Legends of the Dragonrealm: Volume 04
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Praise for Legends of the Dragonrealm
“Richard Knaak's fiction has the magic touch of making obviously fantastic characters and places come alive, seem real, and matter to the reader. That's the essential magic of all storytelling, and Richard does it deftly, making his stories always engaging and worth picking up and reading. And then re-reading.
—Ed Greenwood, creator of the Forgotten Realms®
“Full of energy.... Great world building [and] memorable characters... It's easy to see why Richard has enjoyed so much success!”
—New York Times Bestselling author R.A. Salvatore
“Richard’s novels are well-written, adventure-filled, action-packed!”
—New York Times bestselling author Margaret Weis
“Endlessly inventive. Knaak’s ideas just keep on coming!”
—Glen Cook, author of Chronicles of the Black Company
Also by Richard A. Knaak
The Dragonrealm
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. I
(featuring the novels Firedrake, Ice Dragon, & Wolfhelm)
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. II
(featuring the novels Shadow Steed, The Shrouded Realm, & Children of the Drake, plus the novella “Skins”)
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III
(featuring the novels The Crystal Dragon & The Dragon Crown, plus the novellas “Past Dance”, “Storm Lord”, & “The Still Lands”)
Shade
The Turning War:
*Vol. I - Dragon Masters
*Vol. II – The Gryphon Mage
*Vol. III – The Horned Blade
The World of Warcraft
Day of the Dragon
Night of the Dragon
Stormrage
Wolfheart
The War of the Ancients:
Vol. I – The Well of Eternity
Vol. II – The Demon Soul
Vol. III – The Sundering
Dawn of the Aspects
Diablo
Legacy of Blood
Kingdom of Shadow
Moon of the Spider
The Sin War:
Vol. I – Birthright
Vol. II – Scales of the Serpent
Vol. III – The Veiled Prophet
Dragonlance
The Legend of Huma
Kaz the Minotaur
Land of the Minotaurs
Reavers of the Blood Sea
The Citadel
The Minotaur Wars:
Vol. I – Night of Blood
Vol. II – Tides of Blood
Vol. III – Empire of Blood
The Ogre Titans:
Vol. I – The Black Talon
Vol. II – The Fire Rose
Vol. III – The Gargoyle King
The Age of Conan
Vol. I – The God in the Moon
Vol. II – The Eye of Charon
Vol. III – The Silent Enemy
The Knight in Shadow
Vol. I – Dragon Mound
*Vol. II – Wake of the Wyrm
*Vol. III – The Twilight Throne
Individual Titles
The Janus Mask
Frostwing
King of the Grey
Dutchman
Shattered Light: Ruby Flames
Beastmaster: Myth
* - Forthcoming
This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Dragon Tome copyright © 1992 by Richard A. Knaak
The Horse King copyright © 1997 by Richard A. Knaak
Dragon Master copyright © 2002 by Richard A. Knaak
A Wolf in the Fold copyright © 2003 by Richard A. Knaak
A Game of Ghosts copyright © 2012 by Richard A. Knaak
Dragon Tome & The Horse King originally published individually by Warner Books, Inc.
All Rights Reserved copyright © 2013 by Richard A. Knaak.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the author.
Published by Porta Nigra Press
First Printing: March, 2013
ISBN-13: 9780988907935
Cover Art by Ciruelo
Cover Design by Anna Katharina Spanier
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Introduction
Dragon Tome
The Horse King
Dragon Master
A Wolf in the Fold
A Game of Ghosts
Excerpt from Dragon Mound
Excerpt from The Turning War: Dragon Masters (Dragonrealm)
Excerpt from The Janus Mask
About the Author
About the Artist
INTRODUCTION
With great pleasure I welcome you to this fourth collection of the Dragonrealm saga. We have at last gathered all of the novels originally published by Warner Books, not to mention the online novellas. In this edition are stories spanning centuries in this world, including tales revealing great secrets about some of the most important characters.
In Dragon Tome, we not only meet the first Bedlam to arrive on the shores of the continent, but also discover the truth about the Libraries of Penacles and their creator. Toss in the Lords of the Dead, Shade, and the Purple Dragon and you have a story concerning a pivotal point in the Dragonrealm.
The Horse King is no less significant in that it also deals with the origins of one of the series’ most popular and unique characters, Darkhorse. And while Lanith, ruler of the kingdom of Zuu and the villain for whom the novel is named, is ambitious and powerful, his sinister ally is certainly the guiding force behind the story’s events . . . not to mention the force responsible for Darkhorse’s very existence. Here we also find conflict in the Bedlam family itself, leading to disaster.
