Legends of the Dragonrealm: Volume 04

by Richard A. Knaak

  An adolescent, Wellen decided. Small wonder it grew confused instead of departing immediately.

  "I struck it, yes?"

  Prentiss Asaalk broke through the gathering men, his longbow ready. Suddenly, Bedlam wanted to take the man and shake him. The northerner would never understand why, though.

  He would have to act quickly. "Everyone remain where you are! Leave this to me!"

  Slowly, Wellen walked toward the bleeding avian, his hands out and open for the creature to see. It failed to notice his nearing presence at first, still caught up in its futile attempt to remove the arrow. When it finally did notice him, its reaction was to reach out and try to claw at his legs. Fortunately for Wellen, its desire was greater than its reach. Its swift defense, however, proved too much for it and it slumped to the ground. The scholar continued to move cautiously, noting that the eyes still watched him.

  "Don't go any closer," Yalso warned him.

  "It's all right."

  "We should finish it off, yes? Much easier to study when it cannot snap a finger off." Asaalk's comment made Wellen's gaze shift for a brief time to the Seeker's beak. There was no doubt in his mind that the avian could not only bite off his fingers, but possibly his entire hand. Still, he did not stop.

  When he was well within claw range and still the young Seeker had not attacked him again, Wellen dared to kneel down by the injured leg. The eyes of the avian stayed on him at all times, but it now seemed to understand that he, at least, meant it no harm. He touched the shaft carefully, noting how deep it had sunk into the leg. The pain had to be almost unbearable.

  "This will hurt. I'm sorry, but I can't help that. There's no other way." Wellen doubted that it could understand him, but he hoped that his soothing tones would relay his intentions.

  Though he had lived most of his life in the throes of research, Wellen Bedlam was not unfamiliar with such wounds. Part of his training had included aiding the injured. With raiders such as the Sons of the Wolf forever harassing settlements, it behooved a traveling scholar to have such knowledge.

  His hands steady, something that surprised him quite a bit, Wellen carefully worked the shaft outward. The Seeker's breathing grew ragged as the adolescent flyer struggled with the sharp increase in pain. Smiling encouragement and hoping that the bird understood his expression, Wellen continued. The head of the arrow was giving him great difficulty, causing him to wonder just what it looked like. Trust the blue man to utilize a tip with jagged barbs or something equally nasty.

  He nearly fell backward when the arrow came loose. The Seeker gasped and shivered, but still did not pass out. He had to admire its stamina. Had it been himself, Wellen was certain he would have blacked out long before. He glanced at the arrowhead. Sure enough, it was lined with hooked ridges. Any animal suffering the misfortune of being struck by one of Asaalk's toys would tear open its wound further when it tried to pull the arrow out with its teeth or claws. In all probability, the head itself would end up remaining lodged in the wound until the victim perished from blood loss or disease.

  Thinking of the wound, he turned his gaze back to the leg. Blood continued to streak down the sides. The wound was a good two inches across and probably extended down to the bone. He would have to bind it lest it grow worse, but first he had to inspect it a little closer. There might be other damage.

  As his fingers touched the edge of the gaping wound, a wondrous thing happened. Wellen removed his hand as if a snake had been about to bite it, but only because he had hardly been expecting this latest shock.

  The wound was closing. It was healing itself.

  Sorcery! I should have recalled! The Seekers, so the stories went, had ruled the Dragonrealm before the coming of Lord Drazeree. They had a magic of their own.

  "What's happenin' there?" Yalso finally dared ask, having grown frustrated with being unable to contribute anything to the situation. "What's it doin' now?"

  "Healing itself." Odd, Wellen thought. I thought it would have entailed more than this.

  The Seeker stirred, and rose so quickly to a sitting position that several of the onlookers thought it was about to attack their leader. Asaalk's bow was at the ready, but Wellen held up a shielding hand.

  "No!" He made a calming gesture to the Seeker, too. Fear might make it do exactly what everyone had thought it was about to do.

