Legends of the Dragonrealm: Volume 04

by Richard A. Knaak

  "It may take too long a journey to reach that land, Prentiss, and we'd spend more than half the time wandering through a mist so thick we wouldn't be able to see a thing around us! Have you forgotten that?"

  "Pfah!" The tall northerner waved off his concern. "A little fog, yes! I have not forgotten it! I would worry about dragons and demons, but fog? Hah! Of what danger can the gray mists of that land be?"

  What danger? He had no answer for the massive figure, only a sense of dread that had remained with him all the time they had been within sight of the mist-enshrouded land far south of the ruined city. Certainly, the fog had done nothing to warrant his distrust, but he found it unsettling the way the weather of this realm was so distinctive from one region to the next. The region occupied by the partially sunken city had been sunny and warm. Only two days later, they had entered a storm that had not let up until they came across the mists. Neither the storm nor the fog had shown any sign of relenting. With his scholar's eye for detail, Wellen had noted that the rain had only broken off when the gray cloak became dominant over the distant landscape.

  Almost as if someone had divided the land between two or more elemental lords.

  It was a preposterous notion even to Wellen and so he had not spoken of it to anyone, the captain included.

  He held back a sigh and finally said, "We'll see. I'll let everyone know tonight after evening meal. Right now, my only concern is making certain our encampment here is safe and secure."

  "You have no need of fear, then! I have placed pickets at the edge of this portion of the beach and I have also men scouting beyond. . . all the way to the first hills. I have our supplies safely ensconced near that sandbar." He pointed at the aforementioned landmark, which was located to Wellen's right. "And I have placed four men by the longboats as a safety precaution. Satisfactory, yes?"

  "Are you expecting a war?" It was a rhetorical question, one Wellen had not even meant to ask out loud, but Asaalk's preparations—how he had managed to get everything so organized in so little time astounded the scholar—seemed more apt for someone fully expecting an armed assault.

  The blue man flashed him a smile. "I, too, do not take this land as harmless. I, like you, Master Bedlam, know that caution is a very good thing, yes?"

  "Yes . . . " He wished his second would stop abusing that last word. It always sounded as if Asaalk were answering his own questions.

  "So! There are many things to discuss, but also many things still to do! Tomorrow will begin the glorious trek! I leave you to make your decision, Master Bedlam; I know there is much to consider, yes? You have but to send for me if my assistance in the matter is needed!" Prentiss Asaalk executed an abrupt, ninety-degree bow. "I am your servant."

  As the majestic northerner departed, Wellen tried to decide which side of Asaalk he disliked more, the arrogant lord or the patronizing comrade. He finally gave up, knowing in his heart that he would have preferred dealing with neither of them. Whatever side the blue man showed, one could be certain that there was more hidden beneath the facade. Someday, the true Prentiss Asaalk would reveal himself. Wellen hoped he would not have to suffer the misfortune of being around when that occurred.

  Yalso would not doubt be upset at the northerner's return to duty, but there was truly nothing Wellen could do about that. For all his faults, no one could deny Asaalk's efficiency. There had been too many instances where his abilities had enabled Wellen to pull the expedition through some crisis. That was what made the man most infuriating. He was as invaluable as he was insufferable.

  The blue man's associates had chosen well.

  Between the captain and Asaalk, there was actually little for Wellen to do but think. Most of the men had captured a glance of him upon his return with Yalso, and that was all they needed; his mere presence reassured them and renewed their enthusiasm.

  Sighing, he stalked his way back to the edge of the beach. The woodlands and the fields beckoned to him. Daring Yalso's wrath, he stepped out into the high grass and wandered slowly toward the nearest tree. His mind was far beyond his physical location, however. Far beyond even the hills in the distance. Somewhere out there, the scholar knew, were mysteries and legends to unravel. Asaalk had a point about the ruined seaport; even stripped by scavengers it would contain many secrets. Who had built it? What were they like? Was the city the last legacy of civilization in the Dragonrealm? None of the stories Wellen recalled had made mention of such a place, but that was not to say it had not existed then. If what he had seen so far held true, then the Dragonrealm was a mighty continent. It might take several expeditions just to map its coastlines. That was something that could wait until later, perhaps after he had achieved his other, more private dream . . . starting a colony. A colony would give him a permanent base for his studies.

