Rentor strode into his dressing room with newfound clarity. It felt good to strap on his sword again. He didn’t enjoy killing, though he had no qualms when the situation warranted it. He debated putting on his armor. An assassin would expect such and find other ways to kill him. Realistically, a good assassin could kill him without ever being seen. If he was going to die he wanted everyone to know that he was the king of Thrae.
“Sire, you have a visitor waiting in your private study,” a royal guardsman said as soon as Rentor emerged from his chambers.
That’s the trouble with being king. Everyone wants all of your time. He wished he had time to take the queen on a proper vacation. Somewhere nice and arguably perfect. Matters were too severe to allow the dream a chance to grow. The only way he was going to get a vacation was by surviving the next couple of nights and crushing the coming coup. He sighed. An idea of his guest was slowly forming.
“What does he want?” he asked.
The guard swallowed. “He wouldn’t say, sire. He kept calling me a damned fool for wasting his time and to go and get you before it was too late.”
Rentor bit back a snort, his suspicions confirmed. “Tell me, Nilas, how did you fe
el being dressed down by an ancient?”
Nilas flushed slightly before answering. “Can’t say as that I particularly enjoyed it much, sire. I’d a mind to knock some manners into him though. Probably would have if he wasn’t a senior and asking to speak directly to you.”
One of the first things Rentor did when hiring his guardsmen was find out as much as he could about their lives. Nilas was a good man who’d scraped his way out of a meager existence in a farming community with no name. He grew to be a solid soldier and a friend to the aging king. The second thing Rentor did, made easier by accomplishing the first, was encourage his guards to speak their minds. Albeit with a certain modicum of respect, especially in public. That special bond of trust proved extraordinarily successful. So much so that lesser nobles adopted the same policy.
Rentor slapped Nilas on the shoulder. “That sounds about right. Be careful with the senior comments, though. In case you hadn’t noticed, my hair is just as grey.”
He gestured for Nilas to continue down the hall. Chuckling softly, the royal guardsman obeyed. Rentor immediately resumed his apprehensive posture. He scanned the passage as if it were a gauntlet into an enemy stronghold. Even the shadows were his enemy now. Men like Pregen Chur were uncommon, but enough to get the job done when it came down to it. Thrae wasn’t a large kingdom, making it next impossible to go into hiding. A man could lose himself for a lifetime in Harlegor or Antheneon.
“Begging your pardon, sire, but why are you wearing all that armor for? Some of the boys might start thinking you don’t trust us to protect you right.”
Nilas also scanned the shadows.
“Suppose something happens to you. I’d never be able to live with myself if I didn’t do what I can to help. Besides, I’m not going to let the likes of you rogues have all of the fun.”
“Fun as it may be, that’s our job,” Nilas said matter-of-factly.
The Dragon Hunters Page 29