With Dragon Master, some of the first hints of the complexities of the Turning War are revealed in the discovery that one of those who followed Nathan Bedlam against the Dragon Kings still lives . . . and unfortunately blames anyone with the name Bedlam even while seeking to create a second war between drakes and mankind.
The dark past also rears its ugly head in A Wolf in the Fold when the Gryphon’s son is kidnapped by Wolf Raiders led by an old enemy. Worse, to rescue his child, the Lord of Penacles must not only venture into the underworld of the Quel, but also leave his pregnant queen alone just as a second assassination plot stirs to life.
And if you thought you knew everything about Cabe Bedlam himself, A Game of Ghosts reveals not only just how much remains to be told, but also how those secrets may yet claim his life. What lies awaiting the master wizard within the ruins of Mito Pica will make even vengeful survivors from that lost city and murderous drakes seem slight threat in comparison.
We have also added some teasers from other various novels in the back, including a short scene from the upcoming Dragonrealm trilogy, The Turning War. I hope you enjoy not only these glimpses, but also the fact that there are still tales from the Dragonrealm ahead. Even before the trilogy ends, I hope to begin moving forward in the current timeline with some twists and turns that I think will continue to reveal new dimensions to this world.
I thank you again to all of you who have followed and supported this series!
Best
Richard A. Knaak
DRAGON TOME
Chapter One
He always knew when it was the most opportune time for an excursion out
side. It was all in the book, so to speak. He knew his adversaries' habits better than they themselves did, just as he had known the habits of their predecessors. He had been at this game far longer than either of the two groups now seeking his legacy and he would be at it when they were only whispers in the winds of time.
They ever underestimated him because of his form, he knew. To them, he was a misshapen little gnome, one of the solitary folk who lived for knowledge and gathered what they could of that rare resource. He was incredibly small and wrinkled with age. His arms had the length that his legs had been cheated of and so he seemed to almost shamble rather than walk or run. There was not one single follicle of hair on his head, which often resulted in him looking like a polished egg when the sun shone down. His nose was long and crooked and his eyes were wide and filled with the wisdom of ages, His clothing was simple, consisting of a cloth robe and hood that made him look more like a pile of rumpled laundry than a living creature. He wore simple shoes and a belt from which hung several pouches, but nothing more. There was no need for anything more.
If he looked like a gnome, there was good reason for that; it was he who had given birth to that race when he had taken elfin maidens for mates far in the past. Though those days were past, his offspring continued to spread his mark. It was a sign of his once-great power, one still to be reckoned with even now.
He was no more than a few minutes from his sanctum, but the storm had at last cleared. With the clouds dissipating so fast, it was possible that the dawn would yet reveal a bright, golden sun and a deep blue sky. Dawn was the only thing he really cared about anymore; that and his daily game with those who would seek to steal what was his and his alone.
At the bottom of the hill he paused. From this point on, the land would shield him no longer. Before him stood only wild grass, not nearly high enough to hide even his tiny form. That there was any grass at all was a sign of his own might, for one of his opponents had burned the entire region clean in an attempt to drive the gnome from his sanctum. Left to the weakness of nature, the region would have remained barren. He had no desire to make his home in the middle of a scorched desert, however, and so had sought out the proper spell. That his success only proved to his adversaries the vast extent of his legacy was a moot point. They had seen enough wonders to know that stealing the contents of his citadel would make the victor master over the entire continent.
As for the gnome, he did not cue. At this stage in his vast life span, the pursuit of ever more knowledge was all that was important.
To the naked eye, the field looked empty, save for a peculiar structure some distance from where the gnome stood. The structure, a sort of wide, featureless pentagon three stories high, sat in the midst of the wild grass like a benign tyrant surveying its kingdom. If it seemed that there were no windows nor even a door through which to pass, that was because such was the case. If anyone other than he attempted to seek entrance, then that unfortunate visitor would find himself fruitlessly wandering the perimeter of the citadel. Only he knew how to enter, which was why he held the trump card in the game of wits. His would-be successors dared not kill him out of hand lest they lose the one key.
That did not mean that they did not try other methods, most of which included pain . . . but not death.
It appeared that the field was peaceful, that his adversaries had abandoned their efforts for the night. This might be true of one, for the time being, but not of the other. Always there was at least one.
