Unfortunately, Duke Ravos and his sire would be doing the same from their side.
The four dragons split up as they reached the walls unmolested. They could have attacked the ranks of soldiers over whom they flew, but doing so would force them to fly low enough to be vulnerable to the launchers designed by the Gryphon. Huge wooden missiles tipped with dragonscale and enhanced by magic could be fired at a moment’s notice with remarkable accuracy. That was merely one of the weapons against dragons Penacles had in its vast arsenal.
As the dragon finally dove, Marner had Penacles’s defenders meet the invaders. The clash of weapons echoed loudly. Strong, sleek swords met heavy axes. A riding drake snapped up a hapless soldier and tossed the bloody carcass aside just before one of the man’s comrades drove a lance up into its throat. The drake officer atop the beast leapt off, his weapon already drawn. His sword, half again the length of that of any human, all but cut another defender in half.
Their helmets and beards did not utterly obscure the manic expressions of Lochivar’s warriors. Once, after the Gryphon had severely damaged the Black Dragon’s throat, the mists had over time faded and there had been a belief that the people of Lochivar would rise up against their master. Unfortunately, not only had they for too many generations been instilled with utter obedience to the Black Dragon, but through some unknown magic the drake lord had regained the power to spread the mist again.
The fearsome warriors offered no mercy and Penacles, so long their enemy, did not expect it.
And in the palace, Gwen watched as the dragons prepared their attack. The first opened its mouth—
Gwen neatly cut off a nearby turret, a sacrifice the Bedlams and the Gryphon had agreed on well in advance, and sent it into the dragon’s gullet. The dragon spun wildly as it sought to dislodge what the Lady of the Amber made certain it could not.
The enchantress gestured again.
The turret—and the dragon’s head—exploded.
She nodded with grim satisfaction. The barrels of oil placed in that turret had served well. All Gwen had needed was a simple spell causing a small flame within one of the barrels.
She concentrated on the second dragon.
Troia’s hiss warned her of the attack from behind. As she turned, a needlelike blade barely missed her throat.
The Gryphon’s wife already dueled with a Lochivarite warrior wielding two foot-long blades. Troia managed a slash past his guard. His helmet went askew and a set of bloody scars marked his right cheek where she caught him.
The holder of the knife that had almost done the enchantress in was an uncrested drake who followed through on his failed attack by lunging for his target.
Now Gwen understood why the Black Dragon had started with such a predictable attack. He had expended great power to send two assassins through the intricate defensive spells. The Dragon King had clearly been planning this for a long time.
The drake sought to grapple with her, a foolish act on his part when he should have simply tried to transform into a full-size dragon. He would not have succeeded, but his odds would have been slightly better.
She spread her arms and from empty air a thousand small needles shot forth. The assassin’s own weapon proved her inspiration.
The drake toppled back. As that happened, Troia ripped open the Lochivarite’s throat.
“So much for his trickery!” the cat woman remarked with triumph.
But the Lady of the Amber was staring at the drake, seeing again the lack of a crest. This was the lowliest of the drake castes, with barely the power to transform from their original shapes. Indeed, she realized that the drake had not changed because he had not had the wherewithal, making him less of a threat than even the human.
Gwen looked back at the sphere.
All she could see were three dragons . . . very near and with their mouths open.
The Lady of the Amber cast as quickly as she could.
Fumes, not flames, burst from the trio. Those fumes swept over the palace. Sentries along the wall grabbed for their throats. Their faces lost all color and they toppled from their positions.
The poison engulfed the area. More soldiers collapsed. The airdrakes—so named because of their poisonous attacks—continued to bathe the palace with their foul fumes until the building could not even be seen.
One of the trio suddenly roared in agony as a shaft caught it in the side. A point forged to crack any dragon scale penetrated deep, but the defenders did not rely on the wound alone. Barely a breath later, the point exploded within the leviathan, sending gobbets of flesh larger than a man flying everywhere.
The remaining duo abandoned their assault. There was little more they could do to the palace anyway. To the dragons and those beyond, it was clear that nothing could have survived.
But one airdrake had barely banked when thunder roiled and lightning struck it squarely. The dragon exploded, the poisonous gases within making the creature very combustible.
The last of the foursome managed to flee Penacles with its tail between its legs and failure its achievement. A powerful whirlwind appearing out of nowhere sucked up the poison over the palace and dragged it toward the battle.
Gwendolyn Bedlam, the strain showing in her face, forced the whirlwind on until she knew it to be well past the colliding lines on the battlefield. The enchantress dismissed the wind and let the poison gas drop upon the Black Dragon’s own servants.
It did not make up for the brave souls who had perished on the outskirts of the palace grounds before she could get the protective shield over the rest of the building, but it did avenge them.
The enchantress began to waver. The need to cast the spell so swiftly and make certain that it so perfectly protected those yet untouched by the poison had taken its toll. At the same time, Gwen had struggled to maintain those other spells already active.
Troia helped steady her. “You can’t keep all this up! You need to take a rest!”
“It’s not over!”
