“Are you suggesting we leave our friends to whatever torment lies under that mountain? I am many things, Cron, a coward is not one of them. I’m going down into Druem to find the Mage. Come or stay, it’s your choice,” Grelic said with a menacing glare.
“Damn it, Grelic. We’re all in this together. You know I’m with you, but we need a plan. We can’t just go in there unorganized.”
The giant relented. “We have one. Go inside and kill them all.”
Grelic hefted his broadsword and headed towards the tunnel entrance. Darkness gaped hungrily at him, yet it held no sway. His mind was decided and no amount of petty terror was going to keep him from seeing this task through. Then came a great clamor from behind. The Goblins had regrouped and were marching on them. The four warriors spun to face the new threat, knowing they’d never make it into the tunnels in time. Grelic suddenly envisioned them trapped between this new group and the one pouring out from under Druem. The hammer and the anvil.
Krek bellowed and snorted the ancient cry of his people. The wild look in his eyes when he turned to face Grelic left little doubt in any of their minds as to his intentions. “Go! I fight. Go!”
Grelic struggled with indecision for the briefest of moments before saluting the young bull with his sword. The Minotaur was brave, seeking to embrace the honor of his people. Chances were they were all going to die this night anyway, why not meet the end of his choosing? Grelic thought he saw the young bull smile before he turned and charged into the approaching mass of Goblins. Grelic snatched Kialla and Cron by their arms and jerked them towards the tunnel before they could follow the Minotaur.
* * * * *
Scourd stood in Ramulus’s cavern for the second time in a week. Both he and the dragon were before the Hooded Man. This was a most dangerous time and the Mage had arrived the night prior. The crystal shard sat in a Dwarven crafted strongbox locked away in Scourd’s chambers. So close to success, not even the dark Mage was willing to take unnecessary risks.
Sidian, the Hooded Man and last of the dark Mages, watched his minions from the sanctuary of his hood with guarded interest. Disgust etched his face. There was a time when both creatures would have been held in utter, blind contempt. He’d owned the ears of kings. The fates of entire peoples. Then came the war and the beginning of the dark times. Greed and corruption took hold of him, subsuming the man he had once been as the will of the dark gods became his own. Foul desires twisted his soul until nothing but hatred remained. He took that hatred and perverted it to serve his will.
Goblin and dragon. Both were unwilling allies in a game they didn’t understand. Both also had secret agendas they thought he knew nothing of. Sidian would have to remove both before they had the opportunity to enact their plans. But not now. Too much was happening for him to lose these valuable assets. A deliciously wicked thought awakened. Sidian looked first at the fat Goblin warlord and frowned. Of all of the creatures in Malweir, he found Goblins the most perverse. Oh how he longed for the old days when a Mage was respected above all else. When Goblins hid in their caves and didn’t meddle in the affairs of man. The return to those days would have to wait. Foul deeds were afoot and his plans at stake.
“Your army in the pass is floundering, Scourd,” he criticized.
“How can you know this?” the Goblin snapped back, instantly suspicious of Sidian’s motives.
Sidian leaned threateningly close. “I have witnessed it. The Elves put up a worthy fight and are aided by the Pell Darga.”
Scourd spat. “The mountain monkeys? Bah. We can swat them aside as we have always done. They are of no concern.”
“Not this time. The Elves bring a secret weapon capable of destroying your entire army. We’ve come too far to be lost now. Ramulus, you must go to their aid. Only a dragon’s breath can defeat this ancient weapon. Leave quickly and finish them before dusk. It is the only way.”
“What of the shard?”
Sidian folded his arms across his robed chest. “It remains here until you return. We shall go to Gren together, as agreed.”
The dragon accepted the answer and reared up on his hind legs. Membranes lacing his wings, thick cords of power and strength, strained in irrepressible fury. Mage light electrified his already luminous green body. The horn protruding from his chin throbbed with hunger. His cold, ice-colored eyes stared thoughtfully at the Mage. “Very well, Mage. I shall go, but do not seek to betray me.”
