The
Dragon Hunters
Histories
of Malweir Book 2
by
Christian Warren Freed
Genre:
Epic Fantasy
The
Mage Wars are a fading memory. The kingdoms of Malweir focus on
rebuilding what was lost and moving beyond the vast amounts of death
and devastation. For some it is easy, others far worse. Some men are
made in battle. Grelic of Thrae is one. A seasoned veteran of
numerous campaigns and raids, Grelic is a warrior without a war. He
languishes under mugs of ale and poor choices that eventually find
him locked in the dungeons of King Rentor. His only chance at
redemption is an offer tantamount to suicide: travel north with a
misfit band of adventurers and learn the truth of what happened in
the village of Gend.
Grelic,
suddenly tired of his life, reluctantly agrees and meets the only
survivor of the horrible massacre: Fitch Iane. Broken, mentally and
physically, Fitch babbles about demons stalking through the mists and
a terrible monster prowling the skies, breathing fire and death.
What
begins as a simple reconnaissance mission quickly turns into a quest
to stop Sidian, the Silver Mage from accomplishing his goals in the
Deadlands. The last of the dark mages seeks to recover the four
shards of the crystal of Tol Shere and open the gateway to release
the dark gods from their eternal prison.
Grelic
and his team are sorely outnumbered and ill prepared to deal with the
combined threats of a dark mage and one of the great dragons from the
west. Not even the might of the Aeldruin, high elf mercenaries, and
Dakeb, the last of the mages, promises to be enough to stop evil and
restore peace to Thrae.
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A
pale wind kissed the fading winter day. Spring was but a few weeks away and the
lands were still being assailed by an unexpected blizzard coming down from the
Darkwall Mountains to the north. Massive snowdrifts dotted the lightly forested
plains. Trees drooped under the weight of gathering ice. Winds howled and
screamed in tortured agony from canyon to valley. Even the skies, normally pale
blue by this time, were sickened in a mottle of grey and black. Winter refused
to let go.
Normally
Fitch Iane would be nestled in his favorite chair built by his great
grandfather, in front of the fireplace, but this winter had been especially
harsh on hunting and fishing. A record six storms all but crippled the lands,
making it next to impossible for most to gather food or firewood. As he tramped
through the woods on the way home, Fitch wished for the thousandth time that
he’d been born some sort of royalty. Living in a warm, toasty palace with
marble floors and dozens of waiting servants seemed the life. A sudden gust of
wind sent ice and snow down the back of his heavy coat, forcing Fitch back to
grim reality.
Still,
it wasn’t all bad. His knapsack was filled with three cleaned and quartered
hares and a handful of plucked grouse. Not too bad considering it was just for
him and his wife. The thought of Shar, with her warming smile and long, flowing
golden hair stirred his passions. How much he’d give to be lying next to her
supple body under the down blankets right now. Fitch shook his head. That sort
of thinking would leave a man dead quicker than getting cut wrong. Besides, he
still had too far to go to get distracted with thoughts of what came next.
Fitch
sighed and continued his trek across the darkening landscape. He couldn’t help
but shiver at the unseasonable cold. The snow should be nearly gone by now and
the land was soggy from the additional moisture. A quick glance around and he
figured it would be another six weeks before things got right. Six whole weeks.
Fitch wondered how this year’s harvest would turn out. The farmers were all but
panicking by now. As it was, this part of Thrae wasn’t known for outstanding
crops or heavy farming. Most of the residents of Gend, Fitch’s home since
birth, were miners. The kingdom of Thrae won ownership of the jewel mines after
a fierce war with the Dwarves of the Bairn Hills nearly a generation ago.
It
was left to those like Fitch to provide for their homes and right now all he
wanted was to get out of the insufferable cold. He could almost taste the stew
and freshly baked dark bread. A pint of heavy ale would do nicely too. Fitch
stumbled, his foot snagging on a buried root. A tremendous roar shook the very
ground as he dropped. His heart froze as a blast of freezing wind sliced into
him. Fitch looked around but couldn’t spot the source of the fury in the
gathering darkness.
