The Realms of the Dragons 2 a-10

by Коллектив Авторов

  His head still ached from using the amulet. He knew somehow that it was either linked to Grim or its magic assisted in locating the beast's kind. He wasn't sure if the pain and nightmare of activating it were worth the insanity of hunting the creature.

  He strapped on his sword belt and the elegant silver-handled saber that had earned him quite a reputation in days gone by.

  For many a year he'd merely been the good for nothing youngest son of the Dargren family. A nobody in the shadow of his late brother Count Lukan. His family's piousness and loyalty to the throne sickened him and he'd taken to drinking and dueling. His skill with the blade had drawn the attention of the School of Stealth, who saw in him a chance to gain another contact among the nobles. Kelmar had seen in them a useful and profitable ally.

  He walked down the stairs to the common room of the Whispering Maiden. One of the newer inns built in the Garden District as part of the reconstruction period after the war. He enjoyed the luxury of the place and its discreetness. He had his own manor a few miles outside the city, his family's estate, but he preferred it here in the city. It proved easier in keeping an eye on things.

  The common room was mostly empty now, but the smiling barkeep graciously had a small breakfast prepared for the count, despite it being already late in the afternoon. Kelmar sneered at the quail's eggs and bacon on his plate, the pain in his head having affected his stomach as well. He drank lustily of the spiced ale the inn had become famous for, then ordered another. He'd tempered his drinking since his younger days, but never lost the taste for it.

  The nervous barmaid brought his second ale, wary of catching his eye, well accustomed to his moods and tempers. Kelmar paid her no mind, his thoughts far away from the inn, staring into the frothy surface of the ale. He tempted the veil of memory between him and his recent past once again, trying to peer into those secrets being kept even from himself.

  The pain returned with a roar of fury through his head, he screamed, his fists clenching, knocking over the ale he'd ordered. The barmaid flinched, the barkeep shooing her away to the kitchens with a worried glance at the count. Kelmar breathed deeply, his eyes tightly shut, focusing on the present, no more of the past.

  As the pain receded, the images came again. The amulet was warm and glowing beneath his black silk shirt, he gripped it through the cloth as he experienced another grotesquely of bloody images, terror filled eyes, and the taste of blood in his mouth. He almost grew ill at the last, but held his composure as the images too began to fade away.

  It is time to explore other options, he thought.

  He knew he'd been foolish to use the School of Stealth in all of this. Without telling them the nature of their target they were too ill-prepared for the beast, but Kelmar was determined to keep Grim's identity to himself, until he knew more about the circumstances that had brought the creature to Zazesspur. He had other suspicions as well, feelings that stirred in his heart and chilled his blood, but those he could not even admit to himself just yet. He had to know more.

  He left the inn and made his way to the Carpet District on foot, enjoying the stares of the common folk as he walked amongst them. He never denied the rumors that he'd killed his brother Lukan, but neither did he address them.

  Let them think what they will, he thought, rumor and fear can be powerful allies.

  He kept close to the northeastern curve of the streets, avoiding the glare of early sunset and the aching twinge it brought to his sensitive eyes. The Carpet District had once been an area of ill-reputation before the war, currently under reconstruction and new laws it endeavored like all of Zazesspur to restore a more favorable opinion to itself. Kelmar shook his head at fond memories long past as he surveyed the newly restored shops and productive citizens slowly beginning to return to their homes in the fading light. He nodded to a small patrol of civic guardsmen, noting their lighter numbers during the day and dreading their annoyingly greater presence in the evening.

  At last he came to a small stone building, at one time having had two stories, but a fire had seen to the upper half long ago. The lower half remained in liveable condition, though he loathed entering it at all.

  Opening its slightly charred wooden door without knocking, he peered into the darkness seeking a familiar form usually huddled there. The scents of jasmine and sandalwood greeted him mixed with other smells best left unknown. A voice called out from behind him as he shut the door and bolted the latch.

  "I could have killed you, little nephew." The voice was a dry whisper that carried throughout the room like the echo of a waterfall.

