“We just ate,” Kialla reminded him.
Dakeb flashed that slick smile of his. “Different cultures, different foods my dear. Besides, it would be downright rude of me to refuse. You don’t want to insult our host’s hospitality so soon, do you?”
“I see you’ve lost none of your golden tongue through these long years,” Faeldrin laughed.
“I can only sacrifice so much, you know.”
They settled around a table filled with roasted rabbit and vegetables. The Elf Lord proved a most generous host. A rich, dark red wine was brought out for them to enjoy. Grelic passed on the offer.
Faeldrin finally addressed Krek. “My scouts tell me you guided these people to us. For that I am in your debt. I am Faeldrin and the Elves around you are the Aeldruin. We are mercenaries for all intents and purposes, but with good intentions.”
Thumping a meaty fist to his chest, Krek replied, “Krek.”
“Welcome to my camp. You are our guest and friend so long as you remain in our company. No harm will come to you. You have my word,” Faeldrin said.
He didn’t know what the young bull was thinking or the other way around. Krek did struggle to keep from laughing at the thought of being protected by the scrawny Elves. Satisfied with making the necessary efforts of diplomacy, Faeldrin turned his attention back to the Mage.
“You have a tale for the telling, Dakeb. I’m curious to know how you came to be in the company of our friend Krek here.”
“Indeed there is a tale. Fortune was with us.”
Dakeb gave the young Minotaur much credit for not dropping his food and attacking Faeldrin. While there was peace, it was fragile and not going to last. Keeping the situation from blowing up was going to be tricky. Dakeb fought back a sigh. There wasn’t time to sort this out properly. He went into great depth over what happened in the time the Elves parted company with them in Gend. Even Faeldrin balked at the mention of the horrible storm that drove them into Qail Werd. He was particularly interested in learning more of the hidden kingdom of Malg. By the time the tale ended, Faeldrin had a better understanding of their plight and a curiously growing respect for Krek.
“An interesting tale,” he said as Dakeb eased his parched throat with a glass of wine. “It makes our endeavors seem almost trivial.”
Faeldrin went on to explain the making of the ballistae and the relatively uneventful trek along the mountain road. Cron breathed a sigh of relief at the mention of an Elf scout being dispatched to Kelis Dur. The Aeldruin seemed to have taken care of everything.
Grelic set down his apple core on the table and wiped the residue from his mouth with a sleeve. “Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, we need to get down to business. How difficult will it be getting through the mountains?”
Faeldrin showed them the map covering the table. The corners were frayed and yellowed from time. “We’re less than a day’s ride from Deldin Grim. I’ve already sent out scouts to the east and west with specific instructions to only recon, not engage. There are far too many Goblin patrols roaming for my liking.”
“We came across tracks for a war party in the forest,” Kialla told him. She blushed after catching Cron’s smile.
“It appears our enemy is ready to make his move. Time is running out, I’m afraid,” Dakeb added.
“Hmm, if that is so, how difficult will it be for us to make it past Deldin Grim? Fifty riders dragging giant bows aren’t going to go unnoticed. Is there another way?” Grelic asked.
Faeldrin shook his head. “Not for hundreds of leagues. We’d have to skirt the entire Darkwall range and then ride back. The pass is the only way into the Deadlands.”
“We’ll never make it if they discover us. They can keep us bottled in the pass long enough to bring the full weight of their army down. That’s not a chance I’m willing to take, considering we have no idea how large a force awaits at Mordrun Bal.”
“Or the dragon,” Fitch piped in.
Faeldrin flashed a smile. “We’ll take care of the dragon, Master Iane. He’ll either fall dead from the sky or flee back to his roost in shame.”
“But you’ve never fought a dragon before,” Ibram added.
The Elf Lord squared on the former monk. “And you’ve never taken a life before this quest. Don’t lecture me on what my people have done. One way or the other, I’ll have your dragon.”
