The Dragon Throne: Knights of the Frost Pt. II (Legends of the Dragonrealm)

by Richard A. Knaak

  As for the drakes...the foremost of the trio let out a harsh, warning hiss, then bent forward. His comrades immediately did the same.

  The drakes began transforming.

  Darkhorse now saw an added benefit to the gigantic worms’ efforts. The drakes could become their true selves down here without fear of being unable to move freely. True, they could not fly, but they could maneuver about with ease...which at this moment they apparently believed that they would need to do.

  The chill grew stronger, oppressive. Some Jaruu moved in to get the anxious worms back under control.

  From out of nowhere, a black frost overtook the huge diggers.

  The worms froze. Caught in the dark frost, the nearest Jaruu also froze. Their shells glistened darkly as the frost swiftly thickened.

  Behind the frost, Darkhorse sensed more spellwork come into play.

  A wide, shimmering blink hole formed.

  Out of the portal erupted a horde of black-armored riders astride savage, snow-white beasts with both feline and lupine aspects. Darkhorse instantly recognized the riders for who they were. Wolf raiders. The beasts he had never seen, but if they could serve as mounts for the Aramites, then Darkhorse knew them to be dangerous.

  Despite their appearance, the Jaruu were not slow. They fell into battle positions even as the first riders reached them. Darkhorse watched, waiting for a titanic struggle.

  But once more the black frost preceded the Aramites, enshrouding the foremost Jaruu as it had those with the worms. Instantly, their movements slowed to a halt.

  The wolf raiders tore into the still figures a moment later, heavy weapons proving that the shells of the Jaruu were not impervious. The white beasts added claw and fang, quickly creating a scene of carnage that made the shadow steed for once sympathize with the foul servants of Lord Red.

  Darkhorse might have interfered, but he knew doing so would go against Cabe’s wishes. More important was to immediately alert the wizard as to what was taking place in the Hell Plains and what, if anything, it had to do with what was taking place above in the ruins.

  A roar echoed through the cavern. The foremost drake --- now fully a dragon --- exhaled a stream of molten earth at the wolf raiders.

  The stream engulfed the first wolf raiders and their mounts, burning them to a cinder in the blink of an eye. Yet, as the molten earth flowed past the initial ranks, the intensity decreased dramatically, becoming entirely ineffectual by the time it reached the third row.

  Strong magic! Darkhorse noted. Strong...and with a sinister stench to it I have not seen before! Another item to note to Cabe, the shadow steed thought.

  With but a thought, he once more became ink. This time, though, Darkhorse flowed up, leaking into the cracks of the ceiling even as the slaughter continued.

  It took only moments for him to reach the surface. There, with a brief look around, he reformed ---

  --- and the black frost swirled out of nowhere and enveloped him.

  Darkhorse froze. The eternal struggled, but even with the sweltering heat of the Hell Plains, the frost encasing him remained firm and bitterly cold even to a child of the Void.

  The eternal feared few things, but confinement was perhaps his greatest phobia. Long ago, he had been a prisoner of the Vraad, trapped in one of their infernal magical boxes. There had been other such incidents, each of them the antithesis of the endless emptiness from which Darkhorse had come.

  He tried again to shake himself free, but still the frost held him tight. Again, the eternal sensed the sinister aspects of the magic that had created it, magic that bespoke of death...and worse.

  A guttural sound escaped Darkhorse. His body shook.

  The ebony stallion exploded.

  Bits of the eternal scattered in every direction. Now broken into pieces, the frost at last melted.

  The black fragments of Darkhorse immediately began rolling toward one another. They collided, then became one. In seconds, what had been thousands of bits grew into a pulsating mound that quickly grew taller than a man.

  A breath later, a shivering Darkhorse reshaped.

  The shadow steed took one last glance around, then, with a snort, vanished.

  * * *

  “You need to be more careful,” Ren murmured.