“What?”
he asked himself, hoping his mind could rationalize the moment.
Fitch
looked up just then and noticed the entire eastern sky seemed as if it was on
fire. He smelled ash and burnt meat. He wanted to believe it was just an
illusion played by the setting sun. The first flicker of flames shooting up
over the treetops changed his mind. He looked around. Everywhere he
looked trees were blackened and dead. Fresh snow was dusty, charcoal splashed. What nightmare could have done such a thing? A tiny whisper
in the back of his mind warned that the answers were much closer than he
wished.
Then
it hit him. A horrible, sickening thought all but crippling him. Fire. Smoke.
Distance. Gend! His village was burning. Fitch dropped his sack and started
running. The need to get home, to find Shar, overpowered all other thoughts and
emotions. A nightmarish roar frightened the world. Fitch covered his ears and
ran. Blood began to trickle from his nose.
When
he got closer he could hear new sounds, sickening sounds of steel ripping human
flesh. Women screaming. Children crying. Fitch suddenly grew very afraid. His
body became lethargic. He found it difficult just to move. Shar.
Thinking of her kept him going, but he was so afraid. A warm feeling ran down
his leg. Sweat turned cold. His body shivered and trembled. He was no great
hero, but neither was he a coward. What manner of demon can
make me so? Fitch Iane gave in to his fears and collapsed. He used what
strength remained to crawl under the boughs of a snow-laden fir and cried.
The
screaming quickly drowned out his sorrow. Fitch tried covering his ears. Tears
streaked his frozen cheeks. Strength abandoned him. Fear dug deeper, gaining
strength and crushing him. Jagged pieces of ice fell from the pine needles and
cut his face. He didn’t care. His only concern was staying alive. Just to stay alive!
Armies
of the Silver Mage
Histories
of Malweir Book 1
Malweir
was once governed by the order of Mages, bringers of peace and light.
Centuries past and the lands prospered. But all was not well. Unknown
to most, one mage desired power above all else. He turned his will to
the banished Dark Gods and brought war to the free lands. Only a
handful of mages survived the betrayal and the Silver Mage was left
free to twist the darker races to his bidding. The only thing he
needs to complete his plan and rule the world forever are the four
shards of the crystal of Tol Shere.
Having
spent most of their lives dreaming about leaving their sleepy village
and travelling the world, Delin Kerny and Fennic Attleford never
thought that one day they would be forced to flee their town in order
to save their lives. Everything changes when they discover the fabled
Star Silver sword and learn that there are some who want the weapon
for themselves. Hunted by a ruthless mercenary, the boys run from Fel
Darrins and are forced into the adventure they only dreamed
about.
Ever
ashamed of the horrors his kind let loose on the world the last mage,
Dakeb, lives his life in shadows. The only thing keeping him alive is
his quest to stop the Silver Mage from reassembling the crystal. His
chance finally comes through the hearts and wills of Delin and
Fennic. Dakeb bestows upon them the crystal shard, entrusting them
with the one thing capable of restoring peace to Malweir.
Half
of the Goblins were dead before the rest knew what was happening. They
scrambled for cover, spitting a futile volley back in return. Only three
Goblins were alive by the time the Gnaal burst from cover. The elm stand
exploded in a hail of fire and splinters. A terrible roar shook the ground as
the decaying monster stormed into the thick of the battle. Fennic saw death
searching him out.
Phaelor
screamed to be drawn. To exact revenge and finish the job already begun. Dead
bodies were flung recklessly aside and crushed under the Gnaal’s advance.
Blaron did exactly as he was told. His eight men withdrew as fast as they could
before the great beast spotted them. Hallis wasn’t so fortunate. The Gnaal’s
rotting head turned his way and those vile eyes locked on the sergeant. The
Gnaal smiled and started towards the ridge.
The
recruits broke and ran in fear. Some stood petrified. Hallis wished he could
find a place to hide for this was the most horrific experience of his life.
This went beyond the decadence and horrors on the plains of Gren. This was pure
and malevolent hatred. He shakily reached back and drew another arrow.