“The pass it is,” Dakeb cut in. He saw no point in arguing over what might or might not happen. “I can attempt to conceal our presence but without promises. These are dangerous times and our enemy will be able to sense any use of my magic.”
Pregen made no effort to stifle his yawn. He always found talk like this tedious at best and mundane on every level. The desire to abandon his companions and return home continued to strengthen, stymied slightly by talk of rebellion and war in Thrae. Leaving one battlefield to enter another wasn’t a wise business decision. The longer he stayed with these people, the more he regretted accepting Grelic’s proposal. Suppressing a groan, he downed the rest of his wine.
“I’ve had enough doom and gloom for one day. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to find a place to sleep and contemplate tomorrow,” he interrupted.
Frowning at Pregen’s rudeness, Faeldrin managed, “Of course. I don’t wish to keep any of you too late. The way ahead is dangerous, but largely known to us. Aleor is waiting outside to take you to your tents.”
Only Grelic and Dakeb chose to stay behind. Both felt there was still much to discuss before they struck out on the final leg of the adventure.
Aleor greeted the others with a widening smile. He was the friendliest Elf in the camp and the perfect choice for the task. Kialla appreciated the gesture as she and Cron walked side by side in the fading daylight. They were close enough to touch. For his part, Cron enjoyed that closeness. He’d had strong attractions to her from the very first time they’d met but was unsure what to do about it. Neither of them needed any romantic entanglements now.
He cursed his sudden weakness. He was a soldier. A defender of his kingdom and that had to come first. There wasn’t time for women or serious relationships. Still, he couldn’t help but notice how attractive she was. Her high cheek bones and smoothly angled face hinted at hidden tenderness. She was toned and lightly tanned, adding a certain exotic feel to compliment her dark, auburn hair. Her personality was sparkling even in the worst situations. If he didn’t know better, he’d say he was falling in love.
There’d been women in the past. At fifteen he even thought he was in love with Lien Tal. They’d practically grown up together. She gave him his very first kiss and, together, they enjoyed the pleasures of each other’s bodies under the new moon. Then he left and joined the army. Trips home became rare and often short. Before he knew it, Lien was married off to a baker’s son and had a brand new baby girl to care for. Cron was happy for her but suffered many nights with the loss.
That’s when he stopped thinking about tomorrow, stopped worrying over what he didn’t control. His job became his sole focus. There were certain houses he visited when the loneliness grew too much. Not quite a relationship, but an acceptable release of tension for an army officer. Duty and Thrae always came first. Until he met Kialla. He’d spent more time than he wanted thinking about her. Their discussions ranged from her father and upbringing to what the future might hold.
Her laughter brought him back to the present. Cron was shocked to discover their hands were woven together. He looked around quickly, hoping no one was paying attention. Fortunately, the others were focused on their own affairs. Satisfied his secret was safe, he breathed a quick sigh of relief. He also made no effort to disengage.
Kialla passed him a seductive glance, dazzling him with her smile while laughing at one of Aleor’s jokes. Cron felt like pushing his head into a bucket of cold water and keeping it there. He’d never been so glad to reach his tent as he was right then. Flap closed behind him, he enjoyed the Spartan accommodations, which were more than adequate for a
night or two. He sat down on the small cot and ran his hand through his hair, trying to push away thoughts of Kialla. The harder he did, the more prominent she became. Then an idea struck. He needed to exercise. An hour or so of calisthenics would be enough to take his mind off of her.
Stripping down to an undershirt and trousers, the captain of Kelis Dur started stretching. Most of the Elves were gathered around the campfires or off out of sight. Warmed up, Cron pushed himself to the limits of his endurance. Sweat streamed down his face and soaked his shirt. His muscles burned, screaming for relief. He swung his sword until his sore hands couldn’t grip it anymore. Only then did he stop.
Satisfied his urges were evicted, Cron dropped his sword and found that bucket of water. He stripped off his sweat-soaked shirt and poured the lukewarm water over his head. It was refreshing, making him shiver. The soldier set the bucket back down and snatched up his belongings before stalking back to his tent. He meant to snatch a quick bite to eat and then fall asleep.
