The Dragon Hunters (24 page)

The Minotaur King

Grelic, Pregen, Cron, and Kialla were paraded into the massive throne room and told to behave before the shaman left them. The nearest guard offered a knowing look. Grelic fired his own baleful stare and clenched his fists.

“Now isn’t the time to be a hero, Grelic,” Kialla warned quickly.

“Don’t want to be one. I just want a little payback for the beating he gave me.”

The guard barked a laugh. Saliva and bits of partially chewed meat flew into Grelic’s face.

“Not now,” Kialla urged. Her voice carried a deadlier tone.

She was the only one still armed. Lady Killer stayed tucked in her right boot, carefully hidden from the clumsy inspection upon capture. Though it was created by the Elves, she harbored no illusions about being able to overpower the entire tribe and make good their escape. She guessed she might be able to kill one before having her brains dashed against the floor.

The giant scowled at her. No because he was angry, but because she was right. He didn’t want to die underground unless there was no other way around it. “You’re lucky I like you.”

The guards mocked him when they noticed the tension leave his heavy shoulders. Kialla flashed him the same loving smile she’d given him since she was knee high.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

They were herded into a line in front of a massive throne of aged bones. Cron swallowed back the fear rising in his throat. He couldn’t imagine what creature was forced to surrender its bones to construct this horrible throne. Two more of the wizened shamans emerged from behind the throne where velvet tapestries of the darkest purple hung. It was the only part of the cavern where Grelic found signs of habitation. Curious, he let his gaze wander.

The chamber floor was made entirely of emerald marble run through with veins of gold with a dozen pillars evenly spaced around in a huge circle. Intricate sculptures and designs covered each from floor to ceiling. A stone pedestal sat to the right of the throne. They couldn’t see into it but the sound of trickling water echoed from within. More carvings covered smooth portions of the walls. They were of dragons and more of the huge, horned, bull-like captors. Finely woven tapestries, clearly of foreign origin, hung at odd intervals. Each was a vibrant color of the rainbow and bore heraldic emblems. Torches added an eerie mixture of light and shadow.

Whatever else they may be, Grelic recognized a warrior society. Their entire culture seemed to revolve around battle and warfare. Their dedication and devotion was praiseworthy. So much so that Grelic found himself carrying growing respect.

A heavy stone door groaned open from the far side of the chamber. A third shaman entered, this one hobbling on his staff. Behind him walked Ibram and Dakeb. Mouths dropped open as they looked upon the impossible.

“You didn’t think I was dead, did you?” Dakeb asked in response to their disbelief. “Young Ibram brought me back, but now is not the time for explanation. I believe their king is about to enter.”

“Dakeb, it does my heart good to have you back at our side, but what manner of beasts are these?” Grelic asked softly.

The shamans touched each other’s hands and began to hum.

“We are guests of the Minotaurs, my friend. I’d quite forgotten about them in all of our excitement.”

Cron asked, “Are they friend or foe?”

“We shall see.”

As if on cue, a smaller Minotaur stepped in front of the huge golden gong and rang it loudly. Echoes danced in their ears, inspiring a range of emotions from startled to fright to awe. Twin lines of large bull warriors dropped to one knee and lowered their horned heads as another pair opened the heavy curtains behind the throne. Kialla gasped and clutched Cron’s forearm as the Minotaur king entered his throne room. The soldier winced in pain.

The Minotaur king had to bend slightly to pass his immense frame through the doorway. Even Grelic balked at his size and power. He stood over nine feet tall and was extraordinarily muscled. Thickly corded shoulders and neck carried the weight of his massive bull’s head. His right horn was broken in half from a battle long ago. He kept the scar as a reminder of the cost of victory. Mottled grey fur spotted his face and chest, betraying his age. The muscles of his arms were easily as thick as Grelic’s legs. A bone necklace hung proudly on his chest. He had a thick mane growing down his back and an even thicker mat on his chest. The very ground trembled as a pair of shamans escorted him to the throne.

