“A-a fitting way for him. I thank you, Cabe.”
The warlock shook his head. “I was only a part of it. The one who guided me through much of this, albeit not always with my approval, wa-”
“Cabe!” Darkhorse suddenly called, sounding more like his old self. He was still a shifting, near-formless thing, but the eyes seemed a bit brighter . . . and now very concerned, too. “I think I see . . . see soldiers approaching!”
With the Gryphon too weak to be of use, Cabe tried his best to make out the shapes in the distance. It was not noon in Legar, a fortunate thing, but the sun was bright enough already to force him to squint. He would have to create copies of the Dragon King’s eye protectors when he had the opportunity. That is, if he had the opportunity. The figures did resemble soldiers and their high helms, at least from this distance, were shaped akin to the wolf’s head helms of the Aramites.
“Some surviving officer must have . . . have reorganized survivors,” the lionbird added, becoming exhausted by the continual task of trying to talk coherently. “We’ll have to fight . . . them.”
Glancing at his friends, Cabe was not particularly hopeful. He might be able to get off a spell, but he was not certain as to its potency. If the wolf raiders had any sort of magical protection, then the three of them had little chance. Their greatest hope, Darkhorse, did not even have the strength to reshape himself.
The figures were still too distant. “Could they be soldiers from Zuu?”
“Are they leading horses?” asked the Gryphon in return.
“No, they’re on foot.”
“Then, they are . . . not from Zuu. A soldier of . . . Zuu always has . . . his mount with him. And they . . . do not . . . wear armor at all resembling . . . resembling . . . that of the raiders.”
That was true, but Cabe had hoped. He continued to watch, thinking that maybe the soldiers would not see them, when he noticed a newcomer. It was a rider on some beast not a horse. Cabe’s brow wrinkled. Then, the rider turned a little in the saddle and abruptly became a blinding, glittering beacon. The other soldiers, turning, also seemed to suddenly blaze with the glory of the sun.
“They’re not wolf raiders,” he informed the others. “They’re allies.” I hope, he added to himself.
The gleaming warrior astride the riding drake might have been the same one that Cabe had mistaken for the Crystal Dragon, but the warlock could not be certain until the warrior spoke.
“Master Bedlam. I am Gemmon, my lord’s first duke. Pleased I am to have found you and yours alive in all this ruin.”
“You were looking for us?” The perfection with which the drake spoke did not really startle Cabe any more than the interesting fact that the dragon men were not using the forms they had been born with, which would have made searching Legar swifter and easier. The Dragon King’s human tastes had no doubt spread to his subjects.
“For you and survivors of both abominations. My lord leaves nothing to chance, although the humans will have scattered eastward and the cursssed Quel will burrow very deep. We lack the strength to hunt them down, but there are those lying among the dead who must still be dispatched and others wandering about that must be rounded up and dealt with in some manner.”
Cabe was not certain whether the drakes were putting the badly wounded to death out of pity or their need for further satisfaction. The warlock knew that he did not have the strength to fight for those lives and, in truth, he was hard-pressed to find a reason to spare either the Aramites or the Quel. Still, it did bother him . . .
“I have been instructed,” the drake continued, “to assist you and yours across the border into Esedi. Servants of the Green One will be there to help you return to your loved ones.” He eyed Darkhorse with some confusion. “Although as to what-”
“I will make do,” retorted the eternal. He sounded even stronger, but Cabe was not certain whether that might just be a front before the minions of the Dragon King.
“You have our gratitude,” the warlock interjected, not desiring a confrontation. “But there is one thing I must ask.”
“What is that?”
“I’d like to speak to your master. I insist upon it.”
The warrior looked uncomfortable. “He . . . hasss secluded himself from all for the time being. The sssspell was taxing, even for him.”
Cabe noted the nervousness, but would not be put off by the drake’s fear. “Tell him I will make my visit short.”
“I can tell him nothing. He will not even sssspeak to me, human.”
Glancing at the Gryphon and Darkhorse, Cabe said, “Then see to my friends. Help them on their way to the border. I’ll join you all when I can.”
The Gryphon stirred. “Cabe, surely you do not . . . intend to simply . . . simply materialize before a Dragon King . . . especially this Dragon King.”
The warlock was already rising. “I do. Call it concern.”
“Concern? For the Crystal Dragon?” Even the drake warrior found this a bit incredulous.
Shrugging, Cabe replied, “If not for him, then maybe a little concern for a man who once called himself Logan.”
He vanished while the others were still puzzling over that last statement.
XIX
“ Whaaat do yooou want, ssssorcerer?”
Cabe, who had just materialized, was taken aback by the horrific change in the Crystal Dragon’s voice. His voice was now more reminiscent of a true Dragon King.
Undaunted, the warlock replied, “I came to see how you were. I think I know something of what you went through, wouldn’t you say?”
The Crystal Dragon was a hill of gemstones pressed tight against the far end of the chamber. There was little light and the walls were dull, opaque things. Cabe could not even see the drake lord’s countenance.
“I . . . sssurvived. You need know nothing morrre.”
