General D’Rak waved aside the comment. “We haven’t come here to speak about my brother, long dead. In fact, if we want to talk about the dead, we could speak about you...assuming you are Orril D’Marr.
A fleeting smile crossed the icy-haired soldier’s face. “So many years since I’ve heard it said with the proper accenting. Yes, general, I am Orril D’Marr...and, yes, I am dead...at least to those to whom it matters most...”
The general grunted. “Fine. The introductions are out of the way. Now, you’ve made some promises, some big ones. You’ve promised the empire back.”
“Not exactly. I promised the resurrection of the empire. A different thing.”
“How different?”
The smile briefly returned. He gestured with one hand at their surroundings. “We’re going to rebuild it here. Well, start it here and bring it south rather quickly.”
“Is that a fact?” General D’Rak considered the four ships and their complement. He then thought about the twelve other kingdoms to the south and the powerful forces controlling each. “Can’t say I favor those odds. I think we might need a few more fighters.” The bearded officer gazed at the two Quel. “You have a lot more of these, do you?”
“The Quel? They’ll have their part to play and their reward for it, I’ve made that promise.” D’Marr glanced at one of his shelled companions. “Staked my life on it at the time, in fact. But no, they’re not what we’ll be depending on.”
“Then what?”
“Well, there’s the plan itself of course.” Orril D’Marr used the same hand to tap the side of his head. The other arm continued to hang motionless at his side. “Brilliance in itself, of course...but if that’s not enough...then I suppose this just might encourage you a bit...”
And as D’Marr finished, behind him the snow died away, revealing what had stood so very close behind the man and the two Quel.
Shouts of consternation arose from the other Aramites. As for the general, he craned his neck up until at last he was able to behold the outline of the great head. Even despite the fading snow, Augus D’Rak could make out few distinct features of the behemoth, but that hardly mattered. The huge, reptilian body, the expansive, webbed wings now outstretched, the long, toothy maw...this was not only a dragon, but an immense one.
The snow abruptly closed over the leviathan again, managing the astounding task of once more completely obscuring the sight from the wolf raiders. Still, the general had seen more than enough, for two final things about the dragon had finally registered with him, two very significant things.
The first was that, even through the snow, Augus D’Rak had been able to notice the golden hue of the scales. Gold. The color of the Dragon Emperor’s clan.
The second...the second was that, despite the behemoth’s immense girth, despite the stretching wings and swaying movements of the body...this creature, with its tarnished scales and shriveled flesh, no longer lived and breathed. This dragon was dead...and yet not.
Another, wider smile broke across Orril D’Marr’s face. This time, it remained. “So...is that finally satisfactory, then?”
II
Future and Past
So simple a looking band of young ones... the Gryphon thought as he gazed down in the courtyard. There were eleven this time, eleven gathered by those who had an even better sense of the minute signs than he, the lord of the City of Knowledge, could claim.
One of the new arrivals --- a sturdy youth with a broad smile and long, unruly hair nearly as fiery as that of the Lady Gwen --- happen to glance up at the balcony on which the Gryphon stood. Immediately, he gaped.
Although the boy made no sound, his astonishment still somehow radiated to the others. Within seconds, all eleven peered up. In that moment, the one visible trait that they shared showed itself to the lionbird. The streaks of silver each wore in their hair varied in size and shape, but the fact that all eleven had those natural streaks was telling indeed.
The king of Penacles did not retreat. Even if some of them had never seen him before, his ‘legend’ was known well enough throughout the entire Dragonrealm. He purposely tilted his head to one side and focused one eye on the band. That served to emphasize what was already obvious; the Gryphon was not human. In fact, he literally resembled a two-legged version of the not-so-mythic beast. His features were those of an avian...a raptor. He had a leonine mane that at the neck blended into an array of feathers. His furred and fathered hands ended in sharp claws that could extend further when he needed them to.
