FIFTY-FOUR
Dark Reunion
“Back!”
Dakeb shoved Ibram aside and raised a shield of shimmering, colorless magic before a blast of vermillion magic crashed into them. The old Mage buckled under the impact. Hissing laughter followed the attack. Dakeb let out a slow breath and thanked his reflexes for not failing. A figure sidled out from the shadows.
“Dakeb! How good it is to see you again,” Sidian taunted.
“If you say so. I, for one, had hoped to never see you alive again.”
Sidian glowered. “These chance meetings are becoming quite boring. It doesn’t need to be like this. The others are dead. Their lives and dreams no more than faded memories for you and I. Seldis was the last. My creations killed him in Kelis Dur some nights ago.”
If he was expecting a reaction from Dakeb, he was disappointed. Dakeb already knew what fate had befallen his friend. Only Ibram seemed stunned by the news.
“What’s this? A new pet?” Sidian asked upon seeing the young monk. “Can’t let the old ways go, can you? I recall the arrogance of that age. Scouring the lands in search of those with the gift. The forgotten children of ancient Gaimos. Taking children from grieving mothers against their will. You would return Malweir to such a state?”
Dakeb leveled his gaze contemptuously. “We were all taken by the dream. Do not hold the nature of your being against the order, Sidian. You were chosen by the gods to serve higher purpose. Many parents grieved at first.”
Lightning bristled over his cloak. “You know nothing of my grief! I was torn from her arms by knights of the order before I knew how to speak. Her hair was in my hands even when they brought me to Ipn Shal. She died of a broken heart not long after. I visited her grave on my very first trip away from the temple. Then I learned what twisted fate befell my father. He turned to drinking and fell in with whores and thieves. A petty criminal cut his throat in a dark alley in Paedwyn for a mere handful of copper coins. Don’t lecture me on grief for I know it well.”
“Your grief is of your own choosing. We were all victims of the same deed. You and your dark brothers turned and used that against the orders. I cannot help you with your loss. Nor will I allow you to continue this quest,” Dakeb replied evenly.
“Allow?” Sidian bellowed in rage. “You overestimate your worth to this world. There is nothing you can prevent me from doing. How long have we played our little game? Two centuries? Three? You can’t possibly think you have enough strength to best me after all this time.” A demonic gleam lit his eyes. “The age of Mage-kind is finished, Dakeb. Our arrogance saw to that. The crystal of Tol Shere was a harbinger of doom to us all. Every ounce of malice, corruption, and hatred was pulled forth into the lands. The fault lays in all of us, brother. You, me, the hundreds of dead and thousands of civilians who paid the price.”
“Those people died because of your greed,” Dakeb accused. “Your kind has always lusted for power. That is why I took the shards and hid them across Malweir. The cracked crystal must not be remade.”
Sidian spat venom. “What can you do to stop me? You took the four shards to the corners of the world and I have already found all but one. One left before the return of the dark gods.”
“This shard does not yet belong to you, else you’d have run back to your dark master in Gren. Oh yes, I know of your dreams of empire.”
“This conversation is over.” The Silver Mage stepped back into the shadows. “You should not have come here. The cracked crystal shall be remade and the rise of the dark Mages will cover all Malweir. You are too late. With the last of the great order of Mages dead, I shall finally fulfill the prophecy. Good-bye, old friend.”
Sidian lashed out with violent green hellfire that washed over them both.
“I’ve never seen such a place,” Cron gasped, trying to comprehend what he saw.
Even Grelic nodded in agreement. Dozens of bodies, if they could still be called such, were hung from rusted shackles at various points along the walls. All were wasted away until their bones clearly showed beneath the fabric of their flesh. The stench was worse than anything they’d ever encountered. Piles of bones cluttered the shadow-laced corners. Row upon row of cages and cells stretched the length of the dim chamber. The giant edged closer and gently poked his broadsword into the yellowed skin of what used to be a man. Sickly puss leaked from the wound. Grelic gagged.
“They look to have been dead for some time,” he managed.