Once seated, the Minotaur king looked at each of them with a penetrating glare. He found nothing remarkable about any of them. Not even the big man who had supposedly killed four of his warriors. He snorted upon seeing the female and cursed the cruel twist of fate that made man the dominant species on Malweir.
If I only had their numbers. The world would tremble beneath my hooves.
His eyes fell on Dakeb and he bowed his impressive head. The ring in his nose dangled seductively. “Mage, you honor us with your presence. It has been long since one of your kind visited Malg.”

His voice was deep and rumbling. Grelic was reminded of water crashing onto rocks at the bottom of a fall.

The old Mage bowed slightly as a smile warmed his wrinkled face. “Sad times have befallen both of our races, Thorsus.” He smiled again at the Minotaur king’s surprise. “Oh yes, I remember you quite well. Your contributions at the battle of Shadom Gein will never be forgotten. It is thanks to your armies that we were finally able to besiege Ipn Shal and end the war.”

“I am honored you remember me, though I was but a captain then. This is not why you are here. Tell me, Master Mage, why did you come into the Werd with such evil?”

The question was bold and direct. Thorsus learned long ago not to trust the devices of men. His respect for Dakeb didn’t immediately transfer to the others.

“I don’t understand. We bring no evil, though we’ve been confronted by it since starting our quest.”

Thorsus leaned forward, clutching the skull locked in perpetual scream on the armrest. “The storm you rode was conceived by ill purpose. My shamans have yet to determine your innocence.”

“The storm was not of our doing. True, it followed us, hunted is more like it, but we surely intended no harm to any of your kind.”

The Minotaur king seemed to consider this for a moment. “Be that as it may, you brought much destruction into Qail Werd. This has been a haven for us for a long time. We have had no wars since the dark times. We want nothing to do with the troubles of man. The old alliances are no more. Today the Minotaur tribes stand alone.”

Dakeb lowered his head ever so slightly in defeat. He was unsure what to say. What could possibly change their minds? How much could he keep secret before the very mission became endangered? Too many questions with little or no answers. He started to feel the weight of his years. He didn’t know what Thorsus was thinking but knew well enough not to pressure him. He’d learned centuries ago that the mythic race was proud, stoic, and meticulous in their actions. Added pressure would only grate on the king.

“Mage Dakeb,” he said and finally broke the silence. “I would speak with you in private council. You may bring the fledgling Mage. Your kind has earned my respect and I do not forget.”

The others balked at the mention of a young Mage. Surely he didn’t mean Ibram. Seeing both of them alive again was too much in itself, but to hear the massive bull proclaim Brother Ibram a Mage was staggering. A leering glare from Grelic eased some of the building tension. As much as he wanted to speak, Grelic knew this was the one time to remain silent. He watched the scene develop with unsurpassed interest. This was a first for him, despite all of his adventures and travels.

Dakeb bowed again. “What of the others? My friends are all in this together, Lord Thorsus. What happens to one shall happen to the other.”

“They will remain in their cell and be given a proper meal. No harm shall befall them unless I determine you have come to do harm.” His tone suggested no room for argument.

Dakeb sighed. “Then I request I receive the same treatment. I don’t deserve better than my friends.”

The Minotaur king raised a thick, questioning eyebrow. “You are a Mage. That alone grants you special privilege.”

“If only such were still true. The time of the Mages is long past. My kind, what few of us still exist, are unwelcome in most kingdoms.”

“What you and your kind did for my people will be long remembered fondly. For that I am personally in your debt. Mages will be given their place in my halls according to their rank.”

“What of the others?” Ibram boldly asked.

Even the shamans looked on the youth with new light in their eyes.

Thorsus laughed, deep and resonating. The throne room echoed his sudden mirth. “The young Mage is bold. Impetuous. Perhaps there is hope for all of us. Your friends will go to their cell and be well cared for. You have my word. Both of you shall come to my chambers for further discussion. As you say, dark times are falling and I have need of your council. My word is final.”

