Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

by Richard A. Knaak

  Verifying that the man was dead, he slowly rose and whispered, “Your life for that of my son . . . hardly a balance but certainly a beginning.”

  It was only then that he recalled Tori. He transformed back into a human even as he turned to where he had last left her. It was not surprising to find her gone. Still, something had caused the Aramite to grunt in pain and shift his weight. It could only have been an attack of some sort by the enchantress. A kick in the head, he suspected. Why bring attention to herself as a spellcaster when a simple physical assault worked as effectively?

  The area had grown conspicuously devoid of people and the Gryphon knew that such emptiness usually preceded an appearance by the local guard. He regretted that he had allowed his anger to seize mastery; the spy might have given him some further information, including how many of his ilk had already spread through Zuu. The city guard would have to be satisfied with the corpse. Certainly any other spies in the city would go into hiding now that one of their number was dead and they had no way of knowing who was responsible. This one had acted on his own; if there had been more, they would have entered the struggle, for he was not flattering himself when he thought they considered him a target of prime importance.

  The brief respite, however much it might have put him in danger of being sighted by the city guard, had served its purpose. His head still throbbed, but his concentration was sufficient for spellcasting. It was time to leave Zuu and follow Cabe’s trail.

  Trail. The Gryphon searched for the knife that the woman Tori had stolen from Cabe, but found nothing. It might have been thrown into the darkness during the struggle, but he suspected it was once more in the hands of the enchantress. She would gain small success with it now, however. In the short time he had held it, he had made a few magical alterations. If she sought out the warlock after this, she would simply reappear in the same location she had started from. Let her search for Cabe Bedlam if she chose, but she would have to do it on her own.

  One of the first lessons in magic is to never assume it will always work the way you desire.

  It was a lesson he tried to remind himself of each and every day. It was a lesson he was certain he would need to recall when he entered the desolate domain of the Crystal Dragon.

  The city guard was near. With one last bitter glance at the raider’s sprawled body, the Gryphon regripped the guiding blade and teleported away . . .

  . . . to the hills of Esedi.

  The trail was stronger here, as he had expected. The blade had probably brought him to within a few yards of where Cabe himself had materialized. He allowed himself a brief human smile, for teleportation was always a chancy thing when one was not familiar with the location, then let his human guise melt away since it was no longer needed.

  Cabe and Darkhorse had done fairly well in their choice of locations. Under normal conditions, they would have enjoyed an excellent view of the eastern portion of the peninsula. Not all of it, of course, but enough to enable them to plan the journey’s beginning. Legar was not as massive a region as Esedi or even the immense Dagora Forest, but it was filled with hills, crevices, and a system of underground caverns that rivaled those in the Tyber Mountains. Add to the treacherous, uneven landscape possible encounters with the Quel and now the wolf raiders, and you had very good reasons to move slowly and carefully through Legar.

  And now this mist . . . He was familiar with the Grey Mists, the dank, mind-sapping haze that covered Lochivar. Lochivar, on the southeastern edge of the Dragonrealm, was the kingdom of the Black Dragon, who was the source of that magical fog. Knowing what the Grey Mists could do, the Gryphon was glad he had not simply decided to teleport into this murk. Even from here he could sense its evil. There was something wild about it, but it was the wildness of a thing in its death throes, for there was also a feeling of decay about it.

  If this is how it seems under the dimness of the moons, then how is it in the daytime? Worse? How will it be when I actually enter it? He would find out soon enough. There was no real reason to remain here for even a fraction of the time he had spent in the city. Cabe and Darkhorse would have waited here only long enough to prepare themselves for Legar and the Gryphon was as prepared as he would ever be. He would learn nothing new from these silent hills, nothing that would aid his mission and his vengeance.

  Nothing? He paused, noticing something for the first time. Why was it so deathly quiet here? Was the poison covering Legar so great that the wildlife could not stand to be even this close to it? That could not be. In the distance, the lionbird could barely make out a few of the normal sounds of night, nocturnal birds and animals. It was only this one region where the creatures had either grown silent or fled. Only the region in which he stood.

