Legends of the Dragonrealm: Shade

by Richard A. Knaak

  But the spell dissipated without revealing an intruder. Valea stepped farther into the chamber, studying each direction carefully.

  She could still find nothing.

  The enchantress at last exited. Her skills were not inconsiderable. It was possible that whomever she had heard had vanished immediately upon her entrance, but even Darkhorse, as formidable as he was, had alerted her senses just before his appearance. She should have felt something.

  Frustration over so many other matters made her finally push aside the incident. Nothing had looked out of place. Perhaps her father had briefly returned to the library along with either her mother or Lord Gryphon. That seemed most reasonable, although it did strike her that if such was the case, surely they would have heard Darkhorse and come out to see why he had visited.

  Once more she considered what next to do. Each time, Valea returned to the notion of journeying to that one place where she might find the information she sought. It would mean some risk, not only in regard to how her parents would react if they learned but also, in truth, to her life. He might be glad to see her, but those who surrounded him, assuming they learned of her visit, would not be pleased in the least.

  She saw no choice. She would have to go see Kyl.

  She would have to turn to the Dragon Emperor himself.

  TALAK WAS A KINGDOM set south of the vast mountain chain separating the rest of the Dragonrealm from the chill desolation called the Northern Wastes. It was also a kingdom once thoroughly under the claws of the Gold Dragon. Yet, the last two decades had seen not only freedom from that long rule, but also a rise in prominence that put Talak on par with Penacles as a bastion of humanity’s growing influence.

  However, that transformation had not come without a price. The previous king had been driven mad by his contact with the servants of the Gold Dragon and his heir, the current ruler, had, in his zealousness to avenge his father, become terribly maimed. For a time, it had appeared that he would follow his sire into insanity.

  From a distance, King Melicard still looked to be a fit man for his years. Despite his hair, which was all but grey, he had the form and stance of the warrior he had been when forced to take the throne upon his father’s death. As he rode through the city toward the palace—the dozen men of his personal guard warily surveying the vicinity all the while—those on the streets who saw only his right profile recognized the weathered but determined visage that had begun to resemble his predecessor.

  But for those on his left . . .

  The crowds cheered as Melicard led his men toward the palace gates. He nodded to both sides equally, ever aware of the true position of a king among his subjects. Melicard ruled well and wisely and was the first to say that he did so because of his queen, chosen for him for political reasons but beloved by him for both her beauty and her heart. It was she who had drawn him from the brink, from the darkness that had overtaken him after not only his father’s loss . . . but also the loss of his arm and one side of his face.

  The hand that gripped the reins was flesh and blood and well muscled. Scars ran across it, the scars of battles.

  The hand that ever remained near the sword sheathed at his side—a necessity with so many enemies, mostly drake, always seeking his death—was carved of wood.

  Melicard adjusted his left hand, the fingers shifting the hilt so as to allow him a better grip on the weapon should the need arise. The fingers moved with almost as much grace and dexterity as those of any skilled warrior, though that had not been the case when first the false limb had been grafted onto his body. Then, it had moved more stiffly, although it had still moved. The arm had been carved from elfwood, a rare wood found only in a few places on all the continent. The cost to have the work on the arm done had been high.

  And to re-create the face had cost even more.

  Magic had destroyed Melicard’s arm and face, magic that he had sought to wield in his pursuit of the vengeance against all drakes. To replace what was lost of his visage, the artisans had worked even more skillfully with the elfwood, even carving it so that it would stretch into those areas where only streaks of skin had been destroyed. The new face had been a perfect fit.

  But nothing had been able to repair the mind within until the arrival of then-princess Erini of Gordag-Ai, betrothed to Melicard when he was a youth and she an infant. The petite western princess had drawn him back to life.

  As he rode into the palace grounds, the king looked for her. She and their two children were everything to him. Princess Lynnette would be in her room practicing her lute. The young prince would be in bed at this time. Erini, though—

  As with many structures in Talak, the palace was a ziggurat—a step pyramid—albeit a very well-fortified one. It rose higher than any other building and the upper levels had several windows where the personal quarters of the royal family could be found. On a balcony overlooking the left side of the ancient stone structure, Melicard spied a blond figure clad in a blue gown leaning over to wave welcome. To an outsider unfamiliar with Talak, it might have seemed that the king’s daughter waved to him . . . either that or, assuming they were told who it was, that Melicard had married a woman less than half his age. However, while it was true that Queen Erini was some years younger than her husband, the visual gap in their ages was due to another reason.

  The queen of Talak was an enchantress. In a realm where once all magic had been cursed, her unwanted, burgeoning powers had saved both her future husband and his kingdom from one of the Dragon Kings and Melicard’s own duplicitous adviser. Erini had become a symbol of Talak’s hope for the future, and the birth of first a daughter and then a son had only magnified the people’s love for her and often made them forget her abilities.

  But they only had to consider her true age to be reminded. Erini should have looked older, even if only a few years, but as with most spellcasters of great power, her aging had all but stopped. If not killed by accident or on purpose, the queen had the potential to live three hundred years or more, barely growing old until the very end unless she forcefully drained herself through excessive use of her abilities.