The force from his powerful wings sent Scourd tumbling. Water and debris clogged the stale cavern air. The ground trembled under the sheer power of the dragon. Ramulus beat his leathery wings a handful of times, glad to be stretching, and vaulted towards the opening in the high ceiling. Scourd picked himself up and watched the great wyrm disappear. He silently wished the dragon a violent demise.
“And for me?” he asked once the atmosphere calmed. He swore he caught the gleam of teeth through the near impenetrable darkness of the hood.
“Our enemies are coming for us. Send the slaves back down into the tunnels where they struck the lava vein. Make them dig. Flood the caverns until lava pours back into the Deadlands. Make this place burn.”
Scourd tensed. Mordrun Bal would be destroyed. What are you up to, Mage?
“Bring the shard to me and give the order to evacuate Mordrun Bal. We march on Thrae at dawn.”
Sidian faded in a flash of shadow, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
* * * * *
Every shadow concealed demons. Each new turn offered nightmares. The walls were polished to unnatural smoothness. Torches were spaced out, more for the slaves than their captors. Goblins had exceptional night vision and often required little to no light to see by. Sulfur laced the air, bordering on noxious gas. The caverns of Druem were poison to the very soul.
Pregen Chur nervously followed the Mage deeper into the heart of the mountain. Every instinct told him to get out while he still could. He turned and watched the huddled figures of Ibram and Fitch fall in behind. They were pathetic in every regard. A would-be warrior and the frightened villager. Pregen cursed his ill fortune and resigned to follow the Mage deeper.
“Where exactly are you leading us?” he hissed at Dakeb’s back.
The brown cloak seemed to pick up speed. “We must find the shard before Sidian does. Hurry, now.”
Pregen froze in place. “Dakeb, this dark Mage of yours isn’t even here.”
At that Dakeb stopped and turned. “He is much closer than you think. Prepare yourselves, my friends. The Silver Mage awaits.”
Heavy silence forced his words to soak in. Fitch clutched Ibram’s arm, struggling to keep his feet lest his knees gave out. “I don’t want to be here. Let’s get out.”
Panic threatened to consume him.
“We’ve no choice,” Ibram replied gently. His own courage was but a thread of false bravado. “Dakeb knows what he’s doing.”
They pushed further into the tunnels. The sound of boots marching threatened them with discovery or worse. Dakeb huddled them together in the pitch of shadows clinging to the walls. Four Goblins marched past. They reeked of filth and ale. Each bore a cruel, barbed sword and had whips coiled at their belts. Even drunk they appeared malevolent. One of the wooden-skinned Dwim marched at their front.
Ibram shuddered as too many powerful memories rushed back. The Dwim strode with unnatural stiffness. Each footstep whispered death. The way they moved, the poise with which they carried themselves. Ibram had hoped to never see another, but his luck was ill. The Dwim slowly turned and looked down the tunnel where they were hiding. Ibram stared back into those cold, dead eyes and understood the true meaning of fear.
He felt the Dwim stare directly into his soul. Every secret, every scrap of life he’d ever clung to was laid bare in that brief moment. The Dwim’s mouth twisted into a smile. Tortured mouth the vision of misery, it turned and marched on. A sudden grip on his arm jerked Ibram out of his stupor. Dakeb’s warm eyes calmed him.
“Take h
eart, young Ibram. Much is left to be done this night and I will have need of you before the end,” the Mage whispered. “My strength alone cannot defeat the Silver Mage. Only together can we succeed.”
Ibram managed a nod. The surprise of Dakeb’s confession disturbed him. What could one of the most powerful Mages in history possibly need in him? He suddenly grew afraid of the answers.
Dakeb poked his head around the corner and ensured the hall was clear. What he discovered proved disheartening. The tunnels seemingly stretched on endlessly in each direction. He didn’t know which way to turn. Either way presented great danger but only one was the correct path. Dakeb knew what he had to do, though he was loath to do so.
“What’s the hold up?” Pregen asked. His knuckles turned white from the strength of fear in his grip on his sword.
“We must separate. Take Fitch and head to the right. Ibram and I will go left. Find the shard and double back to the surface, and Grelic. This is the only way. I have no recollection of this place. We are lost,” he answered.