  Rayvas stood. In his hand he held a small vial in which he was just putting a stopper. The male keeper grinned at his sister. “Have to admit it was exciting, though, don’t you? Better than watching the swords chop up a bunch of leather-faced beastmen who can’t even defend themselves, much less dragons slowed more than they think.”

  “Speaking of which, that spell is also failing. We have to make certain that the troops are all through the portal before we shut it. Father insists. This was all meant to be a distraction, not a direct assault. Not yet.”

  The grin flipped over into a frown. “Yes, he does find his dear troops more precious than his own blood, doesn’t he?” Rayvas eyed the contents of the vial. “This should make even D’Marr happy...and maybe that wyrm, too. We may not have been able to capture the horse like they wanted once he was sensed here, but the distraction still ended up enabling us to get a precious piece that even he didn’t notice he was missing.”

  Ren took the vial from her sibling. She peered into the tiny container, where a minute part of darkness moved around as if seeking something. “Fascinating.”

  “Yes, well don’t get up too much hope that we’ll be allowed to test its properties compared to blood, sister. We’ll just have to be satisfied with a bit more drake life fluids for now, not that they’re not without their merits, eh?”

  The female keeper placed the vial in a pouch at her side. “No, not at all. Especially his sister’s. Such potency.”

  “Indeed.”

  Ren grimaced. “Best we get back to the troops.”

  Rayvas nodded.

  The sorcerers faded into mist.

  X

  Powers Stirring

  Although it had only been a few days, the consensus between Logan and Corvo was that their progress was better than average. Certainly, it seemed to both that Mistress Hala favored their results over those of most of the others. At least, that was what Danna gathered from their constant blather.

  She liked both as friends well enough and respected their talents, but found that, like so many other people, they were caught up in things much too material for her. Danna missed the peace and tranquility she had known when training with Hadasi, the elderly female half-elf. Unfortunately, Danna had learned so well that Hadasi had no longer had anything to truly teach her.

  The palace courtyard remained the primary place of study for the young spellcasters. Mistress Hala continued to be their chief instructor, the enchantress moving quietly among her charges. Although much younger compared to such legends as Cabe Bedlam and the Gryphon, it quickly became apparent to Danna and the others that she was highly skilled.

  There were rumors about her. Some hinted at a troubled past, an incident involving the wizard Bedlam himself. None of the students knew whether there was any truth in the rumors, but it added a mystique that actually as a teacher made her far more interesting to listen to and, thus, learn from easier.

  Danna had expected Hala to warn her against relying on Sha’li. Instead, Hala understood that the rose was more of a vessel for an elemental being that acted as the young enchantress’s link to a greater force, Danna’s ru’hija. Danna had only been three when first she had begun speaking through this same rose --- Sha’li --- and thus to the soft, male voice that actually guided her.

  Sha’li did not actually speak. The elemental reacted with sensations, feelings. Right now, for instance, the rose radiated pride in Danna’s efforts. Visually, that meant the petals turned a deeper, healthier red.

  Her ru’hija, on the other hand, while also pleased, spoke to her in a tone that indicated he expected more.

  Concentration...must be matched...by the soul...

  Danna was not quite certain exactly what her r
u’hija meant, but suspected it had to do with giving more of herself to her spellwork. It was something Mistress Hala had mentioned once before and not just to Danna. Corvo had twice been informed by the instructor that while he had a high level of skill, he did not have the emotional tie to magic that would enable him to instinctively cast complex spells. Corvo saw magic as something that was supposed to be at his beck and call, like a servant.

  Next to her, Logan suddenly raised his gaze from his efforts. “Did you say something, Danna?”

  “No.”

  Corvo, who sat on Logan’s other side, chimed in. “You did. I heard you.”

  “I have not spoken!”

  “I’m sorry,” Logan added hastily. “It’s just that you mentioned something about ‘concentration’ and ‘the soul’ and I wondered exactly what you meant.”

  She stared at him. Never in her life had anyone else heard her ru’hija and while Danna respected his abilities, she saw no special power that granted him access to her spirit guide.