It would do no good to press the point, Cabe decided. He was disappointed, but knew that there was nothing he could do. Instead, he asked, “What will you do about your kingdom? Legar is in ruins. If my help would be of any value to-”
From the darkness rose the head of the lord of Legar. An inhuman rage controlled his draconian visage. Narrowed eyes with only a hint of crystal in them glared at the presumptuous little figure. “Caaan you not undersssstand? I want nothing from you, huuuman! I want only ressst! Privacy and ressst! Why did you persssissst in coming here?”
“Because of Logan Tezerenee.”
His words doused, for a time, the flames of anger. The Crystal Dragon recoiled into himself, looking much, much smaller. “I know the name . . . myyyy name . . . it isss me . . .”
“Logan,” the warlock dared use the name. “Your kingdom is in chaos and you risked yourself in the end. By no means will I forget that it was all in your own self-interest, but what you did affected the rest of the Dragonrealm, too. Your subjects will need help in rebuilding Legar. There are prisoners and wounded from the wolf raiders who might be best turned over to other humans. Perhaps my friends and allies will be willing to aid you. Instead of the wreckage you now rule, there might even be a chance of turning the peninsula into a land of life. They could meet with you and perhaps-”
“No!” It was not anger this time, but rather fear that drove the Dragon King. His eyes widened and he hissed madly. “No. If I allow them so close, they will discover the truth and then I would be in danger! They will be furious that I have tricked them all! I might be forced to leave this place and I cannot! I cannot! I have exhausssted myssself more than I ever dared! The outside world in any form isss now a danger to me! Only here and alone am I ssssafe!”
Cabe could not believe what he was hearing: “You’re wrong! Listen to yourself-”
With but a terrible glance, the glittering leviathan silenced him. “Your aid wassss mosssst appreciated, Massster Bedlam, but you will leave now! My ssssubjectssss will ssssee to your needsss all the way to Esssedi! Now go! I mussst ssssleep!”
“Logan-”
“I am the C
rystal Dragon!” the behemoth roared. Draconian jaws opened wide . . .
Cabe teleported away before the Dragon King did something either of them would regret.
He found the Gryphon and Darkhorse waiting for him, the latter, to the warlock’s surprise, once more in his favorite form. A short distance from them, their reptilian escort waited in growing anxiety.
“What happened?” asked the Gryphon, lying atop the shadow steed. Darkhorse, the warlock would discover later, had not trusted the drakes. His obsession with Shade was at an end; now his greatest concern was for his living friends, including the Gryphon. Drawing upon his incredible will, he had not only succeeded in re-forming, but then had shaped himself so that the lionbird could rest comfortably on his backside. It was a peculiar sight, but one so welcome because of that peculiarity. Almost the mage was able to forget his meeting with the Crystal Dragon.
“We should leave. We may have just outstayed our welcome.”
“What happened?”
Cabe shook his head. “I can’t be sure . . . not yet.”
The others did not understand, but that was probably for the best because even Cabe was not certain that he understood. He only understood that more than ever the line between Logan Tezerenee and the Crystal Dragon had become blurred. Which way, if either, the lord of Legar would eventually turn was anyone’s guess. The only thing of certainty was the fact that be he drake or man, the lone inhabitant of that darkened sanctum would not leave that place no matter what happened. It went beyond the precious safeguarding of one man’s mind; the Crystal Dragon had been in seclusion for so long that he could not bear either the thought of leaving his chamber or allowing the world inside.
One of the warriors offered him a beast. Cabe took the proffered riding drake and mounted, hardly paying any attention to what he did. The warlock continued to stare at ruined Legar, picturing in his mind the Dragon King dreaming of the face he had once worn in a world that was forever barred to him . . . by himself.
The drake duke signaled for the party to commence eastward. Cabe allowed everyone to precede him, even Darkhorse and the Gryphon. Only with reluctance did he finally urge the dragon beneath him forward. Legar still haunted him. If not for the Crystal Dragon, even what little remained intact would no longer have existed. Alone, the warlock doubted that he could have succeeded.
So much power and so long a life, he thought, finally having to turn his eyes to the path before him. Yet, despite that, he’s forever a prisoner of himself, fearful of losing a humanity that he might have already lost long, long ago.
The notion was enough to make him ride in brooding silence for the rest of the journey to Esedi . . . and for some time after.
THE DRAGON CROWN
I
The riders began to collect at the outskirts of the great Tyber Mountains. They had not gathered for such a meeting in nearly two decades, and as they joined one another at the narrow pass leading into the midst of the Tybers, it was clear that none would have come even now if necessity had not demanded it.
Clad in immense, flowing traveler’s cloaks that hid both face and form, the riders were a coven of gray specters astride mounts whose glittering eyes warned that they, too, hid secrets. There were no words of acknowledgment or, for that matter, even the simple nod of a head. Some of the band might, at times, have called one another brother, but the appellation was simply a matter of ceremony; there was little love lost among the riders.
When at last they were all gathered, there were those who would have set off for their destination, the sooner to end this unwelcome confrontation. One, however, chose that moment to begin pulling back the hood of his cloak. That led to a hiss from another and a low, painful, rasping reprimand.
“Not herrrre! Never herrrre!”
