The Dragon Throne_Knights of the Frost Pt. I

by Richard A. Knaak

  Cabe instinctively took a step back --- and then saw another hefty stone rise of its own accord from the fiery grounds and set itself in place on the nearby wall.

  The stunned wizard carefully reached out with his power to mentally probe the citadel. What he quickly found went beyond even his worst suspicions.

  No mad spellcaster, invisible or otherwise, had taken on the insidious task of seeking to raise up Azran’s doomed castle. The only trace of magic Cabe could sense was the faint residue from spells his accursed sire had cast long, long ago.

  As much as the mage wanted to deny it, there was no escaping the truth.

  The castle was rebuilding itself.

  V

  Whispers of the Past

  “I should’ve gone with him!” growled Aurim. “I just can’t wait here for Mother to ---”

  “For Mother to do what?” asked a voice other than Yssa’s.

  Aurim turned to the crimson-haired figure who, like his father, barely looked older than him. “Mother! Praise be, you’re back!”

  The smile on her face faltered. “Why?” She glanced at Yssa, who nodded silently, then returned her gaze to her son. “Did you two have another argument with your father, Aurim?”

  “We did, but that’s not important. Darkhorse came and took Father with him. Something related to Valea ---”

  “Valea?” Gwendolyn immediately shut her eyes in concentration. After a moment, she opened them and scowled. “He’s blocking me...Darkhorse is aiding him! Why?”

  “I don’t know! I wanted to go with, but he forbade me.”

  His mother took a deep breath. “Tell me exactly what happened.” She listened as Aurim described the brief encounter, nodding as he concluded. “So. I know Darkhorse is more familiar with what’s going on with your sister than he lets on to us and I know it’s at her behest. Your father --- and I --- are not comfortable with her situation ---”

  “You aren’t very comfortable with ours, either,” the younger wizard remarked, reaching for Yssa.

  “That is not fair and you know it, Aurim. I’ve tried my best to bridge this gap between you and your father.” She looked to Yssa. “I’ll admit, it was not easy for me to accept you. However, I know you better now. Cabe will see that in time.”

  “When, Mother? Another century maybe?”

  Yssa cleared her throat. “Please, Aurim. Your parents have their right.”

  He grimaced. “All right. Never mind. We’ve got Valea to worry about now, anyway. I haven’t seen her in over a month, Mother. Have you?”

  “No. Not for four months. Not since she came in secret to borrow a scroll she and Shade believed would aid in his overall salvation.”

  “Well, apparently that didn’t work, otherwise they’d be with us now.” He stopped as Yssa suddenly stiffened. “What is it?”

  “I feel my brother calling to me.”

  “Zeen?” The heir to Lord Green’s domain tolerated his sister’s relationship with Aurim, but the wizard knew that it was in part due to the Dragon King’s own acceptance. Aurim suspected that of his own accord Zeen would have expressed an opinion not dissimilar to the mage’s father. “Can you sense what he wants?”

  “No, he just keeps concentrating on reaching me.” She gave Aurim an apologetic look. “I should really go to him.”

  “All right. We’ll do that ---” He stopped as she put her fingers to his lips.

  “Just me, Aurim. You need to be with your mother right now.”

  He did not like separating from her, but finally acquiesced. “Contact me as soon as possible.”

  “You know I will.”

  Aurim suddenly held empty air. It said something about Yssa’s concern over her brother’s summons that she had departed so quickly. He knew that in part she wanted to be on as good terms with Zeen as possible. Zeen was the first of Lord Green’s heirs to actually look as if he might someday reach the throne. His ambition appeared balanced by his loyalty, but that was not the entire reason. Lord Green had never quite been the same after the loss of his arm. Yssa did not speak of it, but to Aurim it was clear that the Dragon King was slowly weakening. True, that might still mean decades, even a century or two, but it was still a significant consideration.

  Trusted...brother...

  “What did you say, Mother?”

  “I did not say anything.”

