The Dragon Hunters

by Christian Warren Freed

  “What job is that?”

  Nilas looked up at him. “To get hurt in your place. Seems to me that’s the whole reason for a royal guard. Every last one of us knows we might need to die for you, sire. And every last one of us is willing to do so. You go and have your meeting, sire. Me and the boys will be just fine.”

  “There are times when I envy you,” Rentor said with a heavy heart.

  Nilas looked shocked. “Why would you say that, sire? You’re the ruler of a whole kingdom and can get anything you want. Why would you want to trade with a mere guard?”

  “I’m not so sure I can explain. Let’s just say you have infinite more freedoms than a king will ever know. I’m trapped, Nilas. Trapped by politicians and simpering bureaucrats with no ideations other than their own success. There are times I can’t even use the privy without being accosted. My entire day is dedicated to others.”

  The guardsman nodded understandingly. “Just like us, sire. Least you get to tell people what to do. We just do it. Here we are. He’s inside.”

  Nilas stepped aside and bowed. They’d all been told a hundred times over that when alone with the king there was no need to stand on protocol. Still, most of the guards respected Rentor enough to continue doing it.

  “Thank you, Nilas. I’ll remember to scold him for you.”

  “No need for that, sire. I’ll be right out here just in case.”

  Rentor smiled and opened the aged wooden door. A small fire took away the late night chill. Flickering lights illuminated rows of books and the lone man resting comfortably in Rentor’s personal chair. The king eased into the chamber and closed the door behind him. This was the one room in the palace he felt totally at ease in. As if nothing bad could touch him. He was about to greet Seldis when the door suddenly burst apart. Splinters and shrapnel sprayed into the room, Nilas’s head rolling in with them.

  Rentor drew his sword and bellowed, “Seldis, get down!”

  Then the demons came.

  FORTY

  Sacrifice

  Rentor recoiled as a pair of undead creatures burst into the study. Both secreted rage. Their laughter was the hissing of snakes. The king knew he wasn’t leaving this room alive as he stared into the blackness of their eyes and saw only pain. They’d been hu once, long ago, but had been twisted and broken until only a ruined waste of flesh remained. Almost wooden skin and long, rakish nails silently threatened him. Nilas’s dead eyes gazed up in horror, forever etched. The guard never stood a chance. Rentor decided he didn’t have much of one either.

  Blue fire exploded from behind him, quickly engulfing the study with ungodly brightness. The Dwim hesitated. They sensed death approaching. A low chant accompanied the flames. It was a language they’d heard too many times during the transformation process from woman to undead. The tongue of the Mages. The Dwim had but one hope for survival: attack.

  Rentor brought up his sword. He’d never seen the likes of these demons and had no knowledge of how to fight them. It didn’t take much to imagine being ripped apart by their claws. He let out a bellow from the pit of his stomach and charged. The Dwim laughed mockingly. Rentor was in mid-swing when Seldis slipped in front of him. The old man’s eyes had rolled up white and his palms were upturned. Sounds so alien Rentor doubted they were words escaped Seldis’s lips. The king struggled with the instinct to push the crazy old man to safety even as he recognized the coming assault. Rentor dropped back.

  The Dwim were frozen. Their muscles strained for freedom. Their claws, once so vicious, hung limply at their sides. They let out a bloodcurdling wail. Rentor heard the pain in their cries and watched as ice formed over their bodies. The blue light burned brighter, forcing him to look away. The Dwim were not so fortunate.

  Accustomed to darkness, the Dwim had sensitive eyes. The light burned away the protective film, eating through the corneas and deep into the nerve stems. Slowly the light dimmed. When Rentor was able to look on the scene, he was both shocked and more than a little terrified. Seldis had stopped chanting and stood limply. The room was silent. The Dwim had been turned to ice, frozen solid.

  “How did you do that?” Rentor asked in disbelief.

  Seldis ignored him. “Quickly, Rentor, strike before the spell wears off.”