  King Melicard, on the other hand, had no such power. More to the point, not only was a spell of youth difficult for any mage to cast upon another, the effect requiring constant renewal, but the elfwood that had been used to rebuild him had gradually affected Melicard in a unique manner. He had become resistant to most spells. While that had its benefits, it also meant that magic designed to heal him in any manner, including the prevention of aging, failed. It had made for some fear on the queen’s part, even more so now.

  Talak was going to war.

  Before Melicard could return his bride’s greeting, she literally vanished. With expectation, he looked to the front steps, where Erini materialized a moment later. He dismounted before she considered teleporting herself to the saddle, which the queen had done once upon his return from the field of battle.

  “My love!” Erini kissed him passionately, utterly ignoring the elfwood and the guards. There was no pretense; she loved the man inside the mask, for which he was grateful. “You promised to be back more than an hour ago.”

  “Details needed to be approved, Erini. I’m sending men to fight. Many won’t live. I have to see to it that as few as possible die.”

  She was not put off by his bluntness. The queen supported him wholeheartedly in this venture, although she made no attempt to hide her concern for her husband. “I should travel with you. My power—”

  “Is needed to protect our children. They are more important than me.”

  “Don’t say it like that.” Still, Erini nodded. Either one of them would have given their life for their daughter and son. Frowning, she asked, “How long before you march, then?”

  “The drakes are on the move from the Fire Lakes. The Red Dragon seeks to catch Penacles while it battles with Black in the southwest.”

  His comment caused a stirring among his guard. Someone muttered a curse at the drake lord.

&
nbsp; “He would never have been so forward if not for Black’s influence,” the queen replied, scowling. “Red lacks the confidence. Black must have promised him much.”

  “He did. He promised him Talak and everything in between, no doubt.”

  Thunder roiled. The nearby mountains attracted an unusual number of storms, believed by most to be due to the ancient magics said to permeate them. After all, the greatest of those peaks, Kivan Grath, was also the citadel of the Dragon Emperor, who had remained stubbornly silent on the subject of war despite missives from Melicard.

  “Best to get inside, milord,” the captain of the guard said as the wind picked up.

  Nodding, Melicard handed the reins to a waiting attendant. The queen placed a hand on his arm and the pair entered the palace.

  Dismissing all but two of his guards, Melicard led his queen up the grand stairway to the royal family’s personal quarters. From far to the right, he heard the faint sounds of Lynnette’s gentle playing. She had become quite proficient and Melicard loved to watch her enthusiasm when she performed before audiences.

  As they reached the second floor, the king peered to the left, where a pair of sentries stood stern guard over a thick wooden door leading to the chambers of the heir to Talak’s throne.

  “Does Rennek sleep well?” he quietly asked.

  “Sleeps well and safely,” Erini said. “Two men outside and two men inside. I’ve also seen to it that the windows are bespelled. No creature may enter and live.”

  Melicard nodded to the two sentries, then turned back to his wife. “So glad to hear.”

  His eyes widened. The king tore free of Erini, drew his sword, and whirled back to his son’s bedchamber.

  “Melicard!” the queen cried out. “What are you doing?”

  “See to Lynnette!” He had neither time nor breath to answer more. His entire focus was on Rennek’s room. Even despite the king charging toward them, the two sentries made no move, did not even change expression.

  Melicard barreled into them, sending both men sprawling. They fell as if marionettes cut free from their strings.

  He crashed against the door, muscle and armor forcing the last barrier to snap free and tumble inside. Ignoring the shock to his body, Melicard surged inside.

  His one good eye took in the horrifying scene. The two guards inside already lay sprawled, their bodies shriveled, cadaverous. They had perished violently, yet no sound had evidently reached ears beyond the door nor had anyone noted the spell cast over the men in the hall.

  But more terrible than the deaths of two, possibly four, brave men was the image of the prince in bed . . . and the monster looming over him.

  It spun to face the king, hissing and flapping its webbed wings. Melicard thought it resembled nothing less than a gigantic bat that had attempted to take human form. Standing straight, it would have towered over the tall king, and even though permanently crouched over, it came to his chest.

  The fiend leapt at the king. The wings ended in sharp claws that sought to rend through the armor. The mouth was filled with pointed teeth as long as his palm. The eyes were without pupils and as white as death. The skin was barely darker, seeming more the pale ivory of a bleached bone.

  As it fell upon Melicard, the lord of Talak was assailed by a stench that reminded him of the dead rotting on the battlefield. He stifled the urge to throw up, aware that if he hesitated one second, then he would join the guards.

  Melicard brought up the sword. The blade slashed across the horror’s chest, but no blood spilled. A thick, black substance seeped from the wide cut but ceased flowing almost immediately. The stench magnified.

  It was impossible for Melicard to see what condition his son was in, but the fact that Rennek had uttered no sound, had made no move, made the king’s heart pound with dread. Letting out a war cry, Melicard swung the sword with both hands. He fended off the claws on his left but did not manage to keep those on the right away. A shriek shot through the chamber as the claws ripped at the armor protecting his shoulder.

