For the first time, she looked at him with suspicion. "That's the citadel of the gnome. It's where he works and where he keeps his secrets. No one get in or out of that gray place but him."
Wellen was not deterred. "I think . . . I think I have to go see him."
"No." Her voice was flat. "You don't want to see the gnome."
"Why, is he dangerous?"
She shrugged. "There's a vast, ruined city on the eastern edge of the Dragonrealm. Part of it extends into the sea now."
The city guarded by the sea serpents. "I remember it. We passed it on our way to the southern shores."
"A good thing. The Dragon King who took it over is very possessive." Her smile held no warmth. "It'd been in ruins for over a thousand years before that."
"What had that got to do with the gnome?"
Xabene laughed. "Who do you think made it that way?"
He gave her a doubtful look. "Not him?"
"Of course. Now tell me; is that dangerous enough for you?"
Chapter Eight
"I have waited so very long for the book," the Dragon King Purple rumbled. He lay just outside of the caverns where the clans made their home. The setting sun reflected off his scales, causing him to glitter. Purple might have seemed a strange color for a dragon, but he felt it quite regal . . . and no one laughed at a purple dragon, anyway. No one who lived for very long after, that is.
"My sire waited. So too did his predecessor. They waited, but they never succeeded." The great drake's foreclaws gouged ravines in the rocky, unrelenting soil. The region just around the clan caves had been baked hard by generations of fire- breathing beasts, yet it was no match for the Dragon King's might.
The tiny human figure before the leviathan did not look up. That was one of the first rules the Dragon King taught those within his presence; you knelt and looked down, showed the proper respect until given permission to stand. Ashy remains attested to those who did not obey with sufficient swiftness.
"I will not allow this task to fall to my successor! I will have the gnome's secrets!"
Those few drakes in attendance tried to make themselves as small as the human. When the dragon lord grew angry, it did not matter whether the one who suffered the consequences was human, drake, or otherwise.
Purple eyed his human. "I spared your life because I desired information. You were fortunate, for the one who decimated your kind was too eager for his own good. He disobeyed. He will not do so again."
The other dragons hissed and the human shivered. A reptilian smile, so very toothy, spread across the Dragon King's horrendous visage. There was no question as to his authority in his kingdom.
He brought his massive head lower to the earth, the better to further terrify his man-toy. The tiny creatures were so predictable, it was pathetic.
"You claim that you did not come here for the book, which I do not believe. I suspect now, though, that you are not the one who led. There is another and he is the one I seek. You are hardly clever enough to hope to gain entrance to the gnome's infernal lair!"
"No, my great and imperial lord!" came the muffled response.
"So." Purple pulled back, his countenance masked in an expression of nonchalance . . . or as close as was capable for one of his kind. "Who, then? All of your companions are dead. Your vessels are scattered. Can you give me a reason why I should prolong your existence?"
"The one who commands still lives!"
"Indeed?"
"I saw him escape into the hills! He rode a horse he had stolen!"
"The hills . . ." The leviathan was having difficulty hiding his interest. These outsiders, as weak as they were, would not have dared come from so great a distance if they had not had a plan they felt sufficient to outwit the cursed gnome. The Dragon King Purple was certain of that, for it was the way he would have thought, and of course his cunning was paramount. "He is one of your learned ones?"
"He is very learned! It was by his decision that we have come to this damn—this land!"
There was hatred in those tones. The Dragon King found that amusing. It was something that might be played upon later. "And what is this human's name?"
His puppet dared to look up, knowing that his life relied on this next moment. As he stared at the insignificant creature, the drake lord marveled at its coloring. Perhaps I shall give him to Irillian. He is, after all, more to their liking, being blue.
Prentiss Asaalk, looking much more worn and beaten, responded, "His name is Wellen Bedlam!"
Xabene's choice for a hiding place was not what Wellen had expected. When she had first revealed it to him in the first minutes of night, he had stared at the giant, misshapen form, not certain that what he saw was what she wanted him to see.
"The tree?"
"It's more than just a tree," she had assured him. In the darkness, the enchantress had been almost invisible despite her pale skin.
In truth, it had proved to be more than just a tree. Much, much more.
It was almost another world.
She had led him to a crack in the side of the trunk. It had been a tall, narrow thing, hardly big enough for him to even slip his fingers into. On the other hand, Xabene's slender fingers had fit perfectly. While Wellen had watched, mystified, she had run her fingers up and down the crack. The enchantress had performed the strange deed twice, then had stood back.
With a groan, the crack had widened. It had continued to widen until it was somehow spread far enough apart to admit the two humans.
"Come with me," she had whispered, her hand seizing his to assure that he would not be left behind . . . or possibly choose to turn and run from her.
If the outside of the tree had stunned him, the inside had overwhelmed him. From without, the trunk had looked massive enough, if it had been hollowed out, to contain five or six people . . . provided, of course, that they had stood still and barely breathed. From within, however, the tree had revealed a chamber almost as great as the vast, ageless cavern Shade called his domain.
