The Dragon Hunters

by Christian Warren Freed

  Grelic stared at the Mage. The bad feeling he awoke with strengthened. It was as if all he’d done had been manipulated in the favor of the dark Mage. For a while events happened without issue. They’d lost the sense of being tracked after the Minotaurs captured them. Now, so close to the end, Grelic felt eyes watching their every move again. There seemed little doubt they were being set up. It was just a matter of time before the hammer fell. He didn’t like sitting idle.

  “How soon can you be ready to leave? I’d just as soon get into that pass while the mist remains,” he asked Faeldrin.

  “Give me one quarter of an hour and I’ll be ready. I’m taking two others along should we encounter any unforeseen difficulties.”

  “You’d best hurry. I’ve emplaced wards to keep us safe but men fight better when their captains are present,” Dakeb cautioned.

  Aleor nodded silent agreement.

  Faeldrin looked around the group of assembled faces. They were just as determined as he. A good sign. “Very well. Rest as much as possible. We march at dawn.”

  Fifteen minutes later three Elves and Grelic were riding up into Deldin Grim.

  There was no moonlight. Not this deep in the heart of the pass. Deldin Grim was ominous in every aspect. Neither sun nor moon penetrated this deep into the pass. They rode slowly. The horses grew more skittish the deeper they went. They’d been bred for the open plain, not the unfamiliar darkness of the mountains. No amount of reassuring pats or whispered encouragement eased their apprehension.

  Grelic led the way. Despite the rising sense of gloom and potential disaster, he remained comfortable. He’d done some time in large armies, fought the battle much bigger than any of the others. People said he was a natural warrior. Which was true. He’d been swinging a blade for more years than he could remember. He much preferred working alone or in small groups. The full strength of the Aeldruin was almost too much to bear. If not for the dragon lurking under Druem, he might have already struck out on his own.

  He sighed. Current events went well beyond his limited measures of control. Grelic didn’t necessarily enjoy killing. He’d been one to figure that men of all races deserved to live according to their own choosing. If some decided to rise up and start trouble he had no problem sending them down to the grave. Rentor once asked him how many men he’d killed. Grelic only shrugged. A man who killed in battle shouldn’t burden himself with the pain of knowing how good he was. The king laughed in response. Struggling through the battle of Kressel Tine made him see the light. In battle, Grelic became the perfect killing machine.

  The night lost some of its edge. A thick cloud cover hung low in the sky. Small, shadowy objects darted over their heads. Bats. Grelic started to have misgivings about his eagerness to scout the pass. Common sense told him the Goblins had more than enough defenses to hold off a pack of Elves without suffering great casualties. That’s if the dragon didn’t swoop in and fry them first.

  A sudden noise ahead disrupted his thoughts. His hand instinctively dropped to his sword as the noise grew louder. It had a familiar sound to it. Something he’d heard many times before. It reminded him of a child crushing dried leaves. He and Faeldrin edged closer to investigate. Grelic caught the faint yet distinct sound of water splashing over stone. He let out the breath he’d been holding. The demons his fear propagated turned out to be naught but an ordinary waterfall. They kept riding.

  His eyes adjusted to the gloom but he almost wished they hadn’t. Total darkness served his frame of mind better. At least that way when they got attacked all he had to do was react. The semi-dark gloom left him with too much to think on. Grelic cursed his luck for bringing him here. Goblins were notorious for slinking about in the dark places of the world, preferring to move at night where their deeds would go unseen.

  A soft hiss stopped the group.

  Faeldrin pulled his horse as close to Grelic as possible. “We’ve reached the far end of the pass.”

  “How much further?”

  “Just around this bend. No more than a few hundred meters,” the Elf replied. Unlike Grelic, they saw perfectly in the night.

  They slid from their horses, handing the reins to Aleor. Elf and man crept on foot the rest of the way, hoping to make less noise. The mouth of Deldin Grim slowly widened until they couldn’t make out the walls. Haunting torchlight suddenly reflected off of the pass, robbing Grelic’s night vision. Thoughts of sneaking into the Deadlands slowly died. The sound of rough voices grinding in a foul language mocked them.