Thorsus nodded and the servant banged on the golden gong again, ending the audience. The ranks of warriors marched out in regimented precision. Grelic moved off on his own, trusting to the secret negotiations between Minotaur and Mage. Regardless of the outcome, it was the only real chance they had at getting out of Malg. He motioned towards the door to Kialla and she fell in line behind him. It took a more menacing look to make Pregen follow, but soon they were being led through the winding corridors.

The Mage watched them go with the slightest hint of apprehension. Their reunion had not been what he’d hoped for. Knowing they still lived was small comfort. Naturally Dakeb had known about the Minotaur kingdom under Qail Werd. He was one of the ones who’d helped them relocate after the dark times. Dakeb could only trust in their intentions. Normally war-like and aggressive, Minotaurs preferred a fight to sneaking around. Yet the general feeling he took from Thorsus and the shamans was one of hiding. It hurt him to see Malweir’s proudest warriors reduced to a cowering mass of hollow strength.

Waiting until they were alone with one of the shamans, Dakeb asked, “Tell me, why is the mood here so dark? Thorsus spoke of us bringing evil to the Werd. My instinct warns me something else lurks under the great forest.”

The shaman eyed him cautiously, contemplating how much to say. “It is as you say. Dark times are returning to stalk us. We are to pay for the crimes of forgetting.” He smiled thinly. “No more can I speak. It is not my place. Lord Thorsus will tell you all you must know, Mage.”

Momentarily defeated, the old Mage whistled softly. There was too much for him to think on to be content with half riddles and mystic answers. Answers he more often than not intended to give. Clearly the shaman had been instructed on what to say.

“How long have you lived down here?” Ibram asked, just to break the somber atmosphere.

The shaman was more than happy to change the subject. “Our home has been here for three hundred years. Before that we were a nomadic people. Those were good times. Ours was more than just a way of life. Kings and nobles often requested our aid to fight for them. Then the dark Mages stole our lands, enslaving whole tribes to be used as slave labor and worse. Many horrible experiments were done to our kin.

“We rallied to the side of the loyal Mages during the great war. Many times did our might sweep the battlefields, turning defeat into victory. Those were glorious times! Sadly, the wars left our kind too decimated to maintain our open kingdoms on the central plains. Fenis, sire of Lord Thorsus, led us here to the boughs of the great Werd. It has been home and friend to us since.”

“Were you there? During the war?” Ibram asked.

The shaman gave him a sad look and kept walking.

Schooled and trained as a monk of Harr from a young age, Ibram was taught to believe in every man or beast’s free will and inert goodness at the core of their soul. He’d vaguely heard of Minotaurs in one of his readings but never imagined meeting one in person. Father Seldis never spoke of such things. Especially not about the dark times. Was Seldis a Mage?

His suspicions regarding Seldis seemed based on fact now. Dakeb awakened latent powers Seldis had been grooming for years. Suddenly his entire life took on new meaning. Natural doubt assailed his ego. He wasn’t a Mage. He couldn’t be. Yet Dakeb and the shamans assumed such and more. It bothered him to think everyone else knew more than he was being told. So intent on self-thought, Ibram failed to notice the immaculate perfection of his surroundings. The passage was arched, etched with alabaster carvings of Minotaur history. Beautiful statuettes sat on marble pillars every twenty meters, each illuminated by curious pale light that almost made them look alive.

“What is this place?” Ibram asked.

The shaman rapped the iron tip of his staff on the marble tile every time his left foot hit the ground. The sadness was gone from his features, replaced by strong pride. “The heart of the Minotaur kingdom.”

A gilded door swung outward in invitation. They had come to the king’s private chambers.