  Rentor raised his sword and stood before his would-be assassins, studying them carefully. They were abominations. Twisted perversions of life still watching him through ruined eyes. Enraged that they should attack him in the sanctity of his own castle, Rentor took two powerful strokes to shatter the Dwim into thousands of pieces. He was still breathing hard when he turned back to Seldis.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Seldis tried to nod but sharp pain lancing through his forehead stopped him. “I’ll be fine. I’m just not as young as I used to be.”

  Rentor helped him to his feet and over to the cushioned chair. He then poured two glasses of water from the slightly chilled pitcher on the table against the far wall and offered one to his friend. Seldis accepted it and drained it in one swallow. With nothing more he could do for his friend, Rentor hesitantly collected Nilas’s head and closed his eyes.

  “You were a damned good man,” he whispered to the mangled body in the doorway. “For what it’s worth, I’d still trade places with you. Be at peace, my friend. I shall miss you.”

  The moonlight cascading through the much smaller windows had a haunting feel. Rentor couldn’t place his finger on it but knew that all was not right.

  “There’s not much time,” Seldis called.

  Leaving his murdered guardsman, Rentor went back to the study. He finished his own water and eyed Seldis carefully. The old man looked fragile and weak. “Seldis, what is going on here? I’ve been expecting Codel to turn on me but not even he has command of such foul creatures.”

  Seldis, patriarch of the Order of Harr, opened his tired eyes. “This is not the doing of Codel Mres. This goes much deeper and infinitely more devious than anything his limited mind is capable of. Rentor, your childhood friend has thrown in with the last of the dark Mages.”

  “That’s impossible. Everyone knows the Mages were destroyed centuries ago,” Rentor protested.

  Seldis’s eyes opened wide. “Do they? That’s what people were led to believe. We thought it was safer that way. Mages were extremely unpopular after the war and the few of us left alive decided to go into hiding. Some of us took up honorable positions across the land. Others became wanderers, doing good deeds whenever they were needed. It was our darkest hour, yet we managed to make the most of it. Now all of that seems to be coming undone.”

  “You keep saying ‘we,’” Rentor said slowly. His mind raced towards improbable outcomes.

  Seldis frowned. Out of everything I said, you pick out that. Interesting. “Yes I did. I am one of the last Mages in Malweir, though I haven’t used that title in a long time.”

  “I don’t understand any of this.”

  “I quit the order due to certain disagreements and decided it was best that I made a quaint existence in a forgotten kingdom. Little did I know it would come to this.”

  Rentor’s eyebrows pinched together. His head hurt. “Seldis, I’m confused about a great many things. How do you still know magic if you haven’t used it in so long?”

  “It is a gift. We are born with it and were close to discovering the origins of magic when the war began. What else bothers you?”

  “If there is a dark Mage on the loose, why would you want to keep it a secret? Shouldn’t the people be warned in case of another war? I don’t like the idea of what might happen because no one was warned.”

  “Do you really believe telling people accomplishes anything? I’ve seen what happens when public knowledge overtakes a kingdom. Panic. Mass hysteria will sweep the land. It’ll start slowly enough, in one village or the next. Let news of the dark Mage spread and his reputation alone will kill hundreds. Bad men and wicked beings will be drawn to him and soon he’d have an army to begin his war anew. I’ll not
see such days revisited. The dark Mage is pure evil and must be stopped. Quietly,” he said, stressing the last part.

  “My people are already being killed, Seldis. How many more need to die before word of this gets out?” Rage was building. He suddenly felt like he was being used.

  “As many as necessary,” Seldis said agonizingly. “You have no idea what it was like the first time. The very breaking of the world was upon us. The dark Mage isn’t concerned with Thrae. He’s after a much greater prize.”

  Rentor kicked at a piece of melting ice next to his foot. “The presence of these demons suggests otherwise.”

  “The Dwim. I’d thought that dark art was lost forever. Only a handful knew the spells necessary to create such. We’d thought they were all killed. Confronting the Dwim here in Kelis Dur means our enemy is stronger than Dakeb or I thought.”

  “How many more are there?” Rentor asked.

  Seldis shook his head. “I don’t know. The dark Mage and Codel Mres aren’t stupid. He knows Mres isn’t strong enough to get the job done by himself. The more Dwim he sends, the easier it will be to subjugate Thrae after the insurrection.”