  Something moved at the edge of his vision. Aurim glanced to his right...but saw nothing. Still, he was certain that he had not been mistaken.

  He finally chuckled. “Of course. Never mind.”

  Gwendolyn cocked her head. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Just still falling prey to the whims of the Manor’s ghosts after all these years. You’d think I’d be used to them by now. I’ve seen them all my life.”

  “You heard a ghost? Did it say anything you understood?”

  Aurim was well aware that his mother was the only one perhaps more familiar with the Manor’s specters than his sister, who had long ago taken to studying them. Both mother and daughter were especially of the belief that understanding what each vision represented was important. Aurim did not disagree with that notion, but felt that if the Manor did want something known, it would certain do it in a clearer way, not by random visitations at odd hours. “Nothing much. I think I remember the word ‘brother’.”

  “’Brother’...are you certain?”

  He shrugged. “That was probably it. That and...’trust’. Yes, ‘trust’ came first.”

  “’Trust brother’. That’s all?”

  “Well...” Aurim rubbed his chin, wondering why his mother seemed so unusually interested in one of many of the Manor’s phantasms. “Actually, it was more a hesitation in between. I think I there was something else, just inaudible.”

  “So ‘trust...brother’. Would that be correct?”

  “Yes, but what does that matter now? We should be concerned with Valea!”

  The enchantress’s expression immediately changed to one of agreement. “Yes. Absolutely. Forgive me. The first thing to do is see if we can locate her. Perhaps between the two of us, we can convince her to respond.”

  “That makes sense. What should we do?”

  She extended her hands. “Take them.”

  Aurim did. As the two held one another, Gwen concentrated. In Aurim’s mind appeared an image of his sister as they both knew her. In contrast to the riding outfit his mother often wore, Valea --- her long, red hair draped more to the side --- was clad in a green and white dress that accentuated her shape. Valea was a slenderer version of her mother, but with softer touches to her features that gave her a unique beauty. That beauty could have won her an empire, for once it had captured the heart of he who now sat upon the imperial throne. Kyl would have made her his primary consort if she had accepted.

  Instead, she had chosen perhaps the most feared figure in all the land.

  Seizing on his mother’s vision, Aurim silently called out to Valea. Gwendolyn let her summons intertwine with her son’s, multiplying the strength of either’s individual efforts.

  Their call spread throughout the Dragonrealm, shielded from the minds of any but the one they sought. Unless Valea was unconscious or dead, she would hear her mother and sibling

  But whether or not she answered was another question.

  With that thought urging him on, Aurim pressed his efforts. His parents believed that he had the potential to become an even greater wizard than his father, no small feat. Aurim still had his doubts about that ever happening, only hoping that whatever potential he reached, it would be enough to protect his loved ones.

  The two spellcasters’ combined call reached the edges of the continent and even spread some distance beyond. At that point, Aurim and his mother kept their spell at a consistent level. The rest was up to Valea. Either she would, would not, or could not answer ---

  Brother...

  The single word startled mother and son, but the degree with which it did sharply contrasted. It startled bo
th first and foremost because it was not Valea, was not even female. That shook Aurim enough, but his mother’s reaction shook him even more. The enchantress not only tore free of the link that they had created, but physically pulled away from her son.

  Regaining his focus, Aurim stared. “Are you all right? What is it? Was that Shade?”

  “No...no...” Gwendolyn Bedlam glanced around as if expecting someone or something. Aurim had hardly ever seen his mother so shaken.

  “Mother...are you ---”

  “It cannot be. It just cannot be...” The enchantress eyed the empty air. She frowned sadly. “Is it...is it you?”

  Fearful for her sanity, Aurim strode forward and took his mother by the arm and turned her to face him. “What is it? Who are you talking to?”

  “More than two centuries...more than two,” she whispered to Aurim. “Along with so many others...”

  “Please, Mother! Tell me what’s happening! Is it Shade? Is it some game of his?”