Shouldering the brace of rabbits that had been his night's work, he began to trudge through, what was to him, the knee-high sea of dancing greenery. From within, tendrils of invisible power, already highly sensitized to the possible plots of the usurpers, stretched ever farther out. If any spell or physical threat came within a hundred yards of him, he would know. Anything beyond that range would not even "dent" the magical shield that surrounded his person and it was likely that anything nearer would do little more. Still, one could grow too complacent. There were always new and more deadly attacks.
Knowing that always added a little spice to his life. It gave his desire for research that extra little flavor, since his very existence might hang in the balance.
When he had nearly cut the distance between himself and his home in half, the squat sorcerer paused. Nothing had as yet disturbed his network of defensive spells, but a sense of foreboding . . . call it intuition . . . told him that someone or something lay waiting in the near vicinity.
Which one? he wondered. Who's been silent of late?
The first spearheads of sunlight rose over the horizon. The aged spellcaster admired the sight for a moment, then resumed his trek. He was still slightly curious about the sensation he felt, but since it did not hint of danger, the gnome was not overly concerned.
Perhaps an enterprising elf? Once or twice, that race had made overtures to him, seeking his friendship, but no longer interested in dallying with the female of the species, he had ignored them. Compared to the other watchers, the elves were inconsequential.
Now his sanctum, his home and place of research, was little more than a hundred feet away and still he had not been attacked. The wizened sorcerer grew bemused, wondering if his handiwork would go wasted this time. He had not even really needed the rabbits, able as he was to summon them to him, but the walk and the challenge always stirred his blood. It was almost disappointing.
There was that sensation still . . .
Standing at last before the gray structure, he raised his hand to open the way—and felt every protective spell activate as something hurtled straight down from high in the sky above him.
It was strong, far stronger than he had expected. It shrugged off his initial defenses as he might shrug off a leaf that had fallen on his shoulder. Whatever it was must have been high up indeed to have avoided detection sooner and it evidently moved with a speed that would have left even a dragon dumbfounded. The sorcerer dropped his brace of rabbits and focused his attention upward at the startling new threat. Whichever of his present adversaries was responsible for this assault had outdone themselves.
A huge, bat-winged shape formed in the dim light of pre- morning. It shrieked, much the way the night flyer it so resembled did, and reached out with long, taloned fingers for him. Like a bat, those fingers were part of the webbed wings themselves. It had long ears and a body that was essentially humanoid, but that was all the detail he could make out under the circumstances.
Ugly as sin, no doubt, the sorcerer thought even as he moved to defend himself from it.
With a speed remarkable for one of his build, the gnome reached into one of his pouches and removed a small stick. Holding it up above his head, he gave the tip a flick of his thumb. The tip of the stick burst into a brilliant white light, brighter a hundred times more than the sun at its zenith. He was prepared for searing illumination and so his eyes had closed just before his thumb had struck.
The night flyer was not so fortunate.
It squealed, wavered, and finally whirled out of control. Though he suspected it could guide itself by sound as well as by sight, he knew that the light had disoriented it too much for the moment. Its masters might have created it so that it would be used to the light of day, but few things could stare into the gleaming white flare in his hand and not lose their sight permanently. What made the trick more enjoyable to the sorcerer was that the source of the light was a product of nature and not a costly bit of spellcasting. Making the stick had cost him only a few minutes' work.
By no means had he stood still while all this happened. Even as the creature, seven feet in height at least if he were any judge, clawed at its eyes, the gnome was already opening up a path for himself in the side of the pentagon. A swift series of gestures with his left hand resulted in a circular hole that formed directly before him. He stepped through, dragging the retrieved rabbits along with him, but paused before sealing the entrance up again.
The beast was already fluttering off into the retreating night, its
mission a quick and embarrassing failure. From experience, the gnome knew the mental and physical agony the monstrosity was going through. He felt no sympathy, save for the wasted effort on the part of the beast's creators. Seeing now its sickly white coloring, odd for a creature of the night, he had a good suspicion which of his opponents had been responsible.
"Hmmph! The Lords of the Dead. Of course it would be one of theirs!" Necromancers who had appointed themselves gods. Fools in one way, but still quite challenging and able. They had, with their own vast storehouse of power, created quite a formidable weapon, but one that evidently lacked the cunning needed for its task. Yet, he could hardly believe it had been so short and simple. It was almost anticlimactic after all his expectations.
"Almost farcical, if you ask me," he muttered, though those involved would have hardly questioned him on the subject. "Waste of good material! Never use a good weapon with a bad plan!"
Watching the massive shape disappear into the clouds, the gnome's brow suddenly wrinkled. It might not be an ill- conceived attempt after all. They should have known by now that such a weak attack would be destined for failure. This might have been an exploratory assault, a preamble to the true attack.