  “Trolls,” Faeldrin whispered.

  It only gets worse. Grelic’s hope faded. Two monstrous towers of black stone were carved from the mountainsides. Goblins and other dark creatures patrolled the crenellated levels. He counted fifty before they became too much to keep track of.

  “They won’t need a dragon to finish us,” Grelic replied. “This is a death trap.”

  “Agreed. There’s no way we can fight our way through an entire garrison. It appears our Mage isn’t up-to-date on the fledgling empire here.”

  Grelic absentmindedly scratched his chin. “What should we do?”

  “Hard to say. If time is running out as Dakeb says, we’ll never make it all the way back around the mountains. There’s no point in trying to fight our way through this. We should get back before they spot us. I don’t like the looks of those battle Trolls. Perhaps Dakeb will have a better way to deal with them.”

  Grelic’s heart warned that Mages weren’t infallible. Keeping his tongue to himself, he followed Faeldrin back to the horses. Harsh laughter trailed after.

  The journey back through Deldin Grim was eerier than the trip in. Appearances were the same for the most part though they immediately picked up on the building tension. Despite Grelic’s concerns, they arrived back at the main body without incident and proceeded to summon a hasty council. Faeldrin wasn’t sure whether to remain calm or give in to his apprehensions. The camp had an unusual feel he couldn’t quite place. His Elves were quieter than usual and it didn’t take long for him to discover why.

  Three figures stood beside Dakeb. They barely came up to his shoulders. Each had similar features. Black, matted hair hung down unevenly to their shoulders. Their faces were flat with no distinguishable characteristics. Lean muscles and large brown eyes stared up at the Elves.

  “I wasn’t aware we had guests,” he said with a suspicious smile. “I would have dressed more appropriately.”

  “As well you should have,” Dakeb seconded. “These are the Pell Darga. They live in the Darkwall, seldom coming down from their haunts. Their language is broken but understandable. I believe they are one of the old tribes, long forgotten by the rest of the world. They might prove useful.”

  Grelic eyed the diminutive men cautiously. “What brings them down now?”

  Their leader glanced to Dakeb before addressing them. “We wish to help. I am Cpur, patriarch of my clan. Goblins hunt my people for sport. Hundreds have died for this reason. We will help destroy Goblins.”

  “Hundreds?” Grelic asked incredulously while thinking about the boost a hidden army this deep in enemy territory could give.

  Faeldrin nodded approvingly. “How do you know we’re here to kill Goblins?”

  “We have watched you for days. We’ll help.”

  Grelic couldn’t help but laugh. “Brave little bastards!”

  “I killed six already,” Cpur claimed boldly. The look in his eyes dared anyone to question his statement.

  “The Aeldruin accept your offer, Cpur. We are glad to fight alongside the Pell Darga,” the Elf Lord replied.

  “I didn’t think we’d come here to fight a war. We’re after the dragon, right?” Pregen asked with idle boredom. “This is really starting to grind on me, Grelic. I wish we’d make up our minds and be done with it.”

  Kialla scowled and drew back to strike him. He threw up his hands in disgust and stalked off.

  “A rather depressing man,” Faeldrin said. “Is he always like that?”

>   “More often than not,” Grelic admitted. “I’m starting to regret bringing him. He does have a point. We came here to stop the dragon. If what Dakeb claims is true, we need to be quick about it.”

  “Quick is in the interpretation. It’s a three-day ride across mostly open terrain. The only constant is Druem. Up close or far away, it dominates the landscape,” Dakeb told them.

  “We’ll never get the chance to find that out if we can’t get past the garrison at the far end of the pass. Goblins, Trolls, and more bar the way. I fear this quest may be finished,” Faeldrin said.

  “There is secret way through mountains,” Cpur told them. “Big enough for your machines. Guardians should not see us if we come out at dusk.”

  Faeldrin clapped once. “This could be the break we’re looking for! If we can circle the garrison and get into the Deadlands undetected, the Aeldruin will return to help you cleanse the mountains of Goblins.”

  “Agreed.”