  What the avian did do was gingerly touch the closed wound. A taloned finger gently ran the course of the injury, almost as if the Seeker could not quite believe what had happened. Wellen was perplexed; perhaps the young creature had never had to make use of its powers in such a way, but surely it had seen others of its kind heal themselves?

  His confusion swelled when the Seeker removed its hand from its leg, reached out slowly, and touched the scholar's arm.

  A sensation of gratitude . . . that was the only way Wellen could describe it . . . washed over him. He swayed under its intensity.

  Mutterings from the men warned him of their misconceptions. He shook his head and quickly assured them of his safety. "I'm fine! It was only trying to thank me!"

  "What do we do with it?" someone asked. "Put it over a fire and cook it?"

  Normally, Wellen might have joined in the laughter, but not in this case. He slowly rose and turned to face the others. "We let it go."

  "Let it go?" It came as no surprise to the scholar that the loudest dissenting voice belonged to Prentiss Asaalk. "So it may bring its flock back to murder us in the night, yes? We should kill it and preserve its hide!"

  There were more than a few agreeing nods. Wellen quelled his rising anger. "This is a child, gentlemen. You can see that for yourselves. Is there anyone who would like to kill this child? Is there anyone brave enough?"

  A cold silence draped itself over the expedition. As he had hoped, putting the killing in such terms had made it an unthinkable act in the eyes of the others. There might have been one or two men who would have performed the horrific deed had they been alone, but no one now dared even speak of it, lest they be marked by their compatriots. Though Wellen had tried to choose men with few familial ties for the expedition, he knew that some did have children.

  "You heard Master Bedlam!" growled Yalso. He somehow towered over the men. "And a right good decision it is! I'll want no child's death . . . whatever that child be . . . on my hands!"

  The blue man looked a bit frustrated, but he had lowered his bow and was already replacing the unused arrow into the quiver that had ben slung rather haphazardly across his back.

  The Seeker rose, careful to remain behind Bedlam at all times. Wellen encouraged it with a smile, indicating that it could fly off into the sky as soon as it desired. The Seeker spread its wings, but instead, walked up to the short man and placed one clawed hand on his arm again. Once more, there was a sensation of immense gratitude such as only a youngster could convey. Wellen shook his head, trying to indicate that he had done nothing for the adolescent.

  Cocking its head to one side, the Seeker released his arm. Expansive wings stretched, flapped, and lifted the avian into the air. There was a collected exhalation from the party. While their homelands were not without wonders, especially for those who lived near the wilds claimed by hidden Sirvak Dragoth, the Seeker was a new creature and one that few besides Wellen recognized from childhood stories.

  It hovered over the scholar a moment longer, then turned and soared with remarkable speed into the concealing night.

  A youngling, he thought, watching the sky even though he knew he would see nothing more. The entire camp turned about because of a curious youngster!

  Yalso, as ever, was the rational force among them. He waved the men away, saying, "That's all! It's over! I want everyone back to sleep . . . 'cept you sentries! You I want to keep awake! Lettin' sprats go right past you! If I find another one in here, you can be certain. . ."

  The captain's voice trailed off as he followed the men. Asaalk remained just long enough to retrieve his arrows. He picked up the one that had been remov
ed from the avian's thigh by Wellen, ignoring the blood, but the other arrow snapped in two when he tried to free it from the trunk.

  "A pity! They are costly."

  Bedlam said nothing. He stared at the blue man until Asaalk, seemingly oblivious to Wellen's disgust, bid the scholar good night and retired.

  Alone at last, the tired scholar gave the heavens one final scan, then retreated into his tent.

  Inside, his other emotions gave way to the wonder of it all. A Seeker! I saw one! He could not get the thought out of his mind. The fables and legends bore more truth than he had thought likely. If the Seekers existed, what else might? Wellen seriously doubted that he would get any more sleep tonight, so awed was he by the experience. He settled down and stared at the ceiling of his tent, recalling every marvelous detail of the avian. Time would have to be devoted to a piece on the creature before the memories grew indistinct. That meant now. Wellen decided to allow himself a few minutes to regroup his thoughts before he began to write down his notes on this discovery.