“What do you—” The Gryphon’s mate fell silent as a dark cloud began rushing forward from the side of the enemy. “In the name of the Dream Lands!” she gasped, falling back on an oath from her days across the sea fighting the wolf raiders.
Gwen confirmed it for her. “The Grey Mists! The Black Dragon is trying to turn your army!”
They had expected some attack of this sort, the mists turning the souls of any who breathed it for too long into the same fanatic berserkers already facing the soldiers of Penacles. At that time, though, it had been assumed that there would be at least two spellcasters of power, the Gryphon and one or more of the Bedlams, to counter it.
Now there was only Gwen.
Despite that grim knowledge, the enchantress did not falter. She had fought alongside the Dragon Masters, survived two centuries sealed in an amber prison by Azran, and battled to see her beloved and their two children survive evils such as Toma, the Ice Dragon, and more.
Thrusting both hands toward the distant black cloud, she seized upon every immediate line of force her senses could make out and intertwined them until they became one mighty source of energy. With it, Gwen created a wall of air and thrust it forward.
It struck the black cloud just before the latter would have crossed over the first of Penacles’s lines. She had hoped to push it back but instead had to press hard simply to keep from losing ground.
Never had Gwen seen the mists so dark, so deadly. The Black Dragon had clearly been amassing it in preparation for this attack.
“You’ve stopped it!” Troia congratulated her.
“But no more than that.” What the enchantress did not say, though, was that she could not believe she alone was capable of holding back the power of so deadly a Dragon King. The Black Dragon had always been one of the most formidable of his ilk.
Still, Gwen was not about to question her success too far. More important, she continued to seek some weakness, some slight imperfection, in her foe’s work. Anything that might enable her to c
ircumvent his efforts.
The two colliding spells created an unstable area where wind and thunder shook the landscape. The opposing armies now struggled against an additional threat.
This cannot go on! Gwen pushed hard but gained no ground. Worse, she suddenly had the idea that the drake lord was not pressing as she was, that he was content with his current efforts. Gwen prayed that she was wrong . . .
Two more dragons burst out of the mists, dragons larger and stronger in appearance than the airdrakes. These were dragons closer to the drake lord’s own line, possibly his own get.
As each exited, it exhaled at the defenders. Men cried out as an acidic fog coursed over the ranks. Lochivar’s warriors eagerly poured into the areas affected, slaughtering the soldiers still struggling with the burns.
Gwen tried to help, but the moment she let up at all on her main spell, the mists pushed ahead a little more.
Then, another presence joined with her. It was not as strong as her, but it added the strength she needed to not only keep up the counterattack against the Dragon King but also do something about the two murderous behemoths.
Out of necessity, her spell was a simple one. She prayed that General Marner would act as she believed he would.
Blots of darkness formed over the dragons’ eyes. Caught off guard, they pulled back up. One tried to shake the darkness free, but it clung to the face, keeping the leviathan blind.
This is your chance, Marner! the enchantress thought desperately. This is your only chance!
At that moment, one of the dragons shrieked. It fluttered in the air, now pierced by what seemed a thousand silver needles. More of the needles continued past, eventually dropping toward the enemy lines.
Another salvo finished the dragon. The beast spiraled to the ground, crashing just ahead of Penacles’s forces. The great body rolled around, crushing scores of the fanatical warriors before they could flee.
The second dragon still could not see, but it could hear and sense the danger. Flapping backward as hard as it could, the dragon receded into the mists.
Only then did the Lady of the Amber manage to acknowledge her ally Troia. The cat woman was not a master wizard like the Bedlams or her mate, but she did have some slight talent. That talent had been just enough to augment Gwen’s needs for that moment.
The Black Dragon struck, sending both mentally reeling. The mists swept over the first several lines of Penacles.
No! Trying to recover, Gwen used every iota of her will to stall the flow. The mists slowed but continued draping over the defenders. The mists would not affect the soldiers immediately, but the longer they were caught within, the slower and more confused their minds would become.
To make matters worse, Troia abruptly broke the link. The cat woman vanished from Gwen’s senses. The enchantress could only assume that the strain had been too much but could not spend the time to discover what exactly had happened.
You are all alone . . .
The reptilian voice stunned her so much that she almost lost control.
You are all alone . . . , the Black Dragon said mockingly. Alone and far too weak, little human . . .
The Grey Mists surged ahead more. Gwen discovered then that the Dragon King had only been toying with her. First he had tested her. Now he struck with the full force of his tremendous will.
Gwen fell to her knees. In her mind, she saw the mists rolling all but unobstructed. She had failed.
Cabe! But there was no contact with her husband. For all Gwen knew, he had vanished as their daughter had.
With effort that she could not believe, the enchantress managed to rise again. She felt the pace of the mists slow. It was a hollow victory, but perhaps General Marner could get some of his soldiers to safety.
Another mind intruded, then took command. It reinforced Gwen with far more strength and guidance than Troia was capable of providing. The enchantress was under so much strain that she could not even identify her savior, only that he or she had tremendous skill.
Aurim? Her son was the only person whom she could think of that might be capable of such spellwork, but there was no reply, no verification, only an effort to slow and then stop the mists.