  The mood brightened immeasurably and the call went out. The Aeldruin wordlessly mounted up and prepared to ride.

  FORTY-THREE

  Secret Ways

  The Pell Darga moved with confidence rival to the Elves. Grelic discovered his growing respect for the stout people and hoped they were equally fierce in battle. Their short spears were sharp and blackened against moon or torchlight. They crawled over rocks and practically disappeared unless viewed directly. Dozens more had joined them after entering the mouth of Deldin Grim. The Aeldruin column set out as the sun broke the horizon. Many said their morning prayers and bade the light good-bye. It would be long before any of them were kissed by golden rays again.

  Cpur led them unerringly into the pass as soon as night lifted. Deldin Grim proved to be a drab nightmare. The rock walls were sickening shades of grey and brown. Unusual stenches permeated the air, as if a thousand trees had died and were decomposing in a watery distillery. Evidence from the rains was gone. Most of the sludge had dried in thick, chalk-like dust that coated everything. It lent the Pell a spectral appearance. Kialla thought the only things missing were chains and blood-red eyes.

  No wind blew this deep in the pass. The air was old, stagnant. They were reminded of a cemetery on a cold winter night. Shadows clung to everything. Despite the assurances of the Pell Darga, the Elves constantly searched for Goblin scouts. Even Dakeb argued against the futility of it. The Goblins were secure in their mountain fortress. Based on what Faeldrin and Grelic reported, they were arrogant and certain of their dominance. Surely they weren’t expecting a head-on assault.

  Grelic agreed with the old Mage. It wouldn’t take much to beat back the Aeldruin as they were. Cavalry was no good against fortified defensive positions, especially with the strength of those two towers.

  “How much further before we branch off? I don’t want to take the chance of running into a patrol,” Faeldrin voiced his concerns.

  Cpur gestured. “Not much. My people already wait for us. They keep the way hidden from Goblins.”

  A rider came flying up behind them, kicking dust and rock. His face bore a dire look.

  “What is it?” Faeldrin demanded.

  “A Goblin raiding part returns. They’ll be in the pass within the hour,” the scout reported grimly.

  Cron paled. “There’s no way we can get this caravan to the secret path in time.”

  “Nor can we fight. The sound will rouse the garrison and have them pouring down our throats,” Grelic added.

  Faeldrin scowled at their lack of luck. “Our choices are limited. What are their numbers?”

  “Close to one hundred.”

  Faeldrin punched his fist into the palm of his other hand. “Damnation. We couldn’t even kill them quickly if we had to. I say we attack and hope the other lot doesn’t join in. It’s the only chance we have.”

  “Perhaps there is one other way,” Dakeb interjected. He looked to Cpur. “Are your people ready?”

  Cpur nodded, his back stiffening with pride. “We will handle Goblins. They never trouble anyone again. We keep moving.”

  With no other course of action available, Faeldrin gestured for the Pell to continue.

  Cpur guided them through another opposing stretch of Deldin Grim. Places looked as if drab cliffs were leaning down on them, threatening to crush them out of blind hatred. He stopped at one point where the shadows were particularly deep. The leader of the Pell Darga chirped shrilly and a dozen of the smaller warriors crawled down from the rock face. He barked orders in his native language and his warriors quickly pulled aside the elaborate camouflage concealing their secret pass.

  Grelic was impressed. The Pell Darga worked without sound and moved the heavy stones aside with relative ease. It wasn’t until the Aeldruin rode into the cave that he saw why they were so easy to move. The boulders were nothing more than heavy screens stretched and manipulated over a lattice of branches and rope. From the outside they looked completely natural. Grelic suddenly felt much better about leaving the Pell behind to handle the Goblin raiding party.

  “How far does this tunnel run?” Faeldrin asked Cpur.

  “A few hundred meters before it becomes a small pass. We come out almost a league from Deldin Grim.”

  Faeldrin nodded. “Today may just work in our favor. Aleor, lead them out of the cave. I’m staying to ensure the rest of the convoy moves into cover without incident.”

  “I’ll stay as well,” Grelic seconded. “Maybe a few Goblins will make it this far. It’s been too long since I had a reason to swing my sword.”