To the young men and women below, the Gryphon seemed in body akin to them, but the truth was that while his torso was fairly human, his flowing garments and broad boots hid the nubs of wings, knees bent backward, and feet more like those of the creature whose face he wore.
He did not need the clearing of a throat to alert him to the presence of someone behind him. The Gryphon’s sharp hearing had alerted him of the armored figure’s approach long before the man had even neared the lionbird’s personal library.
“Yes, Captain Vaylon?”
The dark-skinned officer saluted sharply. “The list, my lord.”
“Thank you, Vaylon.” The Gryphon took the rolled parchment from the lanky officer. Despite the unusual warmth of the day, the clean-shaven soldier seemed perfectly at ease despite his armor. Of course, Vaylon’s people originated from an area bordering the Hell Plains, which made the Gryphon wonder if perhaps Vaylon even found today’s weather a little on the chilly side.
“The journey was a quiet one,” Vaylon went on. “Too ---”
“Please don’t say ‘too quiet’,” the lord of Penacles remarked with only a trace of humor. Unfortunately, quiet days in the Dragonrealm often presaged terrible times. Having lived for more than two hundred years, the Gryphon had seen more than his share of the latter.
Vaylon grinned slightly, showing strong, white teeth. Although he had early on lost both his parents to bloodshed, he had managed to maintain a sense of simple pleasure. “Actually, my lord, I was going to say ‘too long, though’. We had to reverse our trek to gather the final one.”
“Yes, my apologies for that. The news came at the last moment. The wizard Bedlam asked me to apologize, too. He would’ve secured the young woman himself, but the Storm Dragon seems to be stirring again.”
The grin slipped. “An incursion?”
“No, nothing so drastic. Enough, though, that he had to change his plans.”
“But I trust that I am a reasonable substitute,” remarked a musical, feminine voice.
Unlike Captain Vaylon, this newest intruder only became evident to the Gryphon’s refined senses a breath before she spoke. Still, the lord of Penacles turned toward the woman not in concern, but in pleasure.
“Lady Gwen! Troia will be disappointed she is away from the palace...”
The human female with the lush, crimson hair that tumbled well past her shoulders appeared less than three decades old...a number perhaps a third her true age, although the Gryphon was wise enough not to probe that subject. Indeed, Lady Gwendolyn Bedlam might even have been considered much, much older, if one counted the more than two centuries that she had been left encased in a prison of amber.
Glistening green eyes turned to the captain, who quickly bowed. “Vaylon...you are well?”
“Yes, my lady. Yes...”
Both the Gryphon and Lady Gwen pretended not to notice Vaylon’s discomfort around the new arrival. Gwendolyn Bedlam was a striking woman whose beauty came natural, not from her potent magical powers. In addition, not only was she the greatest enchantress in all the land, she was yet very personable and very dedicated to helping others. She was perhaps one of the most admired people in all the Dragonrealm for these and many other worthy reasons.
“And your sister and brother?” Lady Gwen asked the soldier. “They and their families are well, also?”
“A-also well.”
The lionbird began unrolling the parchment. “Thank you for this, captain. You are dismi
ssed.”
“Yes, my lord!” With another quick but courteous bow to the Lady Gwen, Vaylon exited the chamber.
In his haste, the officer forgot to salute his liege, but with a chuckle, the Gryphon silently forgave what some leaders would have considered a tremendous transgression. Instead, he focused his attention on the enchantress.
“It is always a pleasure to see you, Lady Gwen. What news of your husband and Wenslis?” Wenslis was the marshy, constantly drenched kingdom of the Storm Dragon. It bordered the Gryphon’s realm on the north. The lionbird kept a constant, wary eye on Lord Storm’s domain --- when he was not keeping such attention on the grim kingdom of Lochivar to the east or the desolation called the Barren Lands to the West. Like Wenslis, Lochivar had a Dragon King, although the exact state of that drake lord was a question. The Barren Lands no longer had a Dragon King, but that did not mean that the region was devoid of possible threat to Penacles.
“When last I left him, Cabe said that it appeared things were subsiding. He just...he just wants to make certain that they actually are.”