  But now, just as he had planned, Melicard brought the sword back in the opposite direction, catching the monster behind the wing. The sharp blade easily slit through the membrane, then cut a thin slash across the throat.

  His demonic foe backed away a step. More of the black substance seeped from the new wound. Melicard noted that the batlike creature found this last cut more dangerous than the first despite seeming no more injured by it than the previous one. The king struggled hard to determine why.

  “Melicard!”

  Erini’s voice stirred him from what he realized was an unnatural loss of focus. Melicard discovered the fiend about to rake what was left of his true face, taking with it his throat. The king reacted instinctively, first using the sword to slice off the oncoming claws and then turning the weapon toward the beast’s neck.

  The well-honed blade neatly severed the head from the neck. The disgusting black substance splattered the king, but he refused to be daunted by it. Even despite the monstrous intruder’s having no head, Melicard jammed the sword through the chest for good measure.

  The winged form collapsed. From almost the moment it struck the floor, it began to decay. Now at last Melicard was momentarily forced back. Abandoning the sword, which was lodged tight, he covered his mouth and nose and watched as the decay spread even to his weapon, rust swiftly corroding the metal.

  Concern for his son sent Melicard leaping past the sickening mass. Rennek remained with his back turned to the door. Past the foot of his bed, the window through which the winged fiend had entered lay shattered. Melicard wondered what power the beast had wielded to nullify Erini’s precautions but decided that that could be discovered later.

  “Rennek!” he called. When the child did not stir, the king went down on one knee and put a shaking hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  Rennek stirred slightly. Blond locks inherited from his mother obscuring one eye, he sleepily peered at his father, smiled, then fell back asleep.

  Erini pushed past Melicard, taking up her son by the shoulders. Behind her came an equally distraught Lynnette. The boy mumbled something to his mother but once more returned to his slumber.

  “He’s all right,” Melicard quickly told his wife and daughter, he himself just as relieved to know that. “Though how the lad could sleep through that . . .”

  “There was some sort of spell,” Erini replied, still hugging Rennek tight. “I can feel the residue of it . . . I can feel . . . Melicard . . . the foulness of it is awful! It’s . . . it’s like . . .”

  He put an arm around her, which at the same time enabled him to touch his son. “I know.”

  “The entire room is saturated with it. It feels very ancient!” She glanced past them to where only a continually shrinking mass of congealing matter marked the creature. Soon, all traces would be gone. “And that thing . . . that thing wasn’t alive, not in the sense that we know it . . . it was almost as if something had raised it from the dead . . . but not exactly . . .”

  The king understood her confusion, although he was finally beginning to understand . . . understand and grow more filled with dread. Once, there had been a time during his vendetta—just before Erini had come into his life—when Melicard had turned to the darkness for his weapons, his answers. He had searched through every legend concerning demons, artifacts, and such in the hopes that some might have a basis in fact that he could use. Indeed, it was by his folly that he had returned to the Dragonrealm the shadowy stallion Darkhorse and the warlock Shade from where the former had exiled them in the hope of saving the land from the featureless spellcaster.

  But more relevant to this horrific moment was that during his search, Melicard had come across fragments of tales concerning what even he had originally thought only superstition. They had referred to a power beyond death that, when the king realized that it did exist, he had shunned out of fear of what he might unleash.

  “The Lords of the Dead . . . ,” Melicard whispered to himself.<
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  The sinister necromancers of lore were after his son . . . and the king believed he knew just why.

  V

  THE ARTIFACT

  SHADE GRIPPED his left hand—or rather, tried to do so. Instead, his right slipped through and at the same time an unnerving feeling of vertigo struck him again. The hooded sorcerer curled up in a ball and waited for it to pass, assuming that it would.

  A moment of intense hatred for those who thought they knew best for him flooded through Shade. He felt the urge to strike out at the Bedlams, the Gryphon, Darkhorse.

  “No!” the spellcaster grated under his breath. “That is not me! They are not to blame . . . not to blame . . .”

  The unreasoning hatred faded, but Shade knew that he had to be wary of its return. It was another change in his curse; he no longer had to die in order to swing from good to ill.

  I must find the tower . . .

  He had not spoken with his “rescuer” since that first encounter. The Crystal Dragon had lived up to his reputation as the most unknown of the Dragon Kings. The drake lord had provided Shade with food and drink—both appearing without warning before the weary spellcaster—and then left him alone. At that point, Shade had been sorely tempted to see if he could leave but then had wondered just where he would go. At the very least, he had been curious about why the Dragon King had not tried to destroy him.

  Of course, that had been before this latest episode. As the agony subsided and Shade’s left hand solidified again, the spellcaster knew that he could not delay any longer. True, he risked casting himself into a mountain or the sea, but he was fast running out of time.

  The image of the beautiful woman with silver-blue hair returned to his thoughts. How had the drake lord known of her? She had died long, long before this Dragon King had been hatched, although she had known the first of his line. The fact that the Crystal Dragon was aware of her meant that he also knew far more about Shade than the sorcerer liked to think.