Even now, hours later, Wellen could still not believe it.
He sat cross-legged on a fur, one of many covering this part of the floor. Xabene lounged nearby, uncomfortably close. She smiled as she noticed him once more surveying the unbelievable room. It had been, other than his tales of his life back home, one of the most prevalent subjects they had spoken about.
There were shelves along nearly all the walls and tables upon which books and various artifacts had been neatly organized. A rack of jars attested to the enchantress's interest in alchemy. Specimens of many small but exotic creatures floated in other jars nearby. A desk with writing supplies resting atop it stood in one corner. There were even two subchambers, one filled with various items the raven-haired spellcaster had collected over the years and the other sealed off. Wellen, unable to find a good reason to pry about the closed chamber, tried to ignore it from then on.
"Is it that disconcerting here?" she asked from where she lay.
Wellen tried not to pay too much attention to the way her gown, which somehow had never so much as snagged against a branch or bush once during the trip outside, molded itself to what little of her body it covered. He had no doubt that she was aware of her physical attributes, but he was not trusting enough to think that she merely found him attractive. Nothing could be accepted at face value, even so perfect a face, in the Dragomealm.
Her question was safe enough. "It is disconcerting, yes, but at the same time I feel so at home. The books, the experiments, the collections . . . I might almost be back in my own study."
It might have been wishful thinking on his part, but he thought she was pleased. Certainly her next words sounded sincere. "I'd hoped you would find my secret place to your liking. There is much similarity between us, I think."
"I still don't understand how this chamber came to be, though. The skill with which the spell was cast is astounding."
She nodded, shifting closer as she replied, "It is, as I said, very ancient. Before the Dragon Ki
ngs, the birds, the Quel, or even those that came before them. We are not exactly in the same world once we enter the tree. You might call it a pocket world, one created long ago by someone and then abandoned. I found it purely by chance."
Wellen mulled that over. This place reminded him of Sirvak Dragoth. He wondered if there might be a connection, but since Xabene had never been across the sea, he could hardly have asked her to make a comparison.
She reached forward and handed him a mug that must have been conjured by sorcery, for he could not recall her holding it the moment prior. Wellen readily took the proffered mug, as he had had food and drink previous to this, and sipped it approvingly. After so many meals aboard the ship, he still found fresh food a grand novelty. The brief life of the expeditionary force had not been a long enough time for him to accustom himself anew to normal meals.
Throughout most of their time here, Xabene had offered little information about herself. She admitted to having seen Wellen earlier during the Seeker's flight. It had been her intention to rescue him from the bird folk, whom most humans did not trust. That circumstances had caused that rescue to come off a little differently was just the workings of fate.
He did not, of course, completely believe the story, just as he did not believe some of the other things she told him about. Most of her explanations twisted or turned whenever they grew too close to what he suspected was the truth. The puzzling thing was that he had felt no premonition of danger since entering this place. It pleased him that he could feel safe in the presence of the enchantress, as safe as any man would be from her, that it, but it perplexed him that all her deceit did not present some sort of threat. Almost everything else in the Dragonrealm had.
Since she had not mentioned Shade, Wellen chose to continue to keep his time with the warlock secret. There was no single particular reason; at some point he had just decided it would be better if he kept silent.
His mind was just beginning to drift when the mug nearly slipped from his hand. After the day's events, Wellen was worn almost to nothing. Even the rest Shade had allowed him had not been sufficient, for the scholar had found himself shifting and waking constantly, each time feeling the eyes of the hooded warlock upon him.
"Let me take that," Xabene offered, retrieving the mug from a drowsy Bedlam. "You look exhausted."
"I feel exhausted." Had it been just a little too sudden? The thought that his food or drink might have been drugged had occurred early on, but the lack of warning had made him complacent. Now, the novice warlock was wondering if his own small skills had betrayed him. Not possible . . . or could it be that he could be drugged as long as no harm was meant to him?
Wellen grimaced. His thoughts were all muddled.
With gentle pressure, the pale enchantress pushed him down onto the furs. Her action had just the opposite effect from what it should have; the weary explorer stirred at her closeness. For a moment, their eyes locked. Xabene stared as if seeing something new, then, with lips parted, whispered, "You have demanding eyes, Wellen Bedlam. What is it they demand now?"
"Sleep," he blurted, half-mumbling the word. Her catlike eyes widened, almost tempting him to a knowing smile. If she had expected his defenses to be down, she did not yet know him well enough.
He drifted off after that, his last memory that of the frustrated sorceress folding her arms across her exquisite form and glaring at him.
She never looked more beautiful.
He had a dream, the only one he could remember, that is, and it included Xabene, the monstrous batlike creatures, and a figure who reminded Wellen of nothing less than Death itself. There were words and tones filled with anger and supplication. That was all there was to the dream, save that a vague sense of danger touched him. As the dream, or rather nightmare, faded, however, so too did the warning.