  Three minutes later, he was sound asleep.

  In a tree beyond the camp, its eyes focused on the habitat of he was leader of these new folk, the winged figure watched. No one would notice it here. Learning from experience, however, it had also cloaked itself in warding spells, just to make certain.

  The leader of the humans was the one to watch. Already, he had marked himself different from the rest. Soft as he appeared, the others respected his decisions. That meant there was more to him than appearances suggested.

  Reluctant as it was to share the information, the watcher knew what would happen if it did not. Closing its eyes, the Necri linked with its unwanted partner. The human called Xabene would be very interested in this particular man, of that the Necri was certain.

  It almost pitied him.

  Chapter Four

  Reddish eyes the length of a man opened, taking in the darkness of the cavern. Reptilian eyes, monstrous eyes, filled with vast knowledge.

  There was something amiss in his kingdom, something more than just the annoying intrusions by the insignificant creatures calling themselves the Lords of the Dead.

  In the darkness of the cavern, the shadowy form of the Dragon King rose, nearly filling the entire chamber. There was something amiss.

  His claws scratched at the rocky floor as he contemplated this affront to his reign. Who now dared threaten what was his and what should rightfully be his? Did someone else seek the tome? What was the source of the strange presence? Who was the fool?

  His talons gouged great crevices in the rock as he thought of the punishment he would mete out. In the darkness, no one could see his dragon's smile, toothy and full of hunger.

  There was something amiss in his kingdom, oh, yes . . . but not for very long.

  Despite the events of the night, the column was underway soon after dawn. A different mood prevailed. Most now recalled the tales from their youth and were beginning to wonder just what other shocks the Dragonrealm had for them.

  Wellen, especially, wondered. As he rode beside Captain Yalso, he could not shake the uneasy feeling that had been with him since the discovery of the Seeker. The young scholar had assumed that the sensation would dwindle away once the avian was gone, but such had not been the case. Waking that morning, he had felt the same, possibly even worse.

  Why?

  The clouds that had moved in during the night had failed to vanish with the morning. Rain was still not likely; the clouds were not the right type. There were even several patches of clear sky, windows in a wall of mist. Wellen found himself constantly leading the expedition from shadow to light and back to shadow again. Under other circumstances, Wellen might have found it amusing. Not today, not with the sense of foreboding.

  "Somethin' wrong?" Yalso asked. "You look all out."

  He decided to be honest with the mariner. "I can't help shaking the feeling that something's going to happen. I had the same notion when I woke up and discovered the Seeker!"

  Yalso glanced at the telltale mark of silver decorating his companion's head. "But I thought you didn't have any sort of magic, despite that—"

  "I don't!" Wellen snapped.

  Both men stared at one another. Embarrassed, Wellen looked around. The men in the front of the column stared straight ahead. Twisting, he faced Prentiss Asaalk. The blue man met his gaze with an indifferent one, but Wellen was certain it was a mask. Asaalk was likely smiling inside at the shameful display. Bedlam had always prided himself on his ability to hold his temper. For most men, such an act would have been nothing, but for him . . .

  A shadow broke across one of the patches of sunlight and vanished.

  His anger at himself temporarily put aside, Wellen studied the clouds. The bit of open sky was there, but nothing that could have created the shadow was evident.

  "Somethin'?"

  The young leader shook his head. "Nothing. Just my imagination running off."

  Neither one brought up the subject of sorcery and Wellen's lack thereof. The column moved in relative silence for the next couple hours. Comments were restricted to the notation of landmarks and where the best point to turn north would be. Bedlam finally chose the edge of the hills. The scouts had not yet returned, and he could no longer wait. Somewhere there had to be a break that would allow him a view of the lands beyond.