  “Was that what she said?” Corvo frowned. “I heard the last part, but not the other.”

  More...I need more...

  Danna’s stared in horror as the rose abruptly withered. “Sha’li!”

  She felt the elemental’s presence fade away. The flower crumpled into ash in her palm. At the same time, her palm grew cold and pale.

  “Danna!” Logan grabbed her hand, then pulled back as if stung. “You’re freezing!”

  Corvo muttered under his breath, then touched her hand. Danna felt warmth return...then immediately fade again. Like Logan, he pulled back from her.

  Danna had not been idle while Corvo had acted. She, too, had been attempting a spell to push back the chill, but instead her efforts appeared to be feeding whatever attacked her.

  By now, their combined consternation had attracted the attention of others, including Mistress Hala. Eyes wide in concern, she rushed over to the trio.

  “Danna! Quickly! Tell me what you were trying to do that made that happen?”

  “Nothing! It happened on its own! It took Sha’li, then ---”

  Hala had already waved off any further explanation. Danna could feel the energy surrounding her instructor as the enchantress gathered from the lines of force crisscrossing the entire world in swift preparation for dealing with the danger. The younger spellcaster’s tensions eased.

  The ashes in Danna’s palm flew up in Mistress Hala’s face. The enchantress coughed, then shivered. Her skin turned as white as the ash.

  More! the last voice demanded, a voice Danna realized was not that of her ru’hija.

  “Catch her!” Logan shouted.

  He and Corvo grabbed Mistress Hala just before she collapsed. Some of the other students joined the situation, all of them wearing the same look of horror Danna knew her own face radiated.

  Mistress Hala shivered uncontrollably. A think layer of white covered her, but not the white of the ash.

  Corvo touched her cheek. “Frost. She’s covered in frost!”

  At that moment, a rush of magical energies that dwarfed those Mistress Hala had been gathering sent the startled students retreating from the fallen enchantress. A figure formed near the prone form, one that left Danna and several of the others gaping.

  Lord Gryphon stood among them in all his magical glory, the master of the City of Knowledge quickly taking in the situation. He bent down next to Mistress Hala and placed one taloned hand on her forehead. As he did, his hand glowed a bright gold.

  At first, there was no change. Then, the frost finally began to recede. Soon, it was only a faint hint of what it had been.

  Despite that, a frustrated grunt still escaped the Gryphon. His hand glowed brighter.

  Danna peered close. There was no further change, but at least Mistress Hala appeared to be breathing normally.

  Rising, the lord of Penacles glanced back at the palace. As he did, the stricken enchantress’s body shimmered, then vanished.

  “Your exercises are concluded for today,” the Gryphon announced to the students. “Mistress Hala is not well. Another instructor will take over for her until she recuperates.”

  His calm tone brought some relief to the gathering, although Danna knew from her own brief experience that Mistress Hala was not doing as well as Lord Gryphon claimed. Danna’s hand still felt cold, although she knew that it was only a residual effect.

  And then there was Sha’li. Nothing remained of the flower, of the elemental. Danna stood there, trying to accept the loss. She had always been warned by Sha’li that there would come a time when the flower would fade and with it the creature’s life, but neither could have expected such a horrific demise.

  “My --- my lord Gryphon,” Logan dared.

  The lionbird peered at the younger spellcaster. “Yes?”

  “It’s Danna. I think that she’s lost something close to her.”

  The Gryphon turned to her. He noted her empty hand. “The Sha’li...”

  She looked at him, startled that he knew of it.

  “And your ru’hija?” he murmured.

  “I hear him...but only faintly for now.”

  “Hunter though she is, my wife is more attuned to things of such nature. She will see you in your quarters. That would be best.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The concern with which he spoke made Danna marvel despite her loss.

  The Gryphon once more took in the group. “Well? What are you all waiting for? Dismissed!”

  The students scattered, Logan and Corvo flanking Danna.

  “You’re going to have an audience with the queen of Penacles!” Corvo declared enviously.

  “She’s not queen,” corrected Logan. “Lord Gryphon’s not a king.”