“Who could have done this?” Kialla asked, dismayed. Suddenly she was more frightened than at any other point in her life. “How?”
“My guess is this is the work of Dakeb’s dark Mage. I’d say the majority of them were failed experiments.”
Cron asked, “And the others?”
Grelic shook his head. “Savage entertainment? Look at the bite and claw marks. Evil was at work here.”
He stalked off to continue searching. The ground was soft, almost musty with the pulp of a hundred victims. Everywhere he looked there were instruments of torture. Madness. Grelic wasn’t a god-fearing man, but what his eyes saw made him question the foundations of theology. How could any god allow such filth?
“It’s a torture cell,” Cron uttered.
Holding the torch over a long metal table, Grelic wasn’t so sure. “No. It’s a laboratory.”
“I don’t like this,” Cron admitted. “Grelic, we need to leave. I don’t want to get caught in this death trap when the madman returns.”
“Agreed. Search the cells for survivors, then we make for the tunnel,” Grelic ordered, and the three separated.
Kialla wanted to voice her disapproval but a bare whisper kept her quiet. She knew deep inside that she’d never be able to look at herself again if she were responsible for leaving anyone behind in this madness. Dutifully, Kialla carefully covered her nose and mouth and went looking.
The chamber was a long ellipse. Cells and cages were burrowed into the rock and sealed with near unbreakable iron bars. Grelic had no doubt they were infused with magic to better contain the prisoners. Most of them held assorted remains in various states of decomposition. Rats and mice crawled across the corpses, tearing chunks of flesh away with their needle-like teeth. Kialla wanted to stab them but knew there was no point. They were only doing what they were designed for.
A number of cells were conspicuously empty despite looking very lived in. Kialla shook her head. This didn’t make sense. Why would there be so many living cages in a slaughterhouse? Her best guess was that they were used to hold the results of whatever hideous experiments happened down here. She was just about to give up when the faintest flicker of movement caught her eye. Kialla drew her sword. Someone, or something, was still alive.
Emerging from the fourth chamber, Pregen disgustedly punched the wall. Not finding the shard was getting irksome. He’d searched everywhere. All of the usual hiding spots or favorite places. Nothing. None of his tricks or intuitions seemed to work. He cursed quietly in case there were any Goblins lurking about and idly chewed the inside of his cheek. Think, damn it. It must be here. There’s no other place to look.
For his part, Fitch stood quietly until frustration and anxiety got the better of him. He eyed the thief with new found uncertainty. “Where could it be? This isn’t safe.”
Pregen whirled on him. “Don’t you think I know that, village boy? If I knew where it was we’d already be on our way out. I don’t even know what it looks like!”
Fitch blushed. “What can I do to help?”
“Stand there and shut up. I can’t think with you making this racket. Keep an eye out for Goblins or worse.”
He wasn’t sure what made him say that last part. Perhaps it was from having had too many encounters with worse on this quest. Or it could have just been fate. Either way, his words were about to turn prophetic. He left Fitch on guard and entered the last room on the level. If this didn’t produce the shard, he hadn’t a clue where to go next.
The barrel-bodied Goblin
storming out of the room bowled him over. Pregen saw his enemy’s eyes widen with shock. He also noticed something else. This Goblin was extraordinarily nervous. Pregen rolled to his feet with dagger in hand and stared after the Goblin. Not only was he an officer, it looked as if he was in charge. He slammed Fitch against the wall and disappeared around the corner.
“That’s it!” Pregen shouted.
Fitch pulled himself off the wall, dazed, and asked, “What? What are you talking about?”
“He’s got the stone. We need to catch him before he takes it back to the Mage!”
Pregen was shouting now. All thoughts of secrecy were gone as he was within grasp of the shard. He forgot the petty cowardice holding him back. All of the latent inadequacies marking him a lesser man. This one deed, if performed correctly, had the potential to save Malweir and redeem his family name. Pregen raced ahead without consideration for anything else. He had to get to the stone before it was too late.