Pregen shook his head vehemently. “That’s not a good idea. What happens if we get ambushed? This whole hair-brained scheme of yours is bound to fail.”
“There is no other way,” Dakeb insisted.
“You’re playing at something,” Pregen accused.
The old Mage smiled. “Finding the Silver Mage and renewing an old acquaintance is my priority. You grab the shard, thief.”
Pregen watched Dakeb disappear into the darkness ahead and suppressed a groan. This was not what he wanted. The only reason for agreeing to Grelic’s proposition in the first place was the promise of an easy job and handsome compensation. Nothing seemed to have gone right upon leaving the lush pickings of Kelis Dur. The entire adventure devolved into a series of deteriorating nightmares. He was no prophet but even a blind man could see the way out was narrowing ever so slowly.
Making matters worse, he now had to babysit Fitch. Dakeb strongly argued that the man was useful and still had some mysterious part to shaping the future but he was damned if he could figure it. The only comfort Fitch provided was another warm body in the tepid atmosphere beneath Druem. If not for that Pregen would have already killed him and slipped away.
“Search for the damned crystal,” he muttered. “How are we supposed to do that if we don’t know where we’re going? This is an impossible warren filled with everything nasty. We’ll never find it.”
“You’re the thief. Haven’t you done this before?” Fitch asked timidly.
Pregen whirled about, nearly snapping. Further thought made him realize Fitch was actually right. He was a thief. And a damned good one at that. If anyone had a chance of finding the missing shard it was him. Pregen forgot, for the moment, that this entire quest was bordering well beyond the impossible and remembered the old ways. Where would I keep the crystal? In the most secure location naturally. But where is that?
He absently scratched the tip of his dagger against a cheek. Think, man. Where? A twinkle brightened his eyes. “I’ve got it! Fitch, we need to find the main quarters. If they found the crystal it will be with whoever is in charge. We should be going up, not down.”
Fitch wasn’t so sure, but anywhere was better than standing in the middle of the Goblin kingdom.
“Are you sure we should have split up?” Ibram asked. “I don’t feel half as comfortable without the other two.”
Dakeb kept marching, as if following some unknown aroma. Part of him knew exactly where Sidian was waiting. Part of him wanted to find his old friend, if only to avenge so many of his friends. Yet another part of him wanted to turn and flee. Even his courage knew limits. He hadn’t seen Sidian since the very last night during the battle of Ipn Shal. While Dakeb often spent time thinking about the past, he always felt dread at the prospect of meeting Sidian again.
“They would only be in our way,” he replied. “You must believe me, Ibram. Had Fitch and Pregen come along we would have wasted valuable energy protecting them. Neither of us have that to spare. If we are to be successful it’s going to take every ounce of effort and concentration. Sidian is a powerful Mage and not easily beatable.”
Ibram hung his head. “I understand, but still. I’m afraid, Dakeb.”
“As well you should be. Fear does many things. It heightens our senses, makes us more aware. It also reminds us of our own mortality. I would much rather be afraid than arrogant.”
Dakeb pushed on. Corner after corner sped by until Ibram finally gave up trying to remember which way they’d come. He was impossibly lost. Druem was bizarre and more complicated than any placed he’d ever ventured. He suddenly wondered how much easier his life would be if he’d just stayed put in the monastery. But the monk life wasn’t for him. He’d known that from the beginning. Stringent rules and an exceedingly drab lifestyle led to complacency. That’s when his mind began to wander. Eventually it led him here, traipsing under a dead volcano in search of one of the most hated villains in Malweir’s history. Ibram drew a breath and followed on.
When at last they rounded the final, wide corner, Dakeb and Ibram came face to face with a solitary figure waiting for them in the middle of a vast chamber. Sidian smiled.