Thorsus

Thorsus leisurely sat on a comfortable-looking chair filled with down pillows and silk coverings. He was just as tense as in the throne chamber, despite the casualness of the present setting. The walls were covered with animal skins and various skulls, trophies of past hunts, and glorious campaigns. Enormous rugs and blankets made of exquisite animal hides lay scattered across the floor. A small pool in the far corner of the chamber contained various ornamental fish. A lone tree grew on the island in the center. It was the only piece of greenery they’d seen in the underground kingdom.

The Minotaur king beamed upon seeing his guests enter. “Ah, Master Mage, welcome to my inner sanctum. This is the one place in all our lands I feel comfortable.”

“Truly a place for kings and lords,” Dakeb replied with a grin.

“Yet not up to the standards of the Mage order?”

Dakeb laughed. “Hardly! I wish I had something so grand awaiting me upon the end of this task.”

Thorsus rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “Ever sly with your words. I have missed speaking with your kind. Dark have been our days of late and you mention your task without waiting. More is at work here than I know.”

Both men took their proffered seats, relaxing on the softness of the blankets and pillows. Though small in nature, it was the first luxury either had had since leaving Eline. Ibram immediately became too relaxed and sleep crept upon him. Neither Dakeb nor Thorsus were inclined to keep him awake.

“Youth,” Thorsus said. “If only we were so young again. How much easier would life be? Don’t you agree?”

Dakeb briefly remembered events from three centuries ago. “Yes, perhaps too much. We have entered the winter of our days, Thorsus.” He leaned closer and said, “There is a dark Mage on the loose. We did not kill them all during the war. Now one has come back to rebuild the crystal of Tol Shere and open the gates to release the dark gods.”

“You know who it is, don’t you?” asked Thorsus.

Dakeb dropped his head. “I do.”

“Hmph. It is not an easy thing, having to face a friend like that again. I shall ask no further,” the Minotaur king confided.

“Don’t mind me. I’m just an old man with few friends and even less to do with my last few years. Thank you though. Now, I suspect you have a tale of your own for the telling.”

“Ever wise. Our last few years have been fraught with danger. It started two winters ago when a strange darkness settled over Qail Werd. At first just a few of our foragers and hunters went missing. No more than one or two as the weeks passed. That shadow crept into our hearts. More came up missing. We sent a great war party to the north. To the Darkwall Mountains. Less than half returned. Many of those were no longer of sound mind. The shamans said it was like they’d been broken in two. I decided to make a stand in the forest. No more raid or war parties. That did not stop the enemy from coming after us.”

He shifted his great weight. Fur stood on end on the back of his neck. “Goblins and Trolls, followed by other dark creatures my people have no names for, came cutting and hacking. We fought as bravely as our ancestors, but it was not enough. Our people continued disappearing. No one knows why or where they go for their bodies are never recovered. They simply disappear. I believe they are taken to the foul lands.”

Thorsus fell silent. His face was twisted and mottled with rage. Knots of anger protruded from his forehead. The tale was hard to tell, even to one of the trusted Mages. Despite their trust and loyalty to the now extinct order, the business was for the Minotaurs. His fist balled in frustration and he slapped the arm of his chair.

“I’m afraid it gets worse,” Dakeb added softly.

Pregen threw the rock as hard as he could. It shattered upon impact, sending a small cascade of dust and pebbles to the floor. His face was swollen and hurt from losing so many teeth. And he was angry. “What qualifies him for special treatment while the rest of us suffer?”

Cron swallowed the last bite of roast fowl and wiped his mouth. “This isn’t what I call suffering. Sit down and relax. We have no idea what’s happening with him.”

“So we just sit here and wait to see whether we live or die? Like sheep heading to the slaughter,” Pregen fumed.

“Will you sit down and shut up for once? I’m tired of listening to you complain about everything!” Kialla snapped.