  Kelmar smiled as he turned to the speaker and said, "You knew I was coming, dear aunt, else you would not have left the door unlocked."

  "Hmph," was all the reply he received besides some shifting noises and quiet mutterings about the arrogance of youth.

  The count lifted a lantern from the small table by the door and carried it over to the stone fireplace where his aunt usually sat in a well worn cushioned chair. She'd refused his offer of a new chair when he'd taken over the family's finances and he did not push the issue. The offer had been reflexive and he didn't really care all that much for her comfort.

  "Pyrasa," she said in the spidery and flowing language of magic, bringing the lantern flaring to life though there had been no oil in it for ages.

  Kelmar looked at his aunt, his mother's twin sister, his expression unmoving and emotionless despite her hideous-ness. She'd grown bald long ago and one eye had been blinded by a falling cinder during the fire that had taken the upper floor of the house. She wouldn't stand for the touch of a healer, so it remained an empty socket surrounded by scar tissue.

  She looked him over as well, noting the scar he proudly wore himself, a thin line on his left cheek, a reminder of an old duel and the pain of an inexperienced sword arm. It was his first and last scar. He still wore his coal black hair just past his shoulders. It contrasted sharply with his pale skin. An aftereffect of the nocturnal lifestyle he preferred.

  In the silence of her gaze Kelmar began to feel his skin crawl, tiny tendrils of pain twisting through his veins. She was reading him, sifting through his being for the answers she knew he sought. He watched her reactions, reading her as well, waiting for her to find the pain, the nightmares.

  Her single eye narrowed as it fell on the spot where the amulet rested beneath his shirt. He could feel it warming next to his skin, growing hotter as her magic neared it. His head began to throb again, the ache pulsing in time with the waves of heat growing from the amulet. He forced himself to remain still, fighting the sensation, clenching his eyes shut.

  She gasped then as her magic brushed the edges of the amulet. Her body stiffened and she screamed-a strangled, scratchy sound that electrified the air as it escaped her, followed by a convulsing coughing fit. He heard her as she felt the amulet's power, an unbidden smile coming to his thin lips. He could not explain the feeling, but an acute joy overtook him as she suffered the amulet's touch with her mind. The sudden emotion was confusing and painful to him as well, bringing his headache to the edge of that dark place where the visions hid, the nightmares and omens that tasted of blood and fear.

  Her quiet spell was broken. She sat hunched over. Her breath wheezing past wrinkled lips stained with small droplets of blood. The spell had cost her somewhat, using more power than she'd anticipated. She looked up at him, awaiting the answer to the questions she had regarding that same dark place, a place she dared not go.

  His own pain subsiding, Kelmar opened his eyes and nonchalantly answered her, "His name isXexillidaulgrymm, I call him Grim. A fang dragon. I feel his hunger, see through his eyes at times, and taste what he tastes, but all at the cost of the pain. I have no memory of encountering this monster before, I simply know things without knowing them." He stopped then, looking at her as she listened.

  "There's more to it than that isn't there?" her quick, whispered query lashed at him. "What do you feel? What do you know?" Never once did her eyes leave the s
oft glow of the amulet, now visible through his shirt.

  Kelmar shuddered at his own thoughts, anger welling up in him, his lip curled in quiet rage, and he said, "I think he's taken my soul."

  "Possible, but souls are not easily taken. Especially by fang dragons, more known for their appropriate names than their skill with the more sophisticated sorceries involving souls." Her words seemed softer to him, causing the count to suspect she was withholding something, "I wish my sister was still alive, she was the soul-sorceress, more the necromancer than I."

  She looked at him sideways, from the corner of her eye, "You will hunt the beast again tonight?"

  His determined look had answered her question almost before she'd asked it.

  Slowly, on creaking joints, she rose from her chair. She shuffled over to an antique cabinet, filled with bottles and pouches, the source of the room's vague odor. From it she pulled five slivers of string, interwoven with an odorless black herb. Returning to the chair, she handed them to him carefully.