  “No...” Her voice was barely audible. She stared past him, so lost in what Aurim realized was some memory. “No...not Shade. Someone close to us. Close to your father...and me.”

  “I don’t understand ---”

  But Gwen paid no more mind to him. Again, she eyed the emptiness. Her son suddenly noticed that her eyes were moist.

  “Mother...”

  Gwendolyn shook her head. Her mouth formed a single word --- a single name --- that at first Aurim was certain he had heard wrong. It was a name he knew of, but one that to him was simply of another time, another place.

  Dayn...

  * * *

  General D’Rak tossed aside the empty ration pack, his hunger not at all satiated. Still, he made no move toward the second pack lying on the table where he overlooked the maps. Until a new source of supplies could be located, everyone had to make due with less.

  The bearded commander stepped back from the maps, wondering if his new ally would manage to keep that particular promise. Orril D’Marr seemed to care little about food himself. When he did eat, the pale man only nibbled at what rations he was given. More than once, Augus had found the rest set aside.

  Well, what they say is true, my friend, he thought at the absent D’Marr. An army does travel on its stomach...or it leaves even the best commander...

  The moment he finished the thought, the general grunted. Most armies traveled on their stomach...but not those that D’Marr had at his back.

  “Sir?”

  General D’Rak thanked his absent god for the interruption. “Enter, D’Faud.”

  His second stepped into the tent. D’Faud looked grateful to be near the heat stone Ren had set up for the commander. The granite rock --- perhaps the size of a head --- glowed bright red, the heat it radiated more than adequate for a hardened veteran like the general. A ring of smaller, normal stones surrounded it.

  Still a bit of her mother in her, D’Rak could not help thinking at that moment. Still a bit of caring.

  “If I may, sir?”

  “Go ahead. Be brief.”

  The canine features revealed hesitation. “They’re at it again.”

  D’Rak sighed. “Where are they?”

  “Near the path D’Marr came from the first time. They’ve got one of the things this time...”

  With another sigh, the bearded commander nodded. “You did right.” He started past D’Faud, only to notice another change of emotion on his second. “There’s more?”

  “My apologies, general. It’s nothing.”

  However, Augus D’Rak suspected he knew exactly what concerned D’Faud. Putting a hand on the officer’s shoulder, he said, “The ways of war have changed. The days of the old empire are gone. We do what we must to build a new empire for the greater glory of the Ravager.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  D’Faud did not sound happy with the answer and, to be truth, it did not satisfy the general, either. Despite that, D’Rak added nothing, instead exiting with the junior officer on his heel.

  “Over there,” D’Faud commented, pointing.

  “Stay in the camp. You’re dismissed from duty for the evening.”

  “As you command.”

  Leaving D’Faud in his wake, the bearded commander trudged through the ice and snow to where Ren and the other Keeper did their sinister work.

  The pair remained so engrossed in their task that they did not even look up when he approached. The general waited a few moments, then decided to interrupt.

  “You were ordered to leave those things be.”

  Neither jumped. Ren smoothly rose to her feet and turned to him. “You always taught us to take the initiative.”

  “’Initiative’, yes. Suicide, no.”

  “Oh, don’t be so worried,” Rayvas remarked cheerfully. “I’m sure Ren can smooth things over with him.”

  “I will explain,” the flaxen-haired young woman corrected. “He will understand.”

  General D’Rak was not so certain. “Finish up here. I’ll do the explaining. You two just make certain that you’re out of sight.”

  “We are not children. There is no need to protect us anymore,” Ren replied evenly.

  “I promised your mother. Nothing changes that.”

  The female Keeper suddenly put an ungloved hand to his cheek. Despite the coldness of that hand, the general appreciated the gesture.

  “We can take care of ourselves, Father,” she added. “Still, if it worries you so much, we’ll do as you say. Isn’t that right, Rayvas?”

  “Oh, anything for Father here,” her brother responded with a crooked smile as he rose. “Besides, this thing’s turned out rather boring. Nothing we can make use of after all.”