  His left foot sank a bit in the soft earth, causing him to stumble slightly. Cursing both his daydreaming and his constant worries, he regained his balance. It was while he was wiping the bottom of his boot off on the root of a small tree that he caught a glimpse of something.

  He blinked, but it was still there, a black shape moving about within a copse of trees far off in the distance. Wellen had no idea what it was, but his imagination introduced him to several tantalizing possibilities. He took a tentative step toward it, then another.

  "Master Bedlam!" Yalso's voice seemed to echo through out the land, not to mention the young scholar's head. "If I might have a word with you?"

  The captain's voice must have carried, indeed, for Wellen, about to turn to the man, saw the figure bound out of the copse. It was a stag.

  Nothing more.

  His disappointment was overshadowed only by the dread of facing the captain of the Heron's Wing. He had been warned once by the sailor about wandering off on his own. Despite his being in command of the expedition as a whole, Wellen also had to follow orders, especially where his own safety was concerned. Yalso was a man who had sailed to many exotic places and dealt with countless excursions into the unknown. Until this voyage, Bedlam's closest brush with the unknown had been his examinations.

  Steeling himself for another respectful lecture, the scholar made his way back across the soft, grassy earth. Yalso was shaking his head and smiling, but Wellen still felt like a schoolboy caught missing classes. Not wanting the captain to gain the same impression, if he had not already, Wellen met the man's gaze and held it as he walked.

  The elder mariner crossed his arms and tried to look like a scolding father. His success was somewhat debatable, since both he and Wellen could not keep from smiling at the scene they presented. "I know there's a siren song that pulls a man at times, Master Bedlam, but I'll not have you wanderin' off on your own, even if ya are in charge. No man is safe here alone; not until we have a better idea what's out there."

  "I was feeling a bit useless."

  "The blue devil's got a tendency for making folk feel so. If he wasn't so damned anxious to be top man, he'd make a fine officer on my vessel."

  Wellen paused at the edge of the beach and finished wiping off his boot. "I doubt that he'd be satisfied with that."

  "You're right on that!" Uncrossing his arms, Yalso heaved his bulk nearer to the scholar. In a quiet voice, he asked, "What was it you saw out there? Someone watchin' us from the woods?"

  "No, just a deer."

  Yalso chuckled. "Maybe it was some mystical white stag watchin' over the forest!"

  "It was a male deer, it was brown, and it scampered off the moment it heard your bellowing."

  "They just don't make woodland spirits too strong these days, do they?"

  Rising, Wellen shook his head. "Careful, captain. I might find I prefer Asaalk's company to yours if you keep that up." "That would be your nightmare, not mine."

  Bedlam took one last lingering glance at the woods and hills beyond the beach. Tomorrow, he would lead the expedition out into that unknown land. The thought drove away much of the good humor that Yalso had brought with him.

  "You'll see plent
y of that come the morn."

  He nodded, then joined the captain on the beach. "I still haven't figured out where exactly we're going."

  "Not the city?"

  "You, too?"

  "Is that where the northerner wants to go?" The sailor scratched his furry chin. "Much as I hate to be agreein' with him, I'd say it's oiir best bet. We can't stay too long and that would likely be the quickest way to prove our claim here."

  "Not to mention possibly making us rich, too."

  "I've never been ashamed about the thought." Yalso's eyes gleamed. "You wouldn't deny us that, would ya?"

  Wellen raised his arms, dropping them almost immediately after. "I surrender! The city it is, then."

  "Now you're talkin'!"