She knew she shouldn’t, but Kialla couldn’t help watching Cron through her slightly parted tent flap. She’d already made up her mind. Tonight was the night. Her only fear came from not knowing what his reaction would be. That uncertainty terrified her more than she cared to admit. She’d never been in love before so the term held no meaning for her. What she did know was her heart fluttered when she was around him and it was often difficult to think straight.
Kialla gasped as he eased out of his shirt. There were a handful of scars on his back, reminders of the hard life of a professional soldier. His body was extremely toned with just the right amount of muscle to make her heart beat faster. He was lean and hungry, just the kind of man she enjoyed.
Water rushed over him and he went back to his tent. Kialla waited until he was out of sight before stalking her way to him. She moved lithely, like a hunting lion. Her mind was made up. Every step had confidence and grace. She knew what she wanted and was determined to get it. She slipped into his tent without him knowing.
He stood with his back to her. Kialla watched him, an almost animalistic desire running through her body. Arms folded across her chest, she watched him push his trousers down over his hips. Standing in just a pair of undergarments, he was the vision of perfection. Kialla cleared her throat. Cron spun around.
“Kialla! Wh…what are you doing here?” he stammered.
She gave him her most seductive smile and started unlacing her bodice. The garment was on the ground before either of them spoke.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he protested weakly.
She closed the gap between them and covered his mouth with hers. Her kiss was hard, urgent. For a moment he was too stunned to react. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, swirling around his while her hands caressed his back. Finally, his hands broke free and he gave in to desire. She shuddered from the feel of being touched. Her skin flushed. Her knees weakened, threatening to buckle. She kissed him harder.
Cron let himself go. Primitive urges long suppressed burst free. He pulled away from her devouring kiss and left her gasping for breath. Lust burned in her eyes. Without waiting, he curled his fingers inside the band of her trousers and jerked them down. Kialla eagerly stepped out of them. He watched her tanned body in the flickering lamp light. Watched the way her soft breasts rose and fell with each breath. Her nipples hardened under his gaze. The curve of her flat stomach and patch of auburn hair between her gorgeously shaped legs beckoned him. Unable to control himself, he rushed back into her embrace.
She lay draped over him, kissing his chest. Kialla enjoyed the sound of his heartbeat. It was so calm, so gentle. Everything was perfect. She knew that on the other side of that tent flap the very world was falling apart but in here, right now, all was the way it was meant to be. She felt like a child again. Safe in his arms, Kialla closed her eyes and drifted to sleep. It was the first time in years she’d been able to know tranquility.
When she awoke sometime in the middle of the night, she ran her hand over his thighs. Or rather, where he should have been. Her fingers brushed empty sheets. Kialla’s first thought was that he’d walked out on her, having taken what he wanted. Her eyes flared open in uncharacteristic panic only to find Cron staring back at her from the field chair across the tent.
“I woke up a little while ago and didn’t want to disturb you,” he told her once he noticed the distress in her eyes.
“You should come back to bed.”
He grinned. “I will. I just wanted to watch you sleep.”
She propped herself up on one elbow. Auburn locks dangled in her face and the blanket slid down past her breasts. “Like what you see?”
“That’s not fair.”
She returned his grin. “No, it’s not. Now come back to bed and make love to me.”
Kialla lifted the blanket and rolled on top of him once he slid back into the bed. “I love you,” she whispered as she lowered herself onto him.
The camp was broken down before the morning dew evaporated. Scouts returned in the night with positive results. The mouth of Deldin Grim was open and unprotected. When Faeldrin questioned them on this the scouts replied that they’d ridden close to a league into the threatening pass and found no signs of the enemy. The Elves took this as a great omen and excitedly started taking down the tents. Faeldrin walked among them, taking the time to speak with many. He shook hands, slapped a few on the back, and helped with the work. There was an unbreakable camaraderie involved, forged by hardships unimagined. Every last one of them respected and trusted the other with their lives. The majority of civilians would never know such.