  “He rules Penacles. Same thing, which makes his wife...” he trailed off as saw Danna continue to stare at her empty hand even as she walked.

  She knew that she would still be able to cast her spells, but Sha’li had always been a comforting guide, not to mention the best way she had to fully understand just what her ru’hija was saying ---

  Better...but more needed...

  Danna came to a halt. She looked from one friend to another. Both stared blankly. Despite the two having earlier claimed to have heard a voice, it was clear that only she alone had noticed these last whispered words.

  “Are you all right?” Logan asked.

  “Yes...yes...” She moved on, her shaken mind already in the process of convincing herself that what she heard was only some half-intelligible words from her ru’hija. After all, what other voice could it be?

  * * *

  In the empty yard, a brief crackle of energy erupted not only unseen, but also even unfelt by any nearby with magical talents. For a moment, a shape seemed to form...then faded again.

  * * *

  The guards at the chamber came to attention as General D’Rak approached. Orril D’Marr insisted that they were not necessary, but the general did not take chances.

  Behind him, Rayvas snickered. Ren cleared her throat to silence her brother.

  “How is the prisoner?” General D’Rak asked of the guards.

  “All silence, sir,” replied the senior one.

  Nodding, the commander stepped into the chamber set aside for their most important prisoner.

  The Dragon Emperor looked up as General D’Rak and the two keepers entered. That was, in fact, the extent to which the drake could do anything. His limbs were stretched to their utmost, the hands and feet sealed in what at first appeared to be stalactites and stalagmites but were icy formations created by the hideous dragon that served as the Aramites’ dubious ally.

  General D’Rak did not know what to make of the beast called Toma, only that his very name seemed to stir up as much fear as his decayed form rightly should have. Kyl had especially reacted to the wyrm’s presence with dread. The commander did not know the extent of the relationship between Toma and Kyl, but suspected that it was very close. D’Marr was not so forthcoming as he should have been.
That was a fact General D’Rak always kept well in mind.

  “You could make this much easier on yourself,” he commented as he approached the prisoner.

  “The secrets of Kivan Grath are not meant for you,” the elven-looking drake muttered. “and they were certainly never meant for Toma, living or dead.”

  Rayvas stepped up beside the general. “Shall we begin?”

  “Have patience for just a moment more. You will learn that it’s to your benefit in the long run.” General D’Rak stepped close to Kyl. “Here is a strong, able warrior. Raised and trained by the most capable spellcaster in all the land ---”

  “A wizard. That’s all. Just a wizard,” Rayvas remarked.

  “Cabe Bedlam,” the senior wolf raider countered with a glance back. “You would do well to remember his name, my son.”

  “Oh, I’ve made certain to, Father. His blood should be especially strong...but he’s still just a wizard.”

  The general held back an epithet. The typical arrogance of a keeper. They do take after you more than me, brother.

  He raised one hand. Ren turned and snapped her fingers.

  Footsteps echoed from the corridor beyond. General D’Rak had ordered the the guard detail to remain farther back until signaled. The Dragon Emperor’s powers should have been entirely negated by the spellwork the dragon and D’Marr had arranged, but the commander always had his doubts. He had wanted to keep the element of surprise even for this moment, aware of the psychological pressures it would put on their prime prisoner.

  Kyl’s widening eyes was all the reaction General D’Rak needed. Next to the officer, Rayvas chuckled at the Dragon Emperor’s discomfort.

  With the exception of her nostrils and a slit for her mouth --- just open enough to enable her to be fed --- Ursa’s entire head was covered by a helmet that at first glance looked to be made from solid pearl. Only on closer inspection --- which the general had done while his children had been placing it on the then-unconscious drake --- did one note that it was not pearl, but rather bone. The helmet was a vestige of the empire’s glory, when the keepers had wielded the full might of their god, the Ravager. Molded through keeper sorcery, it was an effective control device, not to mention a way of preventing both communications between the drakes and any spellcasting by the female prisoner.