  What choice did I have? Wellen wondered. Hopefully, he could keep the men from tearing things apart before he had an opportunity to look the area over. They owed him that much, at least.

  "Let's get back to camp now," Yalso suggested. He straightened as much as it was possible for him to do and added, "And this time you're gonna stay there or I'll clap half a dozen men to your backside who'll see to it that you do!"

  The young scholar knew better than to argue. Turning his back on the land of his childhood dreams, at least for this day, he headed back to camp.

  This time, Captain Yalso stayed at his backside.

  Had he not been interrupted during both brief visits, it is very possible that Wellen would have noticed the print in the soft soil. He had, in fact, stepped in the very same region, but the other print was so large that the mark left by the scholar's boot covered not even a tenth of the area. It is possible that even if he had looked down, Wellen might not have noticed it, for the wild grass that had been stamped down into the earth upon the other's arrival had long ago, as plants will do, risen to once more follow the sun. Thus, more than half of the other print was obscured.

  Whether or not he would have noticed it was not so important as the fact that Wellen Bedlam would have recognized what creature had made the print even though he had never actually seen one. He would have also likely realized how close the camp might be to one of the monsters.

  The print was that of a reptilian beast far larger than any man. A dragon.

  A huge dragon.

  Chapter Three

  Though she sat alone in the midst of the dark wood, she had no fear of the night. The fire was slow and barely illuminated even the surrounding area. Xabene did not care; the fire only existed because she liked to watch the flames dance their brief lives away. She liked the dance because it played at both life and death, as she did.

  A flutter of wings warned her of the Necri's coming.

  Xabene looked up as the monstrosity descended. In the dim light, she was a study of contrasts, a thing of beauty wrapped in the darkness of death. Her visage could best be described as perfect. Cat eyes that glowed when something drew her interest. Long lashes nearly hid those eyes when they narrowed before the kill. Her skin was unblemished, but as white as ivory. The spellcaster's nose was small and perfectly aligned, while her mouth was full and bloodred. A slight crease in her chin was the only feature that might have marred her countenance, but no man had every truly noticed it, not when confronted with all else she had to offer.

  Ebony hair cascaded down to her brow in front and past her shoulders elsewhere, framing her pale features. A single streak of silver coursed down the left side of her head. It was difficult to see where her hair ended and her gown began, for it too was as black as pitch. Xabene had a form that matched her features and the gown emphasized that fact. Thin and cut low both in the front and back, it hardly seemed appropriate for one who spent much of her time in the wilds. Yet, no stain had ever marred it and the sorceress never appeared uncomfortable, no matter what the weather.

  Many a man had fallen victim to Xabene's beauty, but that beauty served only herself and those she called master.

  As for the Necri, it probably found her as repulsive as she found it. Its clawed feet touching earth, the Necri trotted toward her, looking much like a runner bent forward during a grueling race. The winged abomination did not stop until it was within a few feet of the fire. It then folded its wings about it and stood waiting, white, soulless eyes staring at the tiny human before it.

  Xabene knew the danger of the Necri, knew the speed with which it moved and the sharpness of its claws. As if to remind her it had yet more weapons, the massive creature gave her a smile, revealing row upon row of dagger teeth. Though its general form was manlike, everything else was a twisted parody of the animal from which its kind had been spawned, the bat. Had it been able to stand completely straight, the Necri would have been more than seven feet tall; even bent it was almost six. Like Xabene, its flesh was pale, but the pale of something long dead.

  A shift in the wind reminded her of something else. The Necri smelled. The odor of carrion and decay clung to it like a shroud. The dark enchantress was fairly used to the smell, having been forced to confront it whenever her masters had summoned her, but coming from this horror it took on an added strength. Given an opportunity, the Necri would be more than happy to add her to its dinner table. It was one of the functions for which it had been created. Human agents might command them for a time, but a Necri's ultimate loyalty was to the Lords of the Dead.