He ran so fast Fitch couldn’t keep up. Still stumbling from the force of the blow, he barely managed to worm his way through the twisting passages. Soon he didn’t even hear footsteps. Fitch was impossibly lost. Worse, he knew it. Despair crept into the hollow corners of his soul. Whispers urged him to break down and cry, and he would have if not for the shame of having done that exact same act when Goblins destroyed his village months ago.
Shame scarred him, forcing Fitch to buck up and face reality. Pregen might already be in need of help. While he was no accomplished warrior, Fitch believed in friendship and his own skill set. Hunting and tracking consumed his previous life. Both Pregen and the Goblin had bolted so quickly they were bound to leave tracks. All he had to do was pick them up.
Doubling back the way he’d came, Fitch ran headlong into one of the Dwim. The nightmare creation reeled back and crouched to attack before Fitch blinked. The frightened villager eased back and fumbled for his dagger. He managed to take a long look at the creature for the first time. It was nothing like Ibram had described. It was much worse. Still, Fitch found something familiar about it. Like he’d known it for years.
The Dwim inched closer and Fitch felt his world suddenly collapse. The body was horribly disfigured and almost wooden. The face was withered but still bore an uncanny resemblance to a human being. Months of nightmares and torturous visions came crashing to a head. Recognition robbed his strength. Fitch stared into the eyes of his beloved Shar. She’d been twisted and broken into one of the Dwim.
Blood soaked almost every part of his body. Fatigue assailed his powerful frame but still Krek battled on. He bled from a dozen wounds and was near the limits of exhaustion. A host of Goblins already lay piled around him. Goblin warriors stalked warily just out of reach. None of them seemed interested in fighting the bull Minotaur. If Krek didn’t know any better he’d say they were waiting for some sort of sign to save their lives.
A horn sounded from the dismal village and those Goblins still able took flight. The fight was over and the enemy warriors were abandoning their posts. Krek slumped down to his knees and howled. Great honor had been heaped upon his name. At last he was a warrior.
FIFTY-FIVE
Dragon Attack
Faeldrin noticed it first. A fast moving shadow growing larger and barreling straight for them. His heart dropped. “Dragon!”
A great cheer arose from the Goblin army. The tide of battle had turned. Elves scrambled as the first blast of flame struck the highest tower on the eastern keep. Stone and flesh melted in one organizing groan. Ramulus soared overhead, exposing the luminous green belly plates. He bore no fear of the skinny Elves.
Faeldrin snatched a stunned Aleor by the collar. “Get them into firing positions before we’re all slagged. Snap out of it! This is what we came for.”
The Elf warrior eased out of his daze and stared back at his lord. “I…I’m sorry.”
“Save it for when we return to Elvenara. You can buy the first ale.”
Aleor grinned tightly and hustled back to the ballistae.
Mearlis watched the dragon loop around to prepare for another assault. “You’re optimistic.”
“Ha. It’s not going to be too much longer before he burns this entire area. We might as well dream of drinking ale when we die.” Faeldrin forced a grin. “Cover!”
Streams of fire washed across the barricade, turning hundreds of Goblin corpses to ash. Portions of the wall crumbled away. Faeldrin edged back from the keep and watched the dragon. As impressive as the wyrm was, he must have an exploitable weakness. For a brief instant Faeldrin considered appealing to the dragon’s sense of infallibility. He somehow doubted that was going to work, though the idea of engaging a dragon in a verbal duel proved fairly amusing. Then it dawned on him. The dragon exposed himself right before and immediately after attacking.
“What did you see?” Mearlis asked.
Faeldrin replied, “His stomach is covered with diamond-shaped, thick scales. I’d wonder if our ballistae can penetrate. Each time he finishes spitting fire he flaps his wings and arches his chest.” He took off.
“Where are you going?”
“To direct the gunners. We have a shot at this, Mearlis. We can win.”
Faeldrin left his second in command and brother thinking the exact opposite. At least the Goblins seemed content with letting the dragon do all their work. The Elf Lord ran past the wreckage of both weapons used to break the Goblin charge. Several of the logs were still burning, as were a pair of corpses. He ran on, as much as it pained him to leave his friends aflame. Faeldrin swore to avenge them and if not, he’d be seeing them very soon.