The one who had erred did not question his elder counterpart. He lowered his hand and nodded.
One of the other riders grunted, then urged his mount toward the path. The rest followed his example. Showing no sign of fatigue, the beasts snorted puffs of smoke and carried their masters swiftly among the mountains. Neither twisting and turning passages nor treacherous ravines slowed the group. Savage winds and slippery trails were obstacles also ignored. Though denizens not of man’s world hid and watched, the riders were in no way hindered. The creatures of the mountains knew who and what the intruders were, and so remained at a respectful distance, many shivering in fear. Some simply fled in open terror as the riders approached.
None of the ghostly riders took notice of the onlookers. Their concern lay only in the vast presence looming above them, a mountain so massive that those surrounding it looked like vassals paying homage to their lord. Those of the band who had never been this close were hard-pressed not to be overwhelmed by the peak’s grandeur and the power they could sense radiating from within it.
Kivan Grath. The name was old and without reliable origin, but all here were aware it meant “Seeker of Gods.” No one knew the reason for the title, yet somehow it fit. The riders turned their steeds toward the peak. At this point, there was at last some hesitation from their beasts, but, unforgiving, their hooded masters prodded them on, silencing whatever protests the mounts made. The sooner the band reached its destination and completed the task before it, the sooner the riders could go their separate ways.
At the base of the vast mountain, they came at last upon that which they sought. As one, the band reined their animals to a halt, then dismounted. Their steeds secured, the hooded figures stared at the sight before them until at last one of the lead riders, known to the others for his tempestuous ways, snarled something unintelligible and stalked toward the dark cavern in the mountainside.
Buried in the side of Kivan Grath was a great gate of bronze that might have been as old as the peak itself, so ancient was its appearance. Once it had towered over onlookers, but no more. Now the gate hung awkwardly, a mortally wounded guardian frozen in midfall. Only one blackened hinge held it in place. The entire gate was a burnt memory of what once had been. Those who had been here before could recall how its surface had been decorated with a curious array of designs, but now the designs were gone, melted away by the terrible forces unleashed upon it by one mad power.
The one who had stalked forward suddenly faltered. The others did not move, as if waiting for something to happen. The tableau did not change for several anxious moments.
“Well?” questioned one whose tone was reminiscent of lapping waves. It had finally occurred to him how ridiculous he and his companions looked. “It isss not asss if we need to knock, now isss it?”
Abashed, the lead figure looked at the others, then turned once more to the gate and the pitch-dark abyss behind it. He then turned back to the one who had mocked them all. “A torch would be nice, eel!”
“Why not create our own light?” scoffed one of the younger ones, the same one who had thought to remove his hood during the ride. He held out a gloved hand. A glow formed in his palm.
“Not out here, you hatchling!” the young traveler’s partner snapped. He had to struggle to make himself be heard, for, as before, his voice was barely a rasping whisper. It proved sufficient for the task, however, for the glow instantly faded away.
“There are sssome . . . some things that should be observed,” added the one with the voice that spoke like the sea. He was visibly working to calm himself, an effort that the other riders immediately copied with greater or lesser results. “Some things that must be respected.”
“There should ssstill be a torch on the inssside,” gasped the whisperer. “Just beyond the gate.”
Steeling himself, the foremost walked up and reached inside, his gauntleted hand running along the wall. His fingers struck something not made of stone. “I have it.”
“Then light it and let us be done with this.”
“You would be wise not to strain your voice,” the young, impetuous one advised his compatriot, a hint of mockery flavoring his words.
Before his companion could form a r
etort, the others had the torch lit. The bickering figures quieted. Despite their distaste for one another, the band drew close together as they entered the battered passage. There were some fears-although none here would have admitted to such failings-that were stronger than hatred.
They walked for a short time through a tunnel that, while natural in origin, had also been improved upon by other means during the passage of time. Small shadow creatures fluttered away in vocal dismay at the intrusion of light, but the group ignored them. All other things paled in comparison to the place they had invaded.
The riders entered the main cavern.
Even in its ruined state, the cavern citadel left them in speechless awe. The interior resembled a temple, but one tossed asunder by a great upheaval. Effigies both human and otherwise lay strewn about, many shattered beyond recognition. Some still stood, frightful mourners at the funeral of their companions. Beyond them, at the focus of the chamber, was a cracked and half-buried throne atop a crumbling dais. Just before the massive stone seat, but buried by rubble from the collapsed roof of the cavern, was a wide open area where a full-grown dragon could have and had rested his massive form time and time again. The elder riders could recall the face and form of that reptilian behemoth. He had been a golden leviathan, the last of a line of scaled masters ruling the land called the Dragonrealm. The Dragon Emperor Gold.
A generation of men had grown since his death.
The one with the torch placed it in a location that would give them the necessary illumination for their undesired deed. Then the riders, forming a ragged half circle, knelt in homage: if not to the late tyrant, then to what he had represented.
A moment of silence passed before one rider, calmer than the rest, stepped forward and took the place where the Dragon Emperor, king of kings, would have stood. The others shuffled uneasily, but they knew that their companion sought only to speak, not to claim any right above them.
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III Page 36