  "Tie these charms round the hilts of five swords using a cross knot. When the dragon is joined in battle, slip the knots and release their magic, they will protect you and your men and cause grievous harm to the wyrm."

  Kelmar eyed the strings warily, remembering the faces of the dead assassins who'd met the beast.

  She added, "Mind that bauble round your neck as well. I don't know where you came by it, but it seems to want to bring you and this Grim together. It will find the dragon for you, though you may well wish it hadn't."

  The count stood and nodded to his aunt, still suspecting her for holding back, but he assumed she had her reasons. Without a word he turned and walked out of the uncomfortable stone dwelling, into the darkness of the early evening. Curiously, he heard the bolt latched quickly behind him.

  In the shadows of an abandoned shop in the Merchant District, Grim sat in the constricting form of the beggar, staring out at the street through broken windows. The visions had come to him again when he awoke there.

  He'd seen the old crone in her little stone hovel, using her human sorceries and muttering little human words. He'd felt the mind of the count seeking him out, using the power of the mysterious amulet. The pain of the search was excruciating, though it thrilled Grim to feel it. His blood burned and his very soul writhed in agony, all the while he grew stronger, more powerful. More deadly.

  The smell of fear from outside and the sound of beating hearts informed him that the count had been successful. He'd sent his men to prepare an ambush for him. Four assassins tried to hide amongst the shadows of the surrounding buildings. Clearly, Kelmar hadn't told them yet of Grim's true nature. Thin, ash gray lips pulled back in a smile, revealing an impossible number of sharp teeth.

  Fine, he thought, I'll give them their ambush.

  He stood then and walked to the door, affecting the limp he'd perfected while in the guise of the old beggar. He made a slow progress to the center of the street and stopped, standing in the moonlight of Selune, waiting for his hunters to attack. He did not smell or sense the presence of the count, cursing Kelmar silently for his cowardice.

  The quick snap of crossbows firing amused Grim as he felt the bolts hit his chest and shoulders. The poison they carried had a strong, pungent odor, potent, but useless against him. He shrugged the bolts away. They had only barely pierced the surface of his tough skin.

  Taunting them, he used his natural ability to mimic sounds, reproducing the song of a young girl he'd hunted five nights ago. The child's voice floated through the dark streets, the lilting tunes of her rhyme chilling the air of the summer night. The assassins shivered involuntarily and gripped their swords tighter, preparing to release the knotted charms given to them by the count.

  As they touched the magic strings, Grim's song stopped, his humor fading in the presence of their magic. Rage replaced it and he stood straighter, more focused. He would not suffer the arrogance of insects who sought death.

  They came then on silent feet, from four directions, surrounding Grim. Faster than the eye, Grim rushed the assassin to his left, releasing his hold on the beggar's form. His body rippled as the bonds of magic faded, his bladed tail appearing whiplike from beneath his torn robes, which mended and began expanding into wings.

  He twisted his footing and fell to all fours, his long neck turning to face the other three assassins while the fourth was cut in half by his deadly tail. Grim could see the magic glowing on their blades, but sudden fear slowed their steps as the dragon showed himself fully.

  He was a horror to behold, every scale of his forty foot long form seemed dedicated to cutting or piercing, barbs and bony horns crowned his fang-filled mouth. His wings were short and unaccustomed to long flight, but were perfect for quick pouncing and leaping. He crouched like a large hunting cat as he approached them, his eyes glowing in anger at their audacity.

  The man to Grim's left lunged at him, his faith in the magic blade giving him courage. Grim's tail blades knocked the sword from the assassin's right hand, severing the fingers neatly at the knuckle. Barely had shock begun to register before the tail whipped the man again, disemboweling him.

  With Grim's attention diverted momentarily, the assassin to his right slid in silently, swinging his ensorceled blade and scoring a wicked gash in the dragon's right shoulder near his wing joint. Grim roared as the pain of the magic wounded him and reflexively clawed at the offender, talons buried deep into the assassin's unarmored chest sent him flying to crash in a bloody heap against a nearby wall.