She’d finally had enough of his childishness. The temptation to draw Lady Killer rose and faded just as fast. Killing him wasn’t going to solve their problems and she wasn’t that type of person. Granted, she’d enjoy it, but the pleasure would instantly turn to regret and self-loathing. Men like Pregen always got theirs went it came down to the end. Part of her hoped it didn’t. The rest of her wanted to be nowhere around when it happened.

Grelic rubbed his forehead against the building headache. He leveled a stern gaze on the assassin and said no more. The conversation ended without another word. Mired in misery, the giant felt things beginning to fall apart. They’d been fed better than a king’s banquet and shown at least a measure of respect from their hosts after initially being imprisoned. He’d been in worse, but with better company.

“What is our next move?” Cron asked once Pregen stormed off to the far corner of the cell.

Grelic rubbed one of his sore eyes. He was beyond exhausted and nearly at the point of burning out. “I honestly don’t know. We don’t seem to be too bad off at the moment. The food helped. I was growing tired of travel rations and cold campsites. I say we try to rest and forget our troubles until Dakeb returns. Regain our strength while we can.”

Cron raised an eyebrow. “If they decide not to play nice?”

Grelic laughed.

“I’ll admit one thing: this goes far beyond the adventure I was expecting when I left Kelis Dur. I wonder what the future has in store for us,” Cron told him.

“How unlike the Captain Cron I know. Always has his head in the moment and never thinks too deeply on the future. You’re tired,” Grelic said.

“Aye. Tired of a great many things. I want this over so I can go home and fix things in the capital. If it’s even possible.”

“One impossibility at a time,” Grelic cautioned. “One at a time.”

Ibram awoke to the sweet smell of roasting rabbit. Drops of fat sizzled and sputtered as they hit the flames. A pitcher of almost black liquid sat on the small table next to him. His mouth watered and his stomach growled mightily. Until now he hadn’t realized how famished he was.

“Eat, young Mage,” Thorsus growled between drinks from the stone mug in his hand. “You’re wasting away! Hardly fit for a Mage.”

Both Dakeb and the Minotaur shared a laugh.

“He’s still much too young for the kind of experience needed to know about such things, as I was saying before he woke up,” Dakeb said.

“Too young for what?” Ibram asked.

Thorsus laughed again. “To know when to stop and eat, boy. Now drink! It’s the finest ale we brew. Guaranteed to make you a bull!”

Ibram took a tentative sip before diving in to the murky liquid. The ale was thick, too heavy for his liking, and burned going down his throat. His stomach churned immediately. Thorsus watched him intently and burst into a fit of laughter as Ibram’s face took on a green tinge. Even Dakeb found it difficult to control himself.

“Stay with us and you’ll soon be a man,” Thorsus snorted.

Ibram wiped some of the sweat building on his brow. “If I stay with you I might not live long enough for that.”

“Eat…eat. Let the hare take your mind from the ale.” Thorsus turned to Dakeb. “Long has it been since such mirth filled my halls. I am in your debt, Master Mage. Perhaps we may be able to help one another.”

Dakeb felt a great weight slide from his shoulders. “Given the circumstances I say we both need all of the allies we can get. Let us renew the bonds of alliance so that Malweir may be at peace again.”

“I’d almost forgotten the sound of such words. Troublesome is the darkness hiding my heart, Dakeb. Too many of my people have disappeared beyond the mountains. I fear for the future. Much of our strength is lost. I can’t help but wonder how long before the curtain of doom falls.”

It hurt his heart to hear defeat coming from the Minotaur’s mouth, but Dakeb knew that similar pain was being felt across the world. Dakeb cursed the day they decided to create the crystal of Tol Shere. He never came to understand how so much evil stemmed from the overwhelming desire to do good.

“Evil is thriving again. It is for all races to band together to stop the return of the dark Mages. Only through such unity can we hope to defeat him.”

Thorsus flinched at the mention of the dark Mages. “What help could we give? We are not as strong as we were during the dark times. We cannot fight a war.”