Aleor and Euorn emerged from behind a screen of boulders when they saw him coming. Both wore a grim look bordering on defeat.
“Status?” Faeldrin asked without delay.
Euorn sighed. “Cypr and Tly are dead. Both weapons are destroyed. We were going to try and fire off a shot on that last pass but he was too quick. We weren’t able to load them before he struck.”
Faeldrin winced. “It’s a good thing you hadn’t or this little plan of ours might already have failed.”
“How do you mean?”
“The dragon would have flamed the entire pass if you’d have hit him. This way we still have the element of surprise. He doesn’t know we want to kill him. Are the other weapons in position and ready to fire?”
“Yes. Euorn is commanding the battery on the right and I’ve got the one on the left. Each piece remains hidden behind a screen made by the Pell Darga. All we need is a way to convince him to fly directly towards us.”
“You make it sound difficult,” Faeldrin said. “At times you are too pessimistic.”
The taller Elf shrugged. “One of us needs to be. What’s your plan?”
“He needs bait. I’m it.”
An eyebrow arched. “How exactly?”
The Elf Lord smiled, charming and brilliant in the pale light. “By giving him something worth coming after. Is my horse saddled?”
“Yes, though I’m fairly certain he’s not overly enthused about riding out like this. You honestly intend to just sit there in the open and wait for the dragon to attack?”
“Unless you have a better way.”
“My better way involves us turning around and heading for home. This is madness, Faeldrin.”
He laughed. “I know. That’s why it will work.”
“He’s coming back around!” came a shout from one of the keeps.
Faeldrin felt his heart race. “Keep them under cover until you see my signal. Don’t move until I give the command.”
“How will I know your sign?” Aleor shouted to the already leaving Elf.
“Because it looks like I’ll be ready to become a snack!” Faeldrin shouted back over his shoulder.
Ramulus rocketed towards the Elven positions. Unnatural mist wreathed his enormous body. The effect made him glow. Fire spit and dripped from his nostrils and mouth. Hatred poured from his very spirit. Faeldrin suspected it was a forced hatred. Dragons
seldom got involved in mortal affairs. The Elf Lord held his breath. The air had gone dry. All of the moisture evaporated after the first attack. He reached down to stroke his horse’s neck. The gesture was meant to bolster his own confidence.
He watched the ground come alive with flames as the dragon roared by. Faeldrin knew this was the only chance he was going to get. He donned his silver helmet and rode out into the fury of the battle. His gold-trimmed cape of dark crimson matched the destructive fires reflected off his polished armor. He drew his sword.
Ramulus had already grown weary of the games the Elves seemed intent on playing. A respectable foe would already have had the grace to die. But these Elves insisted on hiding and avoiding the death he spit. Anger consumed him and the great dragon gave in to his passions. He wheeled about for another pass. If this proved as unsuccessful as the others he had every intention of landing in the middle of the pass and setting everything aflame until the very heart of the mountains burst.
He needn’t have worried. A glint of sunlight announced his foes’ champion come to challenge. Garishly decked out in resplendent armor, the Elf warrior waited in the middle of the pass with his sword raised high in challenge. Ramulus drew back his lips. A sword was next to useless against his natural armor, and for a brief instant he considered letting the Elf live out of respect. That moment died quickly.
Snorting displeasure, the dragon tucked back his wings and dove. Wind whistled off his luminous green hide. Lines of vapor trailed after him. Faeldrin felt certain he was going to be crushed. His horse bucked, rearing back on frightened legs. As much as he wanted to, the Elf Lord couldn’t abandon his plan now. Doing so would condemn his warriors, his friends, deep in the heart of the Deadlands and quite possibly the world.
If ever he needed things to go right, it was now. Faeldrin tried taking a deep breath to relax but the air was too hot. He’d never been more afraid in the many long centuries of his existence. This single deed went far beyond any task ever done in the storied history of the Aeldruin. Dakeb owed him greatly.
The Dragon Hunters Page 40