And finally . . . to push them back.
The mists receded. To Gwen’s relief, they returned to the meeting between the two armies, then even retreated farther. The first several lines of Lochivar’s army were revealed to the light, a light they tried to hide from, so used were they to the dank, foggy realm of their master.
The Dragon King’s presence also receded. Gwen gratefully accepted the reprieve. The battle would go on, but on a mundane level best left to Marner for the moment while she tried to recover.
As the Lady of the Amber’s senses returned to the mortal world, she became aware that there were not one but two figures with her. One was Troia.
The other was the Gryphon.
The lionbird’s breathing came in ragged patches. His avian/human eyes seemed faded. He nodded at the enchantress.
“I believe—I believe—that is all—I can do—for the moment.”
The lord of Penacles collapsed into their arms.
XV
THE ICE DRAGON’S LAIR
THE SEEKER DID NOT finish his lunge, and after a moment’s focus, Shade understood why. The avian was frozen in ice and what the sorcerer had taken for a furious attack had been the creature’s death throes as the ice had formed around it. That alone was enough to tell Shade where they were.
The lair of the Ice Dragon . . . or what was left of it.
The ruined cavern was a testament to the level of insanity that often overtook a Dragon King as he dwelled more and more in his power. The damage to the dwarven chamber could not compare to the collapse here. The upheaval had taken down part of the roof, revealing open air above.
Not all of this damage had occurred when the Ice Dragon had perished, but without his power to maintain it, the already fractured citadel had fallen prey to the Northern Wastes’ harsh weather. Indeed, as Shade tried to stand, he heard a cracking sound from above. Another large fragment of the roof dropped with a crash, fortunately far enough away not to concern the trio.
Thinking of his companions, Shade quickly turned in search of Valea. She lay a short distance away. Her skin was so pale that he at first feared that she was dead.
So much concern for another? said a part of his mind mockingly. Do you think yourself human?
He forced away the thought as he knelt near her. Up close, Shade could see the faint wisps of breath rising. Passing his hand over her, the sorcerer sensed no injuries. Like him, Valea had merely been struck unconscious by the force of their abrupt departure. The stone’s power.
How he could have forgotten the stone until then, Shade did not know. Satisfied that Valea would be all right, the sorcerer rose and searched for the mysterious dwarf.
There was no sign of him. What Shade did see, however, were two more figures frozen in ice, other foolhardy intruders who had become pieces of the Ice Dragon’s macabre collection. One was an elf, the other too obscured to be made out.
Dismissing the dead, Shade tried to sense the stone. However, even after years, the Ice Dragon’s sanctum was inundated with magical energies and ancient spells, some of which were surprisingly active.
A moan escaped Valea. Shade returned to her.
Her eyes opened as he neared. She looked up at him and her stare reminded the sorcerer again that he would never be quite human.
He stared at his hand, always the telltale sign for him. It was solid, which confused him. If his face had lost focus, his hands should have begun to fade.
“The medallion,” Valea finally said. “It’s working again.”
“That is not possible.” He touched the talisman hidden beneath his shirt. Even through the glove and the garment, Shade could feel the medallion’s energies flowing strong.
The enchantress pushed herself up. “Where’s the dwarf?”
“He was not here when I a
woke.”
More crackling arose, this time sounding much nearer and closer to the ground. Shade looked behind him at the wall.
The frozen elf had emerged from the ice.
No . . . Shade quickly corrected himself. A layer of ice was still wrapped around the gaping, sightless figure. The ice used the elf’s corpse as a skeleton, giving it monstrous mobility.
And the elf was not alone. Other frozen bodies began emerging from the walls, sentries left behind when their creator perished. Somehow, Shade had stirred them to animation.
He stared at the elf. Flames erupted around the macabre guardian. The ice began to melt and then immediately re-formed.
“I should have expected that,” Shade growled as the ghoulish figures continued closing in. He considered another tactic. “Stay very near me.”
As Valea obeyed, Shade planted one hand on the frosty ground. He concentrated.
The ground crackled where he touched it. Guided by his will, a stream of gleaming ice coursed along the floor until it reached the nearest guardian. From there it shot from one sentinel to the next.
And at each guardian, the ice solidified further. The frozen elf tried to move but could not. Where fire had failed, Shade hoped that the late Dragon King’s own element would hold sway.
For the moment, it seemed he had guessed correctly. The now dozen or so monstrosities struggled to reach them but could not.
“We must leave here quickly!” growled Shade, wondering why they had landed here in the first place. He looked around for the dwarf but still saw nothing. Shade hated to abandon the stone but saw no other choice.
Even as he spoke, the foremost guardian broke free. The Seeker followed suit.
The guardians exploded. Shards of ice—and other fragments the sorcerer did not wish to think about—scattered around the ruined sanctum.
“Forgive the delay,” rumbled the dwarf, emerging from a half-buried side passage. “I should have realized that you would set them off.”
Shade started to lunge for their accursed companion, but Valea held him back. She stepped in front of the sorcerer. “Thank you for helping us.”
Legends of the Dragonrealm: Shade Page 17