FIFTY-TWO
Into Druem
The noise was tremendous, unlike anything he’d ever heard. Goblins were everywhere. They opened all of the cells and began herding the slaves out. Whips cracked across naked backs. Strings of blood flew through the air. People screamed. Someone sobbed in the unseen distance. Alfen Bew knew he was next. This is the end. I’m finally going to die. He’d lost track of how many he’d seen die or be transformed into those hideous monsters. Memories of seeing the woman Shar after she’d been turned into a demon haunted his dreams. She had been warm and caring. The only one who bothered looking after him in the deep darkness. Now she was the ruinous definition of evil. Alfen prayed for her while knowing it was already too late.
A Goblin stalked towards his cell. Alfen cradled himself in the corner, his body trembled with fright. The prospect of death didn’t bother him anymore, but he was deathly afraid of sharing a fate like Shar. She deserved better. So did he. But the gods were cruel, uncaring monsters incapable of understanding life. He questioned how any god who truly cared for his disciples allowed them to be mistreated so. The Goblin walked right by without a glance. Alfen Bew sighed but refused to relax.
* * * * *
“This is madness,” Kialla growled. “How are we supposed to track anyone in all of this? There’s no signs, no footprints, not even a damned bloodstain. I’ve never seen a place so sterile.”
Cron rubbed her shoulder. “Relax, love. We’ll find them.”
“Before or after we run into the dragon?” she countered.
He refused to answer. Grelic stopped them at a large intersection. He shared her frustrations but had nothing useful to contribute to the situation. He’d spent a lifetime of fighting and tracking but never in the confines of underground. The labyrinthine maze of tunnels and passages led them down every direction save the one they needed to go. After a while he found himself admitting they were lost and had next to no chance at finding their companions.
Grelic returned to Kialla and Cron. He wanted to feel relieved that they were just as confused as he was, but that served no purpose. Somewhere in the twisting complex his friends were in grave danger. All three knew there was a chance Dakeb and the others might already be dead.
“How’s your shoulder?” he asked, unsuccessfully trying to stall for time.
Kialla winced as she gently rolled it. A fresh bloodstain seeped through the bandage. “Well enough until we get out of here. Now what?”
Grelic didn’t have any answers. “Let’s go look for a fight. Hopefully we’ll bump into Dakeb along the way.”
Cron nodded and took the lead. He had no love for confined spaces but knew the only way to find anyone in here was to keep moving. He didn’t need to worry much. Something found him, and in a bad way.
A squad of Gob
lins emerged from a concealed tunnel once he passed the entrance. It was a toss-up as to who was more surprised. The only difference stemmed from the fact Cron was looking for a fight, the Goblins weren’t. Shaking off his initial shock, he plunged his sword into the nearest Goblin and charged into the other five. Kialla’s dagger sped past his head in a silver flicker. Near black blood spurted from the Goblin’s neck.
Cron ducked under a wild slash and ripped a deep cut across his opponent’s inner thigh. The Goblin screamed and buckled. Cron pushed harder and stabbed downward between the neck and shoulder. A sharp elbow cracked his ribs, driving the breath out. Jagged teeth sank into the meat of his right shoulder. He grimaced and fought against crying out. The remaining Goblins swarmed him, driving him to his knees.
Cron knew he wasn’t getting any help from his friends. The path was too narrow for Grelic or Kialla to force their way in. Feeling control slipping, he stabbed up into the exposed belly of the nearest Goblin and let go of his sword in favor of the small dagger tucked into his belt. A sword was too long and clumsy for this kind of dirty work. He’d be torn to shreds long before killing them all if he continued with the suddenly cumbersome weapon. Dagger in hand, Cron began to jab and swipe while fending off kicks.
His first lunge took a Goblin in the groin and carried up into his stomach. Someone clubbed down on his back and he dropped further. He stabbed hard into a sandaled foot until he heard the clink of steel striking stone. The Goblin yowled and limped away. The ground ran slick with blood. Impossibly, Cron managed to fight his way back to his feet. He climbed over the press of bodies and drove the only unwounded Goblin back against the wall. Fighting and thrashing for his life, the Goblin spit blood when Cron’s dagger sliced up through his jaw and into the brain. At the end of his strength, Cron struggled to catch his breath. The Goblin he’d wounded in the foot was trying to limp away for help.
The Dragon Hunters Page 38