“Prudent. Is Darkhorse with him?”
“I would not be here if the eternal was not.”
Although the Gryphon did not show it, the irony of such a statement was not lost on him. Once, there had been a time when the Lady of the Amber --- as the enchantress was still called --- would have striven her best to destroy the shadowy stallion many were still convinced was a demon. The actual truth concerning Darkhorse was something more spectacular, but that hardly made a difference to the ignorant. More important was the fact that, when not accompanying the wizard, Darkhorse often sought out the dread warlock, Shade. If there was a being more feared, more distrusted, than either Darkhorse or the Dragon Kings, it was the accursed spellcaster.
And even the fact that the Bedlams’ daughter, Valea, evidently loved Shade deeply was not enough for anyone other than her or perhaps Darkhorse to place any trust in the ageless warlock.
“And how is the queen and your sons?” the crimson-tressed woman asked.
“Troia is visiting Talak for the sake of Princess Lynnette. Her brother Rennek is too young to really know what’s happening with their father, which means that poor Lynnette is having to deal with matters no child her age should.”
Gwen’s expression saddened. “He still spends his time in front of Erini’s body?” She shook her head. “Cabe has come to regret his decision to preserve the body as he did. Melicard refuses to believe that Erini will not be returning to him. He thinks she will come back to life.”
Like the Lady Gwen, the queen of Talak had also been an enchantress. Erini --- born a princess of the northwestern kingdom of Gordag-Ai --- had come into her power with much reluctance, finally accepting it only when it meant the difference between life and death for her betrothed, King Melicard. Melicard, already a ruined figure thanks to his years seeking vengeance against the drakes for the madness and death of his father, had himself been betrayed by those secretly in service to one of the Dragon Kings. Despite his physical condition, though, Erini had come to adore her husband, with only her two children staking a greater claim to her.
But in trying to save her husband during a time of war, Erini had been felled by the darkest necromancy. Caught up at that moment in a number of desperate situations, Cabe had quickly sealed her body in a shell too much akin to the amber in which Gwen had been frozen and sent her body to a lower chamber in Melicard’s castle. Unfortunately, having grown up with the story of the Lady of the Amber, a bereaved Melicard had gradually come to think that somehow Erini’s spirit would return, if only he kept careful watch on her body.
“Lynnette will appreciate your sons visiting. She has so few playmates near her age. Darot and Trajan should be very welcome. They are fine boys, a credit to both you and Troia.”
It was a well-meant compliment and the Gryphon knew it, but instead of feeling some pride, the master of the City of Knowledge suddenly experience an intense moment of heartache. Once...once, he had had another son...
Demion...I still mourn you... His firstborn had perished a continent away, slain by a vicious enemy during the long struggle the Gryphon had led against a dark empire. That same fiend had nearly killed Darot as well.
“Orril D’Marr...” he muttered bitterly.
The enchantress turned from her own inspection of the newcomers. “What did you say?”
“Nothing.” The Gryphon silently cursed. He had not thought of the Aramite in several years, not since the jackal had been dragged from his cell in Penacles by his former allies, the monstrous, burrowing Quel. The huge, shelled creatures had had such a falling out with the wolf raider that they had actually left their secluded realm in the Legar Peninsula to the far southwest to hunt him down.
The lord of Penacles had promised his son’s killer a swift execution. It had given him some grim satisfaction that any death D’Marr had suffered at the claws of the Quel would have been a lot bloodier and a lot longer.
The fur and feathers on the back of his neck stiffened. Why do I keep thinking of the damned monster? He’s dead! Dead as --- as Demion!
“Gryphon...are you all right?”
He blinked, only then to discover that the enchantress now stood right beside him. Not only that, but she was just finishing retrieving the parchment that he had evidently dropped without noticing.
“I --- I’m fine. Just a little tired, I suppose.”