“I intend to stop this before it comes to war. Thrae is being torn apart from the inside as well as out. The dark Mage needs confusion if his plans are to succeed. It is an old trick of his. The only way to stop him is to get into the Deadlands and the Goblin stronghold of Mordrun Bal. That is where all of the answers lie.”

Thorsus cocked his massive head. “What else do you know? Why does the Mage want my people?”

Dakeb paused. Until now he only moved on assumptions and idle thoughts of treachery. If the enemy behind all of the nefarious acts being conducted truly was the Silver Mage, he wasn’t going to be able to keep secrets from his allies. Then there was Ibram to consider. His world had just come undone. All the truths he once believed turned to subtle deceptions, keeping him ignorant. This was a dangerous time to learn he was of the blood of Mages. Finally, Dakeb looked back to Thorsus.

“I believe Sidian searches for the shard I once hid under the mighty volcano long ago,” he said flatly. The admission struck deep.

Ibram nearly choked on the piece of meat in his mouth. “You hid it there? But why?”

“To prevent the past from repeating,” Dakeb replied stiffly. “Those few of us who remained didn’t have the lore or ability to destroy the crystal. One night we held council and it was decided that I would take the four shards and hide them across Malweir. Even then we had a foreboding that the war was not wholly finished. The rest of my kind went into hiding. They protected the lords and ladies of the kingdoms, often without them ever finding out. Rumors of a shadow stalking the land spread after a time. Some of us set out to learn the truth and only one returned.”

“Do you believe this really is the work of the dark Mage?” Ibram asked.

“I don’t want to, but it makes sense. The shard is under Druem. So long as it remains hidden we have a chance at victory,” Dakeb replied.

“What help can the Minotaurs provide?” Thorsus asked.

Dakeb smiled. “We need supplies and a guide through Qail Werd.”

“And after the Werd? The pass of Deldin Grim is guarded by more than just Goblins and Trolls. Dark creatures lurk in the hidden crevices. My people can show you the secret ways.”

“It won’t be that easy. We’re expected to rendezvous with the Aeldruin at the base of the pass in four days,” Dakeb told him.

Thorsus reeled in surprise. “Elves! I thought they did not exist anymore. We haven’t heard of their exploits since the war. Does Faeldrin still command?”

“I doubt they’d listen to anyone else,” Dakeb said and laughed.

Thorsus nodded his appreciation. “It is good to have friends like that in bad times. I am glad the Elves have allied with you, Dakeb. Seeing Faeldrin again would ease my spirits. It has been too long since the Elves graced these woods.”

“Perhaps a meeting can be arranged once our task is done.”

“I would like that. But come, I’ve kept you long enough. Time is of the essence, as you say. Guides shall be awaiting your party at our gates. Your friends will be set free and taken to the stores to fill their packs. Take what you need. The Deadlands are not a friendly place to travelers. I shall send Krek with you. He knows the mountain pass better than any other. If the enemy awaits, as I suspect, he will know what to do.”

Dakeb bowed. “Thank you, Thorsus. I wish there was some way I could repay you.”

“You already have. Hope is renewed. Whether victory or despair awaits us, there is hope. Rid the Werd of the dark Mage and we can take care of the rest.”

“You forgot the dragon,” Ibram added.

Both stared at him in surprise.

“Dragon!” Thorsus exclaimed. “One of the sky riders has not been seen in this part of the world for centuries. Are you certain?”

“Very. We found dragon marks in a village some days south of here,” Dakeb replied while glowering at Ibram. “Worry not, old friend. This is a task made for a Mage and we are fully prepared to deal with the wyrm.”

“This changes matters.”

Ibram couldn’t have agreed more. Old doubts resurfaced. He wasn’t sure if going into the Deadlands was their best choice.

Dakeb said, “Nonsense! I’ve just cure for dragons.”

The Minotaur king waited for an explanation.

“A surly old Mage who’s seen enough of war to last a lifetime.”