By the time the last vestiges of night were gone, the Aeldruin were ready to move. They smiled and joked with each other in ways only soldiers understood. Suddenly heedless of their proximity to almost certain doom, the Aeldruin broke out an ancient battle hymn. Spirits lifted. The morning sun edged across the sky and grew bright. The vast, open sky stretched forever in crystalline blue. A slow breeze cooled the sweat on each of them.
Faeldrin said, “The gods are with us. Today is going to be a good day.”
“It’ll be a better one when my sword drinks Goblin blood,” Grelic replied.
“Patience, Grelic. You’ll get the chance very soon. I expect we’ll have to cleave our way through the Deadlands, one Goblin neck at a time. What say you, Master Mage?”
Dakeb knew better than to speak the truth. No one really wanted to know what he thought. “Danger is aplenty in the coming days. We should enjoy the tranquility of this moment while it lasts.”
Alarms were going off in his mind but he refrained from speaking further. Dark thoughts of what lay ahead nipped at him. He was afraid they were going to find out all too soon the hidden meaning behind his warning. This was the moment he had long dreaded and, now that it was upon him, wanted to avoid.
Faeldrin spurred the column forward. The Elves were going to the Deadlands and to war.
FORTY-TWO
Deldin Grim
The Aeldruin column seemed insignificant compared to the looming heights of the Darkwall Mountains. The mirth from the morning was gone. No trace of happiness was to be found. Weapons were drawn. Hands twitched with anticipation of the ambush each of them imagined. Long, threatening shadows reached down from unseen peaks. Temperatures dropped considerably in the mountain shadows. An unmistakable pall clung to the air.
“I don’t like this,” Cron whispered.
Supernatural mist clung to the feet of the great mountains. The Aeldruin continued pushing deeper into the murk. When asked, the scouts replied that the way had been clear the day prior. The Elf Lord sensed a trap.
Grelic scanned the terrain for clues. “It rained here recently. This morning, but how? It wasn’t wet anywhere else.”
The ground had that soft texture immediately following a shower. Cron attributed the dampness to dew and mist but the closer he looked the more he noticed pools of fresh water. “Perfect spot for an ambush.”
“Speaking of
such will only bring ill down upon us,” Faeldrin replied. He shivered despite the warmth of his cloak. “We should go no further until morning. Too much can go wrong in the darkness and I don’t trust the mist.”
“We should send scouts back into the pass,” Grelic suggested. “I’ll go. I want a look at what we’re dealing with.”
“I’ll join you,” Faeldrin said.
Once it was decided, the rest of the Elves moved off to the side of the road and found a relatively suitable campsite. They’d been on the road for three days and now found themselves at the foot of the mountains. Faeldrin forbade any fires and they passed on erecting any tents. A double guard was established. They weren’t willing to take any unnecessary chances. Dakeb stalked off into the growling darkness to emplace a series of invisible alarm wards should the enemy attempt an assault. The Elves broke out dried travel rations and ate in the gloom.
“Dakeb,” Faeldrin said between bites of a rather hard biscuit. “I’d like to know more about the pass. Surely you’ve some hidden knowledge or fading memory of this dreadful place.”
“I do, though I’d just as soon forget them all. The armies of the dark Mages used Deldin Grim to rush down and take Prince Belian and the knights of Averon from behind, slaughtering them to the man. Trolls and worse burned the bodies and ate the horses. They sent the heads back to Paedwyn.”
Faeldrin was about to retract his request. This was not as inspiring as he’d hoped.
“Deldin Grim is perhaps two and a half leagues long and wide enough for three wagons to pass side by side. The way is relatively smooth from centuries of heavy use. Occasional landslides block the way and the sun never touches the ground. Winter is nigh impassible and spring rains turn the pass into grey sludge. Now, however, is the perfect time to push through. What I fear is time. The little we have left is fleeting at best. I fear the dark Mage is nearly finished.”
The Dragon Hunters Page 31