  The Gryphon’s sword was out and ready before his next breath.

  “Well, I must admit I was not expecting you!”

  From the darkness emerged a huge shape blacker than the night. Ice-blue eyes glittered without the aid of the moons’ poor illumination.

  “Darkhorse!”

  The shadow steed dipped his head. “You are far from your war, Lord Gryphon, but then your war seems to have strayed as well!”

  “You’ve seen them then. The raiders.”

  “Seen them and fought them!”

  “Fought them . . . and where is Cabe, then, demon steed?” Was he too late for the warlock? Had D’Farany added to his list of victims already?

  The leviathan’s response did not encourage him. “I . . . lost him.”

  “He-”

  “No!” Darkhorse grew vehement. “He is not dead! He cannot be! We were merely separated in the foul mist! He said nothing and I thought he must be behind me, keeping clear!”

  The Gryphon cut him off with a curt gesture. His general uneasiness around the pitch-black creature had given way to his concern for Cabe Bedlam and the need to know what sort of things he might face in shrouded Legar. “Tell me from the beginning. Speak carefully, tell me all, but do so fairly quickly.”

  Darkhorse’s easy acquiescence surprised him at first until he reminded himself that Cabe Bedlam was one of the eternal’s few true friends. The telling of the tale was short and swift. When it was over, it was clear that Darkhorse was dismayed by what he considered his terrible carelessness. There was something more to what had happened than what the shadow steed had related to him, however. Whatever it was, its roots went deep. Some distraction in the eternal’s mind that had caused Darkhorse not to notice that he and the warlock were being purposely separated.

  Oddly, knowing that the creature from the Void could become so distraught lessened some of the Gryphon’s wariness of him. He felt he understood the workings of Darkhorse’s mind better than he ever had in the past.

  “The monstrosity you fought was an illusion, you say?”

  “Yes, and when I turned to comment so to Cabe, he was also gone! I never heard him call out!”

  “He might have, but you still might not have heard him. In that place, I would not be surprised.” The Gryphon stared at the mist, so unsettling, so hungry, even in the calm of night. “You couldn’t find his trail, either.”

  “I detected nothing! I, Darkhorse, could not sense him!”

  “Yes . . .” The lionbird contemplated the situation. The knowledge that the wolf raiders were active throughout Legar made his mane bristle and his claws unsheathe. He wanted to hunt down each and every one of the marauders like the animals they were and savor their deaths; yet the Gryphon knew that not only would it still not fill the hole inside, but he could not abandon a friend. In that he and the shadow steed were one. Cabe Bedlam was missing and if he had been captured by the Aramites, then there would be opportunity enough for the Gryphon to try to satiate his need for vengeance. If Cabe’s fate was otherwise, then the raiders would have to wait. He had no doubt that they would still be there. Once the Aramites gained a foothold, the only way to remove them was to kill them.

  He was willing to try, but not now.

  “Do y
ou think you can find the last place you left him?”

  Darkhorse gazed out at the ominous mass blanketing Legar. “I might be able to take us that far, but what use will it be?”

  “It may be of some use, believe me.” The Gryphon revealed the small blade he had utilized to follow the warlock’s trail this far. “You had nothing of his to aid you in your search.”

  “Even if I had, I do not think it would have worked. The mist has the taint of Nimth upon it, Lord Gryphon! You are one of the few with sufficient knowledge to understand what that means! You also knew Shade!” The shadow steed paused. “Nothing works as it should down there! The laws of magic-the laws of nature-cannot be trusted in Legar so long as that foulness remains!”

  “We can only try.” The lionbird gazed at the blade. “This may be Cabe’s best, possibly only hope. Our combined skills might prove to be enough to overwhelm it.”

  “Overwhelm Nimth? You must surely jest! I knew the Vraad! I knew Shade!”

