The Dragon Hunters (38 page)

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.

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 Goblins 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.

“Get down!” Kialla barked harshly.

He fell forward just as the arrow whistled through where his head had been. The feathered shaft caught the escaping Goblin in the neck. The pure force of the strike propelled the body to the ground with a sickening crunch. This fight was over. Shouldering her bow, Kialla rushed to his side with a concerned look. He gave her a lopsided grin and a stole a quick peck on her cheek.

“I’m fine. Most of the blood’s not mine,” he tried to assure her. Pain all but crippled him, forcing him to wonder if he was ever going to be right again. He’d been part of too many nightmares. The soldier met Grelic’s stern gaze.

“Good work,” Grelic said approvingly.

Cron exhaled slowly. He didn’t have much fight left. “They had to have come from somewhere. I say we follow that tunnel.”

Grelic didn’t see many alternatives. “One way is as good as another. I’ll take point. We can’t let you have all the fun.”

Cron hurt too much to laugh.

The tunnel stretched forever. Sloping downward and unlighted, Grelic and the others had but a single torch to keep the shadows at bay. They’d been fortunate not to run into any more Goblins, though Grelic wasn’t prone to trusting blind luck. He pushed as hard as their condition allowed, often having to stoop to avoid cracking his head on the low ceiling. Finally, the tunnel ran into a dead end.

Suddenly trapped, he forced his nerves down and searched for the way out. Like Cron suggested, the Goblins had to have come from somewhere. All they had to do was find the locking mechanism controlling the hidden door. Grelic wedged the dying torch into a crevice and started looking. An axe might have delivered better results. The smoothed walls all looked the same. He growled, low and menacing. Not even Dwarf tunnels in Kressel Tine were so smoothly bored.

A tiny whisper in the back of his mind cautioned him to turn around and head back to the main corridor rather than waste more time down here. More Goblins could have entered behind them and were already heading down. Grelic didn’t particularly enjoy the thought of dying in the cold dark.

“This is impossible,” Cron gasped as his eyes covered every inch of the walls. “There’s no way the switch is on this side.”

Grelic wasn’t convinced. “It must be. How else did that squad get out? We’re missing the obvious.”

Holding his hands out futilely, Cron asked, “Missing what? This is a dead end, Grelic. I say we double back before it’s too late.”

All three knew it might already be too late. A passing patrol would surely have noticed the carnage left without any trouble.

“No. It’s forward or nothing,” Grelic said. “For all we know the entire mountain is alerted to us. Now help me look. There has to be a trigger, a latch, something, damn it.”

Kialla plucked the torch from the wall and waved it over the stone. She grimaced. Soon they’d be trapped in pure darkness. Any hope of finding the trigger would be lost. The dull sensation burning deeply in her shoulder was spreading. The bleeding had stopped but unless they had time to sew up the wound she was at risk of infection or worse. She closed her tired eyes and leaned against the wall.

It felt good to catch her breath. Kialla once again debated whether this was the life meant for her. The notion of abandoning this life of war pressured her already conflicted mind. She awkwardly thought of having children, a wild idea never once entering her mind. She shook her head to clear away temptations. Thinking like that was only going to get them all killed.

Pushing off the wall to steady herself, Kialla noticed the most peculiar thing. The wall closest to her hand was convex and coarse. Curious, she ran her fingers over the stone, feeling the roughness hidden in the stone. The patch was no bigger than her fist. Kialla fought back her smile. Every instinct wanted her to push the button shaped area. She gave in. The hidden tunnel door slid open noisily. She’d done it! The way was open.

Grelic leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Little sister, I don’t know what you did but you just saved us. Come on.”

They stepped out of the tunnel and into a nightmare none of them comprehended.

Krek resisted the urge to barrel head on into the rushing mass of enemy warriors. There was much honor to be claimed for such a deed, but he would pay the ultimate price. Traveling and fighting with the hu taught him much about the difference between honor and arrogance. The only chance he had for survival lay in speed and stealth.

He finished arranging the bodies in front of the entrance to the tunnels and dashed behind a row of squat buildings. Krek sniffed the wind for approaching Goblins. Thin clouds hid the moon, bathing the lands in an unnatural combination of pale light and darkness. The Minotaur grinned. It was a perfect night for killing. The surrounding area clear, he climbed atop the nearest building and slithered to the edge.

Lying prone, he looked down on his foe. Close to forty of the barrel-bodied enemy surged down the street he’d just left. Most were fully garbed in boiled leather armor and armed to the teeth. Others hardly had time to snatch up a sword when the first battle started. Their eyes mirrored looks of caution, of unfiltered hatred. Krek felt positive many of them would rather be killing Elves than hunting ghosts in Mordrun Bal.

The thought of Faeldrin and his spindly Elves made Krek momentarily long for their long bows. The Elves could easily strike down so many opponents without losing a single warrior. He snorted quietly. There was no honor in killing from a distance. After tonight, Krek was finally going to be a fully fledged warrior. His deeds would be sung in legends centuries from now. The young bull continued to watch.

Goblins noticed the piled bodies of their brothers and skidded to a halt. Fear rose in their throats. Several of the bodies were hacked apart or clubbed savagely, as if a vengeful demon had come upon them. The front ranks approached more cautiously. A great enemy was loose in their city. One capable of tearing them to pieces.

“Forward, scum!” snarled the ogre-like whip master as he jostled his way through the ranks. “Move or it’s the lash!”

They snarled and hissed back. Some reflexively clutched their weapons to strike. The smell of blood eased their initial fright. Slowly the mass surged ahead. They eyed the ominous entrance to Druem warily, for the darkness held many things. When the whip master burst to the front rank, even he took pause.

“What’s this?” he asked no one in particular.

The eyes of the dead stared back at him mockingly.

Krek struck that moment. He leapt from the roof, tulwar poised overhead. The weight of his fall drove a handful of Goblins to the ground. Krek kicked, punched, and bit his way back to his feet among the confused enemy. He attacked with unrepressed fury. Each blow of the tulwar made a sickening crunch as bone and flesh were crushed. Chaos broke out among the Goblins. The demon had come for them!