  All sense fled Grim as the pain in his shoulder became a dull throb. He roared again, releasing the dragonfear he'd kept within. The fear washed over the final assassin in waves, battering against his willpower in rhythm to Grim's massive heartbeat.

  The man turned to run, dropping his sword behind him. Grim pounced then, painfully beating his wings in a single thrust, to land on the man's back. His weight had easily crushed the life from the doomed assassin, but in his blood-lust Grim tore the man's body to pieces anyway, crushing the bones and soft flesh in his powerful claws.

  Then he stopped, hearing noises approaching from behind him, footsteps walking purposefully toward the grisly scene. Finally, Grim thought, the count arrives to see my work firsthand.

  Appearing from a street to the north, a single guardsman stopped as the moonlight revealed the splashes of blood and crumpled bodies. His stomach twisted, seeing the violence of the scene. Looking up to his left he froze as he saw Grim approaching him.

  Grim cursed himself for the noise he'd created in his killing. He'd attracted the attention of the civic guard. This one would soon be followed by many more.

  Leaping forward before the man could scream or run for help, he clamped his jaws around the guardsman's chest, sinking his fangs through the thin chain shirt and drawing blood.

  The man gasped and gurgled, one of his lungs punctured by Grim's bite, as the dragon carried him quickly away to hide in a darkened alley farther down the street.

  The bite of the fang dragon, like all of his kind, was draining, stealing a victim's life, leaching one's spirit away in a vice grip of death.

  The guard's struggles grew weaker as his life-force fed Grim's injuries, partially closing the wound in his shoulder. Despite the healing he received, pain flared through Grim's chest, causing him to squeeze the man's body even tighter as he collapsed to the ground, hidden in shadow. The pain was like before, but different somehow, coming from within as confusing images flooded his mind.

  The amulet, the prize of his hoard that he'd left so long ago near Myth Drannor, floated across his vision. He'd forgotten it had once been his, a powerful artifact he had treasured for centuries. Ancient memories came rushing back to him, particularly the wizard who'd tried to steal his soul, using the amulet to augment his necromancy.

  He remembered defeating the wizard, but after that his memories were broken and sketchy. Enemy after enemy had come searching for him, all with the amulet in hand, causing him pain and
nightmares. Finally as the pain of memory grew to extremes within his mind, he saw the young face of the civic guard he just killed, stained red and framed in the amulet's glow.

  The tortured face grew closer and new memories slammed into his mind with the force of ancient magic. Memories of growing up on a farm outside of Zazesspur, the smell of the fields at harvest, the desire to wield a sword, to help people, to become more than a mere farmer. The energy of the man's life, coursing in the dragon's veins, became a fire in his mind.

  Grim passed out as the intensity of the barrage became too painful, his struggling mind too weak to resist such magic.

  His skin grew tighter as his consciousness faded, scales disappeared and fangs receded.

  The silence of the evening resumed its vigil, blanketing the remains of those that had disturbed it.

  Three patrols of civic guard soon arrived from different directions. Their commander, one Captain Begg, began to oversee the investigation and removal of bodies. One of his officers approached him to report.

  "Sir, our men have returned from Count Kelmar's estate, from which he'd been absent for a tenday according to the servants. They found no sign of him at the Whispering Maiden either. Should we continue searching for him?"

  Captain Begg shook his head slowly, "Don't bother, some hunters found the count's body yesterday, hidden in the woods near where his brother had been killed."

  Confused, the officer replied, "But sir, I saw the count just yesterd-"

  "I know. And I don't know." The captain shook his head. It had been a trying tenday. He looked up, noticing one of his men standing just outside the murder scene staring aimlessly. "Thaedras? Where have you been? And what happened to you?"

  Thaedras turned his head, looked at the bleeding gash in his right shoulder. He could feel a strange warmth against his chest, could feel a necklace of some sort beneath his tunic.

  A flicker of pain pulsed behind his eyes as he tried to remember, to answer the captain's question. He clenched his eyes shut as the pain grew, a single vision passing through his mind as the ache slowly faded. A vision of his own death.