  “You said he didn’t want my kingdom,” Rentor countered.

  “I said he’s not concerned with it. Make no mistake, he’s a madman intent on the ruination of the world. Thrae is but the beginning. You’ve heard the rumors of him moving in the east, deep in the land of Gren. If he succeeds here he’ll use Mres as a puppet government loyal only to him. Rentor, we have to keep him from stealing the throne. This isn’t his main effort but the dangers are twofold. General Huor is ready to march against the throne. All he awaits is the news of your death to place Kelis Dur under martial law.”

  “Staying alive seems to be more problematic of late. What will it take to stop the Dwim?” he asked.

  “Your sword is going to have to suffice. I don’t have the strength left for much more. You must brief your guards,” Seldis said.

  “Nilas was supposed to go and rouse the others.” He looked at the Mage smugly. “I suppose we’ll have to do that now.”

  “Then let us hope we don’t encounter many more along the way,” Seldis grimly said while staring at the melting pieces across the floor.

  “That’s the plan. Are you well enough to move?”

  Seldis nodded. “Better now than later.”

  With Rentor in the lead, the unlikely pair eased through the shattered doorway and down the hall. The blood had stopped flowing, leaving thick pools on the marble floor. They gingerly stepped around the pools. Seldis clutched his turquoise robes and lifted them off the ground so as not to get them dirty. Thin clouds rolled in, concealing the soft moonlight.

  “I don’t like this,” Seldis whispered.

  What he really wanted to say was they were moving too slowly. Opportunities for the enemy to strike grew with each passing moment and there were no places to hide if need be. On the other hand, there were no places for assassins to hide, either. Aside from the Dwim, the odds were fairly even. That didn’t prevent him from having a nagging suspicion.

  He decided to speak to ease his own nerves. “The Dwim have no love of light. Some theorize even moonlight hurts them.”

  “What do you think?”

  “No one has seen one since the war. I’m not sure what to think. How much further to the guardroom?”

  Slowly poking his head around the corner to make sure it was safe, Rentor said, “Down the hall and to the right. There’s about twenty of my best on duty at all times.”

  I certainly hope they’re your best. You’ll need them before this night is done. “We’d best hurry before more come.”

  Rentor could have laughed if the situation weren’t so dire. They shuffled down the hall with the Mage leaning on him for support. A waxy sheen covered the old man’s flesh. His breathing had grown shallow. Rentor was fairly certain the old man was going to die from heart failure long before they met the Dwim again. He went as easy as he could, considering everything that stood against them. The relative security of the guardroom was still a hundred meters away.

  His boots echoed with authority down the halls in stark comparison to the slippers Seldis wore. Rentor was reminded of a fawn traipsing through the forest. Suddenly he heard running. A faint hiss in the night. His heart froze. It was already too late. The enemy was almost on their heels. Seldis shrugged free and turned to meet them. His strength was fading quickly and Rentor needed all the time he could get if there was any hope for the future. The Dwim hissed their pleasure and slowed to a crawl. Four of the creatures spread out and crawled closer.

  Rentor ground to a halt as soon as he felt Seldis’s weight leave. Eyes wide in shock and horror, he turned to watch his old friend amble towards instant death. What are you doing? The guards are so close! Seldis offered him a final glance. He was sorry for a great many things. Close to five hundred years old, the Mage was tired and ready to move on. How refreshing it will feel to enter the next life. This world has grown very old to me. His sacrifice planned, there was no better time. He only hoped he had enough strength left to fight off the Dwim long enough for Rentor to escape.

  “Go,” he told the king.

  Rentor gave a curt nod and raced towards the guardroom. His calls for aid echoed down the hall. Guardsmen poured from their ready room with weapons in hand.

  Colorless lightning danced from Seldis’s fingertips. His wicked gaze fixed on the Dwim, Seldis forced them to hesitate. There wasn’t supposed to be such a dangerous foe in Thrae. Created for the sole purpose of murder, the Dwim were cold and decidedly calculating. They were smart enough to realize the presence of a magic user meant the consequences outweighed the projected results.