  After all, they had created the monstrous race.

  The snub nose and long ears of the creature twitched as it impatiently waited for her to speak.

  Xabene did not rise, although that would have brought her almost eye level with her companion. Instead, she held out one hand so that the Necri could see the small, copper figurine resting on her palm. It represented two figures in struggle. Birdmen. The sorceress had never asked where it had come from. . . one never asked the masters such silly questions .. . but she assumed it was an artifact left behind by the Seekers, the avians who had ruled this land before the coming of the Dragon Kings. They had always been fond of using medallions and talismans for their spells. The race still existed, but their power was a mere shadow of their former greatness. Still, Xabene had to admire them if they had been capable of such work as this.

  "Do you know what this is?"

  The Necri leaned forward, avoiding the light of the fire as much as it could, and studied the copper piece for a moment. It squeaked what the sorceress knew was a positive response. She hid her smile. It always amused her that a monstrosity as deadly as the Necri spoke in a high-pitched squeak.

  "Observe." With her free hand, she stroked the side of the figurine.

  A blue, spherical light formed above the copper talisman. It turned and pulsated, growing in intensity with the passing of time. The Necri lowered another lid over its eyes to dim the illumination.

  The ball of light was now as large as the beast's head. At that point, it ceased growing and a form within began to take shape. Both figures watched with interest as a familiar adversary solidified in the midst of the ball.

  The Necri hissed.

  "The master of the citadel," Xabene whispered.

  Before their eyes, they saw the gnome at work. He was busy scratching away with a feather pen, jotting his notes down. In the background, there were vague images of other things, but only the gnome and his desk were sufficiently in focus to be of any interest.

  "Your predecessor achieved this success."

  It's eyes focused on her again. The Necri knew what had happened to its predecessor. Damaged permanently in mind as well as body, it had no longer been of use to its creators. They had disposed of it as they saw fit. The winged servant understood that action, but what it did not care for, Xabene knew, was the blindness and madness it had suffered due to the sorceress. It was she who had devised the suicidal plan and had commanded the other Neal to obey, in the name of their mutual lords.

  "We have his image trapped. We have the ability to observe him now. The first step to victory and achieving possession of his precious book."

  The talons of the creature's hands pl
ayed against its chest. The squeak it emitted was full of disbelief and contempt.

  Xabene was prepared for defiance. No Necri believed that human agents were worthy of their support, but they obeyed because the masters commanded them to do so. A plot hatched by a human, therefore, was sheer madness.

  "My work has been approved by the lords themselves. If you care to request an audience with them . . . " She smiled at the Necri's sudden discomfort, revealing her own perfect but somehow predatory teeth. "This image is proof that all is proceeding well."

  Disbelief was still evident, but the pale abomination remained quiet. If her plan failed, not that she could foresee that happening, the punishment would fall upon her head alone, providing that the Necri could prove it had performed its part to the letter. She knew that the winged servant understood that as well.

  The image of the gnome vanished as Xabene cupped her free hand over the artifact and withdrew the object from the sight of her ghoulish partner. "We have been given another task, too."

  It cocked its head and waited.

  "There are strangers in the realm, men from beyond the sea."

  For the first time, the Necri's expression caught her by surprise. Puzzlement. Complete puzzlement. The creature could not comprehend the idea of men from beyond the vast body of water. Xabene herself found the thought unsettling. The Dragonrealm was the only world that she had ever known, but the lords had said that these men were from a land beyond and so she knew that it was true.

  What was also true was that they were travelling in a direction that would take them much too close to the citadel of the damnable gnome. The Lords of the Dead wanted no other competitors. The Dragon King of this region was trouble enough, thought he would, of course, fail in the end.

  The Necri squeaked harshly and flexed his talons in expectation.

  She shook her head. "No, we are to watch and wait for a time. The Dragon King will surely note their passage, as will the keeper of the citadel."