“Save
it,” Norgen growled.
The
Gnaal was coming closer.
Axe
in hand, the Dwarf said, “Take your people and flee. Look after these two for
me.”
“Where
are you going?”
Norgen
smiled grimly. “I’m tired of running from this bastard.”
He
started to march out to meet the monster. Too many times he’d been forced to
run, each time believing he was free. The Gnaal kept coming. Each knew the only
way to be free was for one of them to die.
Fennic
watched in shock. Norgen was committing suicide to buy them time. Phaelor in
hand, the youth rushed off to stand with his friend. Delin pulled him back just
in time.
“Wait!
I’ve got a better idea,” he yelled.
The
Gnaal’s heavy club missed Norgen’s head and smashed through a tree.
Delin
took one his Goblin arrows and touched it to Phaelor’s glowing blade.
“What
are you doing?” Fennic asked.
He
still wasn’t sure. “Just watch.”
Norgen
slashed and his axe bit deep into the Gnaal’s kneecap. They knew he couldn’t
last long like this. Norgen needed help. Fennic stared at the arrow as it
started to glow. Hallis joined the fight then, moving halfway down the slope
and firing off the rest of his quiver. They were all dead if Delin’s idea
didn’t work. Delin aimed his arrow carefully and prayed to every god he knew.
He didn’t want to die.
Then
the Gnaal saw them. Saw the one thing it hated more than life itself. The
sword! The golden light was an insult to all Gren. It was an aberration to his
master. The Gnaal remembered the pain it caused and knew what to do. Roaring,
it forgot its attackers and made for the two boys on the hill. The arrow flew
towards it.
Seconds
slowed so that every action was deliberate and purposeful. Norgen hacked at the
back of its leg. Chunks of muscle and flesh flew away. Dark blood splashed
around him and the Gnaal roared on. The wielder had to die. Hallis slipped and
fell in the ichors. Phaelor glowed bright enough to rival the sun. And then the
arrow struck. The enchanted missile struck the Gnaal in the eye with a fleshy
smack and plunged deep into its fever maddened mind. Golden light spread like a
virus, seeping from every wound and pore. The Gnaal tossed back its head and
screamed before crashing to the ground. There it lay; Hallis swore under his
breath. The Gnaal lay unmoving, not breathing. Norgen stared wide eyed.
“You
did it,” Fennic whispered in disbelief.
Delin
would have smiled if his heart wasn’t in his throat threatening to explode.
“We....we need to make sure it’s dead.”
Trembling,
they helped each other down to the corpse.
“Stay
back,” Norgen warned.
He
knew full well how the Gnaal liked to play dead. Too many friends died that way
and he wasn’t willing to let these two follow suit. Fennic stared into the
monster’s lifeless eyes, expecting to learn the true nature of horror. The
feeling of dread was gone.
His
thoughts were clear and concise again. The Gnaal was dead.
“It’s
all right,” he reassured them.
Holding
Phaelor high, Fennic plunged the blade down through the dark heart of the
beast. A quiet hiss escaped the body. Together they watched the body melt away,
folding in itself until nothing but a putrid scar remained on the ground. A
small piece of evil had left the world.
Christian
W. Freed was born in Buffalo, N.Y. more years ago than he would like
to remember. After spending more than 20 years in the active duty US
Army he has turned his talents to writing. Since retiring, he has
gone on to publish 17 military fantasy and science fiction novels, as
well as his memoirs from his time in Iraq and Afghanistan. His first
published book (Hammers in the Wind) has been the #1 free book on
Kindle 4 times and he holds a fancy certificate from the L Ron
Hubbard Writers of the Future Contest.
Passionate
about history, he combines his knowledge of the past with modern
military tactics to create an engaging, quasi-realistic world for the
readers. He graduated from Campbell University with a degree in
history and is pursuing a Masters of Arts degree in Military History
from Norwich University. He currently lives outside of Raleigh, N.C.
and devotes his time to writing, his family, and their two Bernese
Mountain Dogs. If you drive by you might just find him on the porch
with a cigar in one hand and a pen in the other.
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