  The black stallion’s tone each time he spoke of the blur-faced warlock revealed volumes to the Gryphon. Shade was somehow tied to Darkhorse’s troubles. What had the Bedlams’ messages said? Darkhorse continued to search for Shade as if he might somehow have survived. Was he that afraid of the tortured warlock?

  No, not afraid. If there was anyone who might understand Darkhorse and what he is, it would have been Shade.

  He had no time to ponder further. Darkhorse’s inner struggles would have to wait until there was peace, assuming that ever happened. Now it was time for Legar.

  “This is not Nimth and neither the Crystal Dragon nor the wolf raiders are Vraad. What exists down there can only be a reflection of Nimth’s chaos. I think that if we try the spell from as near as possible to the place where you two became separated, then we stand a chance. If it fails . . . we still have to enter. You know that Cabe would have returned here by now if he could have. He would know to do that.”

  Darkhorse kicked at the ground. “I know that, Lord Gryphon! Ha! I have been thinking about it since I materialized back here! I thought he might have accidentally teleported elsewhere, but there is no place here that I have not searched and if he in some way eluded my search he would, indeed, still have returned to this location by now!”

  “Then we should not hesitate any longer.”

  “Very well.” Darkhorse trotted closer. “You shall have to ride me as he did, Your Majesty! We did not trust that we would arrive at the same destination, this being the Crystal Dragon’s realm. The foul fog makes the danger of that worse.”

  “I agree.” As he mounted, the lionbird thought of what his companion had just said. “And do you also find it odd that the Dragon King has been so quiet even though he has in the past always dealt swiftly with those who would disturb his existence?”

  A snort. “I still think that this was his doing! I, for one, would not call this doing nothing!”

  “Nothing it certainly isn’t, demon steed, but it’s an unfocused, dangerous method by which to rid himself of the Aramites. If this was the Crystal Dragon’s doing, I would like to know why he chose such madness as a tool. It is as much a risk, perhaps more, as the wolf raiders are.”

  “Be that as it may, we still have to journey through it!” The leviathan swung his head around so that he faced dark Legar. “Give me but a moment and I will be ready.” Darkhorse’s head tilted to one side. “Curious!”

  The Gryphon leaned forward and tried to see what interested his mount so. “What is it? I don’t see anything.”

  Darkhorse shook his head, sending his mane flying. “I suspect wishful thinking is all it is! When I stare at the fog, it looks not quite so dense as it was earlier! Truly, it must be the moonlight!”

  Squinting, the Gryphon could see nothing. If there had been a change in the density of the fog, he could not tell. From the shadow horse’s words, it would have happened before he had even teleported to here. Whether or not it had happened, the lionbird could still not make out even the slightest detail beneath the upper surface of the shroud of fog.

  Darkhorse finally stirred. “Well! It matters not! We must find Cabe! That is all that matters!”

  That, a legion of wolf raiders, and a Dragon King who does not act as one would expect, the Gryphon silently corrected as he held tight. Other than those few things, we have nothing to worry about.

  XII

  Cabe woke to the jarring sight of a Quel face looming over him. The long snout was mere inches from his own countenance. The warlock’s nose wrinkled; the Quel’s breath was putrid.

  His head was suddenly filled to bursting with overlapping images. Cabe gasped, put his hands on his head, and tried to shut the sensations out. He saw himself, the wolf raiders, the Quel, a vague image that must be the Crystal Dragon, a beach . . . there was just too much!

  “Stop! I can’t take it all in!”

  Mercifully, the Quel presence in his head withdrew. As he regained control of his senses, the weary spellcaster sat up and surveyed his surroundings. They were in a small cavern with only one exit, an exit guarded by yet another of the underdwellers. Cabe counted three Quel in all, but then he realized that the third, off to the far side of the chamber, was slumped over. A single image touched his mind, confirmation from the one near him that their companion was dead and had been so for some time.

  He wondered how long he had been unconscious. Cabe had faint memories of being pulled under, of watching the earth fill in above him. He recalled little else after that, for something had caused him to pass out.