  The ‘thing’ in question was a fiendish figure left behind by D’Marr just before his departure with the monstrous dragon and several other horrors. It bore the general shape of a bipedal figure akin to a man or elf, but that was where normalcy ended. As far as General D’Rak could tell, the creature was made of pure ice, at least on the outside. Judging by the damage the two keepers had done to this one, that guess had been accurate.

  Of course, inside...

  Even though compressed by its icy shroud, the corpse within the once mobile shell was still recognizable as an elf. The face still bore an expression of horror, which the commander had no doubt had frozen in place the moment the ice had swallowed its victim whole.

  Augus D’Rak did not have to be a keeper to understand that some spell had allowed the frozen casing to use the body as sort of a skeleton. The macabre servant was a creation of the late Ice Dragon. It bespoke of the Dragon King’s tremendous power that he had been able to summon so many of these abominations, although clearly they alone were not meant to win a new empire for the Aramites.

  He gazed past the shattered figure to where more than a dozen other such horrors stood as if statues. The moment Orril D’Marr had departed, the creatures had ceased moving. Now, the bearded commander suspected that whatever magic animated the servants depended solely on the snow-haired former officer.

  He’s usurped some of the might of a Dragon King...but how much? And how much does that mean we can trust him to not turn us into something like these things? It was not an unreasonable question, not to the general.

  A harsh wind struck. As General D’Rak steadied himself, something huge swooped past the camp.

  The shadowed form of the dragon filled his view. The wings flapping slowly, it descended to the ground. However, as the Aramite commander started forward, the beast took to the air again.

  Only as the dragon vanished into the sky did the general see that it had left smaller figures behind. D’Rak knew that one of them would be Orril D’Marr. Two of the others were likely his Quel bodyguards. Of the small compliment of ice creatures that had flown with D’Marr south, there was no sign.

  And then there was the bundle in front of the newly-arrived party. General D’Rak gritted his teeth. Has he done it then? So easily?

  “Hello, general,” Or
ril D’Marr called. “So kind of you to meet us.”

  The elder soldier eyed the sky. “Where’s that behemoth off to? It looked in a big hurry.”

  “Oh, personal business of his own.”

  “’Personal business’? Never mind. I don’t want know.”

  D’Marr grinned, his expression making Rayvas’s earlier smile look subdued by comparison. “Aren’t you going to say hello to our new guest?”

  The ‘bundle’ was, in fact, an adult figure bound tightly with what looked like thin strands of silver. Again, General D’Rak did not have to be a keeper to understand that those delicate strands had been enhanced by strong magic. Not even a dragon would have been able to break them.

  Not even this dragon.

  Without ceremony, Orril D’Marr used one hand to pull the head of the prisoner up. As he did, the general noticed that D’Marr’s other arm ever hung limp. Thus far, there had been no hint that the limb moved at all.

  Then, Augus D’Rak peered down at the prisoner, the first major victory in a war not yet even fought. Despite his misgivings concerning his ally, the general had to admit that this capture was quite a coup.

  “The emperor...” Leaning down, D’Rak studied the face. It was a handsome one...and a young one. “Not what I expected.”

  The drake’s eyes flared, but with his mouth covered by a similar silver material, he could say nothing.

  “Don’t underestimate his power. He was raised and trained by the wizard Bedlam and his witch of a wife.”

  “The Bedlams...”

  “Yes...and with some guidance also from the mongrel himself.”

  The commander did not have to ask who D’Marr meant. Among the wolf raiders, that same figure was called by many names, most of them not for the ears of small children. “The Gryphon...”

  “Yes.” There was that in Orril D’Marr’s tone that made the general look up. Most of the high-ranking Aramite officers had an abstract hatred of the Gryphon --- for it was he who had been most instrumental in the fall of the empire --- but Augus D’Rak saw that with his ally, the animosity went so deep that it unsettled even the general.