  “Come on then,” Seldis said. “Let us see who walks away from this night.”

  The lead Dwim lunged. His attack was low, aiming to take out the Mage’s knees. Seldis lashed out simultaneously. Bolts of blue lightning burst from his fingers to strike the Dwim in the face and chest. There was a brief moment of resistance before the monster’s leathery skin caught fire. It fell screaming. Smoke poured from its mouth and its fingers and toes burned like torches. An ungodly cry filled the hall.

  For a moment only Seldis thought he caught the faint tones of a woman’s cries. The genetic manipulation died before he was able to decide for sure. He knew the Dwim were once human. Killing them was the smallest kindness. The other three paused, reconsidering their attack. Seldis took a step forward, intending on continuing his assault, but his body had had enough. He sank to his knees, breathing hard. The Dwim attacked with renewed vigor.

  They forgot the king or his family. Bloodlust stirred in their hollow hearts. They snorted and raged. Hungry for the taste of warm flesh, the Dwim advanced rapidly. Claws and fangs shredded his robes, tearing burning gaps in his flesh. Seldis saved his screams. The pain was almost unbearable and he so desperately wished to escape it. But it was too soon. If he gave in now, Rentor wouldn’t stand a chance. The Dwim would tear through him and his meager defenses in a matter of moments. Sidian would surely be victorious if that happened.

  Seldis had one hope. As long as the Silver Mage’s focus was here in Kelis Dur, he’d be oblivious to Dakeb and the others moving closer to Druem. All success hinged on Dakeb now. Claws went deep, hooking his ribs. Seldis cried out and inspired the Dwim into greater frenzy. All three dug and bit. The Mage felt his life slowly escaping. Not much longer and I’ll be with my friends again.

  He saw their faces as darkness crept around the corners of his vision. They smiled and beckoned for him to take their hands. They offered salvation. Liberation. Seldis reached out. One of the Dwim punched the side of his head, nearly rendering him unconscious. Enraged, the dying Mage gathered what remained of his power and lashed out. The Dwim were caught unaware as they continued their furious assault. Seldis pitched back and threw his arms wide. Madness swarmed into the minds of the Dwim. None of them could move. Their internal organs were squeezed and crushed with massive amounts
of pressure. Their bodies broke and died. All three Dwim dropped in lifeless heaps. So too did Father Seldis the Mage.

  Rentor led the charge into the fight, already knowing it was too late. They wheeled around the corner and ground to a halt. Tears welled and broke free. It was with a heavy heart that he sheathed his sword and went to the bodies. He took a small measure of solace from the smile on Seldis’s face.

  “Well done, old friend,” was all he could manage before grief consumed him.

  FORTY-ONE

  The Last Night

  The Aeldruin encampment was alive with rumors and talk of Mages, Minotaurs, and a giant of a man who wore a perpetual scowl. Strange days had indeed befallen them. Krek drew the most attention. Old hatreds ran deep between their races though few could recall the origins. There’d been virtually no contact between Minotaur and Elf since the fall of Ipn Shal.

  Guards escorted the small yet steadily growing group through the neatly ordered rows of camouflaged tents. Cook fires made Dakeb’s mouth water, even though he’d eaten but a few hours earlier. He detested travel rations of any sort. Thoughts of a freshly cooked meal entertaining him, he arrived at Faeldrin’s command tent. Their escort bowed before returning to his duties. Faeldrin greeted them with open arms and a warm smile. The Elf Lord looked refreshed and surprisingly young considering how long and difficult their trek to the mountains had been.

  “Ah, my friends. It is good to see you again. You’re late though. We were beginning to get worried. This close to the Deadlands the dangers become extreme,” he said.

  Dakeb replied, “We were in safe hands as it turned out. There were a few bumps and bruises along the way but all worked out for the best.”

  The Elf’s jewel-like eyes fell on Krek. He decided not to remark. This was no time to bring up old dogma. “Come inside. Surely you must be hungry after so long a ride.”

  He took amusement from Krek’s initial hesitancy.

  “I’ve never been one to turn down a free meal,” the old Mage said, patting his stomach for emphasis.