  The Quel inquisitor reached out and pointed by the warlock’s right hand. Cabe looked down and saw a gem. He vaguely recalled it having been in his hand when the images had first struck him. He nodded understanding to the armored leviathan and picked it up.

  Injury . . . urgent need . . . question?

  The combination of images, sensations, and emotions was as close as the Quel could come to speaking in the human tongue. Cabe was aware of the communication crystal and found it a fascinating tool, but it took careful thinking to sometimes decipher what was meant. It was possible for the Quel to communicate to him without it, but then the images would have been less detailed and many of the projected sensations would have failed to even reach his mind.

  They want to know if I’m injured in any way. He shook his head. Considering that any injury would have been the Quel’s doing, Cabe was not entirely impressed by the subterraneans’ concern. Still, it was unusual that they should place any importance in his well-being, unless they wanted something from him.

  Something involving the wolf raiders?

  The images projected by the one Quel, a female, if the warlock was correct, shifted almost the instant he formulated the question. Although the question had merely been for his own contemplation, the Quel answered as best she could.

  Black shells . . . defenders . . . the hungry magic . . . defeat . . . the city lost . . . statement.

  Statement. The manner by which the creatures communicated made the reply sound almost matter-of-fact until one stared into the dark, inhuman eyes of the Quel and saw the loss there. Her city, the Quel city, was in the hands of the Aramites, who had used some sort of magic spell to nullify the defenses. She and a few like her had escaped capture, he imagined. There were only a few Quel at any time and so they had not had the resources to completely combat a foe as determined as the wolf raiders. If they had, he suspected that the raiders would have found themselves in the midst of one of the worst hand-to-hand struggles they had ever come across. One Quel was worth more than a few human soldiers any day, no matter how well trained the latter were.

  Black shells . . . hunt . . . too few . . . statement.

  He saw them hunting down a lone guard every now and then, but such attacks were not enough. One by one, the secrets of their cities fell into the hands of the invaders.

  Cabe stiffened. “What about-”

  The response was swift. Sacrifice . . . hidden . . . suspicious but unable to find . .
. safe . . . for now . . . danger in thought . . . statement.

  Their greatest secret was safe, but the Aramites were thorough. They might at any time find it. The Quel did not even wish to think about that, for fear that doing so might somehow bring the discovery to pass. Cabe received a swift, curt look from the female who told him there would be no more questions on that matter.

  He had no delusions that the underdwellers saw him as anything more than a means to an end. Their concern was for their own kind; they saw in him only someone who shared an obvious interest in seeing the black shells, as they called the raiders, gone from the Dragonrealm.

  “You don’t make cooperation very enticing,” he bluntly informed his captor. “What difference would it make for me to help you?”

  A single image of a tall, opaque sphere flashed into his mind.

  For the first time, Cabe recalled Plool. The Quel still had the Vraad hidden away and were attempting to use him as a bargaining chip. It almost made the warlock want to laugh. In one respect, there was a temptation to leave the Vraad where he was, for it would be the best way to ensure that he caused no further chaos with his Nimth-spawned magic.

  Cabe knew he could do no such thing, though. Even Plool deserved a chance. Also, the Aramites were a deadlier threat to the continent, at least now. The Dragonrealm had survived centuries of Quel, confined as they were to only a few wandering above and below the surface of Legar. The raiders would never settle for that. They would seek to rebuild their power base. He was certain that other ships sailed the sea, other ships seeking a new port. The longer the wolf raiders had, the deeper they would be entrenched.

  He would work with the Quel for as long as it was safe, but he knew better than to trust them. “What about the one who was with me? What about your prisoner?”

  The answer was short, succinct, and proof that this was meant to be no partnership but rather a situation demanding his complete obedience to their cause. Cabe lost whatever little sympathy he might have ever had for his captors. Memories of his past experiences with the Quel returned to him. They were vivid and sometimes painful memories.