  The column was just entering another patch of sunlit countryside, but Wellen's mind was hardly on something so insignificant. The nearer to the hills they came, the more the lead scouts comment concerning the gardenlike quality of the land came back to haunt him. Was there a break? Did the hills just continue unbroken, as they appeared to do so far?

  Had someone arranged them so? Again, it seemed a silly notion, but . . .

  For the second time, a huge shadow blotted out the sunlight.

  He was not the only one to notice it. Yalso muttered an epithet and even Prentiss Asaalk seemed disturbed. The shadow, however, disappeared from sight before any of the three could look up. Wellen looked at the two for suggestions. The northerner shrugged, weather not being of much import to him unless it was about to storm. The captain thought about it, then suggested, "Clouds."

  That was the obvious answer, but it did not settle well with the scholar. He was the first to admit that weather was not his forte, but swift clouds?

  The massive sailor could see that neither man understood him. He tried to explain, "I know most landleggers don't pay that much attention to weather, 'cept maybe farmers, but a man on the sea has got to, 'cause if he don't he might find his ship torn apart on the rocks and him takin' the biggest drink of his life . . . and the last, of course."

  "And how does that concern us?" the blue man asked.

  "There're currents in the air just as there're currents in the ocean. Sometimes, ya got one current going one way and another, lower, goin' a different way."

  "And you're saying that it's the same above?" Wellen wondered for the first time what knowledge he had ignored by paying so little attention to the sky.

  "Might be, is what I'm sayin'. I've seen clouds high up go different directions than the ones below them, faster or slower, too."

  "Clouds . . . " It was apparent that the blue man was ready to forget this subject. "We have no reason to fear clouds, yes? Not these."

  "Maybe."

  None of this talk had satisfied Wellen, however. He looked again to the heavens, trying make out something in the patches of clear sky. "I don't think it was a cloud, not a normal one, captain. It moved too fast."

  "Then what?"

  The scholar had no answer, none, at least, that he could verify. Whatever it was seemed to be gone now.

  Or was it? The sense of foreboding was so strong that it threatened to drown out all thought. He put a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to ease the pounding. Neither Yalso nor Asaalk said anything.

  I have no powers! I have no skill! This is all in my mind! Wellen tried deep breaths.

 
For a brief instant, he felt an inhuman presence in his head. "Gods!" His head snapped up and though he stared forward, what he saw was beyond mortal vision.

  An overwhelming sense of mastery. A hunger that can never be sated. A contempt for lesser things . . . for the tiny warm-bloods below.

  "Master Bedlam!" Yalso was shouting. "Listen to me!" He grabbed the captain's thick forearm. "It's up there! It's up there watching us!"

  "What does he speak of?" Asaalk yelled.

  "I don't—Mother of the Sea!"

  Shouting erupted from the ranks even as Wellen joined Yalso and the blue man in gazing up at the source of the growing panic. It had wings that spanned the length of the column with ease. Talons that, even at this distance, must be capable of easily picking up a man and a horse. It had a tail at least as long as its body. When it roared, they could see the vast array of long, sharp teeth in its maw. It was green for the most part, but another color mingled with that green in a manner so subtle that one almost accepted it being there without realizing what it was. Purple or something near it.

  Here be dragons, so the stories said.

  No one, not even Wellen Bedlam himself, had actually believed that the horrific leviathans of their childhood tales existed. But what flew above them, looking very much like a vulture circling its meal, was no massive, stupid beast like the dragons of home.

  As they stared, still unbelieving, it began to dive. Wellen's shout surprised even him. "Scatter!"

  What else was there to do? They were not armed to fight such a monstrosity, even if a spellcaster or two had deigned to join the foolhardy quest. The sorcerers of their homelands were too busy fighting each other or simply did not care. Now, that lack might mean the death of every man.

  "There's nowhere to run to!" Yalso screamed. "That thing'll tear trees from the earth if we run to the woods! It'll probably scorch the entire field!"

  "What else is there to do?"

  There was no time for talk after that. The dragon was much too close.