Puzzled but relieved, Wellen Bedlam sank deeper into slumber.
When he finally woke, it was as if the last few moments of the night before, especially his rejection of Xabene's advances, had never happened. As fresh, somehow, as the morning itself, she gently prodded him to consciousness. Wellen, on the other hand, felt as if he had slept among the very animals from which the furs on the floor had been skinned.
"I have some clothes for you." The smile was back and possibly even warmer than the day before. Having witnessed many a play during his years of study, Wellen came to the conclusion that the enchantress was as good an actress as any he had seen. "There is also a place where you may renew yourself."
The latter proved to be the mysterious subchamber the brown-haired scholar had wondered about during his initial hours in the tree. His first glimpse of it was as stupifying as his first glimpse of the tree itself.
The Dragonrealm is truly a place of wonders, a magical paradise . . . when it is not trying to kill you!
It was, as Xabene explained it, a pocket world within a pocket world. What it truly was, was a tiny woodland scene with, of all things, a stream running in a complete circle around the rest of the view. There was no end or beginning to the stream; it just went around and around.
"The water is always fresh," she assured him.
It was cold, but marvelously so. Wellen spent half his time enjoying the luxury and the other half trying to investigate the astonishing creation. The trees and grass were very real. A light source he could not locate played at being the sun.
With some reluctance he finally abandoned the place, knowing that it was time to move on. For the first time, the scholar was relatively able to decide his own fate. He had come up with the only choice that seemed reasonable to him. Wellen hoped that Xabene would join him, but if she did not, he would move on without her. . . even if it meant confrontation. The enchantress might not like the thought of losing him before she succeeded in gaining whatever it was she wanted. The explorer was under no delusion that her interest in him was strictly personal.
The clothing he now wore was an exact replica of that he had arrived with, save that it was both clean and untom. The boots were still his own, however, being a very servicable pair that Xabene must have decided did not need to be replaced. As for the sorceress, she was clad much the way he had seen her the day before. There were subtle differences in the style of her gown, but it still served the same purpose he now knew all her clothing seemed to have been designed for; addling the senses of men. It was certainly not practical for the outdoors, although the enchantress had not seemed at all put out by the weather.
It came to him then that despite her words of warning concerning the gnome, she also had an interest in the enigmatic book. She had been too quick to warn him about staying away and her attitude had revealed her belief that he was there for the same purpose she was. That was the connection that Wellen had somehow not been able to make yesterday—the reason for which she had actually rescued him.
One question remained; did she herself have masters or was she, like Shade, a single force?
He blinked. Vague memories of voices and the smell of sulfur. A flapping of wings. Had that happened during the night? The memories slipped free and escaped as Wellen was forced to focus his attention on Xabene. She was seated on the furs, a small table filled with meats and other items before her. He noticed that none of the food had been touched and that the majority of it was placed near the side where he would have to sit.
"Are you hungry?"
He was, but was too restless to sit down. Wellen took a piece of fruit, confident that it was safe, and bit into it. After he had swallowed the first bite, the explorer said, "I need your help."
Xabene's eyes narrowed in interest. "In what way?"
"I want to speak to this gnome."
She looked at him as if he had asked her to marry a Seeker. "The gnome? After what I told you?"
"You told me only that he destroyed a city long, long ago. I think there must be more to it than that. I also think that if the gnome were so powerful and so evil, he would have conquered the Dragonrealm long ago. For that matter, how do you know
it's the same gnome? Could he have really lived so long?"
"Throughout time as far back as legends go there's always been a gnome there. From what I've seen and heard, he has looked the same for generations. Could he really be that old?" Xabene shook her head. "I've heard of stranger things!"
"He appears to be my only hope of ever extricating myself from this chaotic farce."
"There is the matter of the Dragon King of this land. It was one of his that tore apart your expedition and slaughtered your friends!"
He winced at her casual way of speaking about the massacre. "He cannot be too great a threat or else you would not keep returning to this place." Wellen indicated the tree chamber. "Although it could also be that other things draw you to this region. You've a great interest in books, I've seen."
Xabene crossed her arms and met his gaze. Her words were not accusatory, only confirming. "You already know that I've an interest in the gnome's book. You've known for quite awhile. If you'd asked, I wouldn't have denied it."
"But you would not have mentioned it otherwise." He smiled. "Am I your prisoner? It seems to be a habit with me."
"I could have conjured up some chains at any time. Have I?"
"No." The scholar did not add that her not having done so did not preclude his captivity. He hesitated, pretending as if the thought was only just occurring to him, and then suggested, "It might be the case that my needs coincide with your needs."
Her interest was instantly piqued. She moved closer, using every step to her advantage. Wellen worked hard to prevent the facade he wore from cracking. Xabene played her role well. From many another woman, Xabene's manner would have seemed overdone, too obvious. Not so from the enchantress. It was her. She was so natural that Wellen almost shivered. What could she do to a man who did succumb to her charms?
Legends of the Dragonrealm: Volume 04 Page 12