  Cron smiled wanly. “Me too.”

  Kialla elbowed him swiftly, her message clear. She wasn’t going anywhere without him. Grelic watched their little exchange and realization dawned. He didn’t know how he’d missed the signs, despite their casual closeness from the beginning. Too many new thoughts competed for his attention. He thought how happy her father would be. The horrors of his earlier nightmare were finally laid to rest. Grelic knew peace at last. Now all he needed to do was keep her alive long enough for her to enjoy her choices.

  Lord Death was out there, drawing closer.

  The Elf Lord turned and gave Aleor the go-ahead. Elf and Pell took off into the short tunnel and the Deadlands beyond. All too soon all that remained were the three obstinate humans and the Elf. The Pell had returned to their haunts while the rest of the Aeldruin rode through. Once done, they’d climb back down and secure their passage.

  “Can you hear anything?” Cron asked.

  Grelic shook his head. “The battle might be too far away or already finished. I’ve half a mind to ride back and know for certain.”

  “What are we waiting for? Let’s go see if our little friends are as fearsome as they claim. I don’t relish the thought of having a Goblin war party on my tail,” Faeldrin said.

  “Is that such a good idea?” Kialla asked. “They might have been beaten and the Goblins are already marching towards us. If we ride into them there’s no way we can escape. They’ll find the secret path and we’ll be finished.”

  A shadow moved, barely noticeable. Only Grelic noticed it.

  “I don’t think we need to worry about Goblins discovering the Pell Darga paths. Even if we get killed, these mountain people seem more than capable of defending themselves. Come, we’re wasting too much time,” he told them.

  Drawing his sword, Grelic headed back towards the beginning of the pass. They’d only made it a few hundred meters before a nauseating smell permeated the air. Kialla gagged. With no wind, the air was stiflingly thick. Rot and decay wafted up to assault their senses. Cold dread spread over the group. Grelic had seen many obscene things in his time, but this was an act he hadn’t witnessed in years.

  Dark shapes could be seen moving just ahead. The light mist had returned, blanketing the unwinding stretch of Deldin Grim. Something fluttered past one of his ears. He watched unfamiliar birds drift off into the mist. At least we don’t have to sneak around worrying about running into a fight anymore. They know we’re here.


  Grelic rode point while the others fanned out in an arrowhead pattern behind. Weapons were drawn. Hearts beat faster. Despite the ghostly feeling suffocating them, they took comfort in knowing an honest fight lay just ahead. Weeks of running, hiding, and imprisonment wore their nerves thin. Crows chattered. The stench strengthened. Grelic idly wondered how much death it took to poison the air in such a short amount of time. Something stirred in the mist. It grew larger, heading straight for them. Cron set an arrow to his bow and drew a bead.

  The barrel-bodied Goblin burst from the mists. He bled from a dozen cuts. His black uniform was in shreds. Normally black eyes, cold and calculating, were wide and terrified. He had no weapons. He took them by surprise so quickly they failed to notice the handful of Pell warriors chasing the Goblin. Short spears zipped through the air and took the Goblin in the back. He pitched forward with a gurgled cry and died. The Pell Darga slowed and retrieved their spears without a word.

  “Damnation,” Grelic uttered.

  The Pell disappeared back into the mist. Doubts of the Goblins winning through evaporated. Faeldrin entertained ideas about what he could do with an army of the squat mountain people at his side. His promise came back to him. Taking the Goblin fortifications at the inner mouth of Deldin Grim suddenly appeared much easier. A nod from Grelic and they rode on, morbid curiosity pulled them deeper into the carnage. Corpses littered the pass amidst pools of cooling blood. All were Goblins. Flies buzzed everywhere.

  “This certainly ends doubt,” Faeldrin said and sheathed his sword.

  Cron stuffed his arrow back in the quiver and looked down into the agonized face of a dead Goblin. “We should leave this place. Nothing good can come from this.”

  Grelic turned and decided to let his horse stretch its legs. The others followed suit. They’d seen enough. Soon all four were galloping back towards the secret path.