“Not a surprise, considering how much you insist on taking on yourself. It’s been years since Toos died; at the very least, if you do not want to replace him, you really need a new chief of staff.” She said the last with a hint of apology, aware that the man had been the oldest friend the lionbird had had. Toos had been the last survivor of those who had followed the Gryphon into war against the Dragon Kings more than two hundred years ago. With just enough magical ability to keep him alive for those centuries, Toos had remained by his commander’s side and had even acted as steward of the kingdom while the Gryphon had been away overseas for several years.
So many deaths... the former mercenary thought. Demion, Toos...so many...
“Gryphon...have you looked over this list?”
He realized that he had again drifted off. Trying not to think what that might mean concerning his mind, he focused on both Gwen’s question and her odd tone. “I was just about to when you arrived. Why? Is there something amiss?”
She pointed at the page. “The fourth name. Logan Rhine.”
The Gryphon took the parchment back. He eyed the name. “A coincidence.”
“Was that young brunette woman who joined the last class a coincidence? Danna Rose? You remember her surname, don’t you?” The enchantress gestured. “You might also remember her...interests...”
The image of the blond woman Gwen had just been discussing formed between them. Barely into adulthood, Danna was an attractive young woman with a quiet demeanor. She had a short nose and pale lips, with deep brown eyes half-veiled by thick lashes. Outwardly, there was nothing that might have made her stand out from many another attractive female save the white rose in her left hand. She had been holding it close when first they had seen her...holding it and petting it as if it were a small cat.
And the rose had responded just like one, its long, thorny stem winding around her uncovered forearm without so much as pricking her once.
“Danna of the Roses, she’s already being called by the other students. We both call her by her given name...and her family one. Say it, Gryphon. Say it, please.”
“Gudwead. As in Adam.” The lionbird grunted. “As in the Dragon Masters.”
Dismissing the vision, the enchantress nodded. “And now we have a new student with the name Rhine. Not a common name, Gryphon. I wonder how he might be related.” She gazed out at the courtyard, but the students had already been ushered on. “When we started these schools, hoping to gather a small but new generation of potential human, we thought we might find a student that was distantly related to on
e of the Dragon Masters...but to find two...”
The Dragon Masters. The lionbird’s beak clamped tight as he thought back. For a short period more than two centuries ago, a small band of human spellcasters and the rebels under the Gryphon’s command had thought that they could free the entire Dragonrealm. The Gryphon still recalled Yalak, Basil, Tyr, Salicia, Samir, Wade, and so many others of the group quickly called the Dragon Masters, robed wizards and enchantresses he had at first distrusted for their previous service to those very same Dragon Kings. Never mind that said service had been forced upon generation after generation of human spellcaster thanks to the insidious work of the Purple Dragon, the point had been that they had served. Yet, the Dragon Masters had willingly sacrificed themselves alongside the rebel fighters even after everyone had known that all hope of victory had been long lost.
His eyes continued down the list...and paused in renewed surprise at a notation in Captain Vaylon’s hand. Vaylon’s hand, but with the comment that all information came from Cabe Bedlam.
“The past returns to us in abundance, evidently,” the lionbird finally announced. “It seems our late addition has ties to the Dragon Masters, too!”
“You jest! Who? What is his name?”
“The student is Corvo Procello. From this notation, he already has some training, too.”
“Procello? That’s an Irillian name. I do not recall a Procello among the Dragon Masters, but with my memory as fragmented as I know it now to be, I could be wrong.”
Rolling up the parchment, the Gryphon replied, “You probably recall correctly. According to the information your husband passed on to the good captain, this Corvo is related to Samir.”
They paused in silence again, recalling yet another lost comrade. Dark of skin, a master student of the libraries, Samir had been no less a master on the battlefield.
“Three now.” The enchantress gritted her teeth. “Three now.”
“Your husband left out any mention of Corvo’s family ties before he headed to Lord Storm’s domain. I wonder if there’s a point why he did.”
The Dragon Throne: Knights of the Frost Pt. I (Legends of the Dragonrealm) Page 2
