"Risky, Master Bedlam. At this point, we're liable to summon back our scaly friends. No, walking is our best bet. The only thing that remains now is a destination." Shade frowned in thought. "My own sanctum, I regret to say, is both much too far away and too dangerous to reach from here. We would have to cross the clan caverns of Purple, who would be delighted to see all of us. A shame, Mito Pica is beyond that and west of Mito Pica is the Dagora Forest. We could find aid there."
Xabene was aghast at the idea. "Dagora Forest! The Green Dragon rules there!"
"Yes, I know. His line has always proved a benevolent one where humanity is concerned."
"I will not willingly place myself in the claws of any Dragon King!"
The warlock laughed, a raspy sound. "You have a spirit much in common with one I knew in my youthful days! Then where, my lady, do you desire to go? We have already spent much too much time jabbering with one another! Purple himself may return here before long, and he and your former masters were hardly the only ones interested in the gnome's treasures!"
"There's the tree." Wellen stared down Xabene, who flashed dagger eyes at him for betraying her secret place to the fearsome warlock. "We really don't have a choice, Xabene."
"Not anymore," she snarled. Despite her anger, the enchantress did not argue. "We could probably make it there just after nightfall."
"A tree?" It was clear that Shade desired to ask questions, but the spellcaster held back, likely because he and Wellen both knew that Xabene would not readily volunteer answers.
Although it was Xabene who led the trio, she being the only one who knew exactly where the tree was, it was Wellen who found himself in command. Neither of his companions trusted one another very far, but both had faith in the outsider. Wellen had proved himself time and again. Trust was evidently a rare and precious commodity in the Dragonrealm.
The walk was not so strenuous at first. Xabene had the worst of it; though she still moved with astonishing grace, she was no longer immune to the landscape. Things scratched her legs now and snagged on her clothing. As the journey progressed, she became more tight-lipped. Wellen began to understand just how much of her power had been granted to her by the mysterious Lords of the Dead. Without their favor, Xabene had little more ability than he did.
For all that the enchantress had lost, Wellen found her even more desirable that ever. He knew why; she had lost none of her beauty, but now she seemed human. Little things affected her. Xabene no longer passed through the world. She was now a part of it.
They contemplated running, but a near fall by Wellen quickly squashed that suggestion. The nigh uniform look of the grassy plains hid the fact that there were treacherous gullies and holes. It was amazing that the horses had not thrown them at some point, but then the creatures had been more than they had seemed. The Lords of the Dead had probably calculated for worse dangers than uneven ground.
Shade ever remained behind them, keeping pace but never catching up. He might have been out for a stroll. He had no trouble with footing and neither the grass nor the insect life sought his attention. Wellen, who could not make his abilities work for him in regard to the infestation problem, envied the warlock. What made it worse was that the sun, quite triumphant in its efforts to heat up the world, had also failed to touch Shade.
It hardly seemed fair.
There was still no sign of activity. Each moment, Wellen expected hordes of dragons or flocks of batlike creatures to come swooping down. The latter especially bothered him. It was not just that the three of them would be hard pressed to defend themselves in the open field. What bothered the scholar more was a realization that the woman beside him had once been a servant of the same masters who controlled the winged terrors. He had not forgotten the slaughtered scouts or the massacred Seekers. There was no doubt now that Xabene must have known, too, possibly even plotted the second attack.
What other horrors was she responsible for?
"We have trouble," the enchantress warned. Wellen was almost grateful, for now the answer to his question could be safely put off for a time.
Riders were approaching. At least a dozen. They were small figures in the distance, but they obviously were heading toward the trio. A banner fluttered above the newcomers, but it was impossible to make out in the wind caused by their passage.
Wellen's first impulse was to run. He had only the knife and a few untrustworthy magical abilities. Run where though? The closest shelter was a clump of trees a hundred or so yards to the south and it was hardly sufficient to hide or protect them from the determined horsemen. There was nowhere, in fact, where the trio could escape before the riders caught up to them. The newcomers were familiar with the land, that was evident in the easy manner in which they navigated the plains without falling prey to the many hidden gullies.
"We have to make a stand here," he informed his companions. "Unless we split up. It might be that one of us could get away."
"Not likely," Xabene countered. "Not with at least four riders apiece to chase us down." Her hands opened and closed, the frustration of no longer having the power to deal trouble to her enemies tearing at her. "Repeating the illusion would not do any good, either. They've seen us and I do not doubt that at least one of them has some sorcerous ability. They will be ready for most any trick that I can still muster."
"We will do nothing."
They looked at Shade, who calmly walked up to them, then continued past until he had the lead. "We will do nothing at all."
"He's betrayed us!" the pale woman snarled. Xabene looked ready to take the master warlock on no matter how great the imbalance of ability between the two.
"Be silent and observe." The tall, hooded figure took up a stance of authority, his voluminous cloak fluttering loosely in a wind that seemed stronger around him than it did anywhere else.
Wellen knew they had no choice. Shade had volunteered his services and the other two could only hope that he knew what he was doing. The scholar had not seen any lapses in sanity so far since the ancient warlock had woken; that, he hoped, was a good sign.
The riders were close enough now that Wellen could see they were soldiers. Most were clad in a cloth-and-chain combination of armor. The patrol leader, a large, black man with graying hair, wore a more elaborate chain-and-plate outfit. A purple cape danced behind him. Wellen did not have to ask which human solders would be allowed such free access in this region. Only those who served the lord of the land. A glimpse of the full banner verified all too well that assumption, for he saw a winged, masterful drake posed in triumph. The leviathan was clearly purple.
He began to fear that he had overestimated Shade's sanity. The warlock was asking them to wait to be captured by men serving the Purple Dragon.
Xabene had come to a similar conclusion. Pulling Wellen back a step, she whispered, "He's mad! Why else wait to be captured by servants of a deadly enemy? Look! He has no intention of fighting! With his power, I could have killed them all!"
"Which makes it fortunate, does it not, that I am the only one with the ability to do so," the shadowy spellcaster called back. Both of them had forgotten Shade's uncanny hearing. "Rest easy, though. You have my word that I know what I am doing."
The promise had little effect on either Wellen or Xabene. The explorer doubted that Shade was even concerned about their misgivings. He had given his word and that was that. They would have to trust him.
"We've little choice in the matter," Wellen reminded her. "If he wanted to betray us, he could have done so much earlier. Why give us to the patrol when he could have easily turned us over to the Dragon King's own kind?"
"Why indeed?" Shade asked, his back turned to them. He calmly watched as the riders spread out in a manner meant to cut off escape. Bedlam tried his best to look as unconcerned, but the surly visages that began to surround them would have made it nigh impossible for the bravest of men to not reveal at least a little uncertainty.
The patrol leader urged his bay charger toward Shade, not stoppin
g until the mount's flaring nostrils were almost in the warlock's shadowy visage. Shade gave the rider and animal the same expression of indifference that he had given to Wellen and Xabene earlier.
"Master Shade." The black man nodded in respect. He had a short, well-groomed beard and an aristocratic countenance. In comparison to the four other dark-skinned men in his party, he was night itself.
I am surrounded by shadows, Wellen could not help thinking. Compared to Shade, Xabene, and now this man, he looked positively colorful in his simple green and brown clothing. Everyone else was black, white, and Shades—the pun could not be resisted—of gray.
The late Prentiss Asaalk would have stood out like a flower in the desert.
"Benton Lore. Commander." Shade added the rank after a disappointed expression began creeping over Lore's face.
"I'd not been expecting to see you again, sirrah. Three years it has been since last we were in this position. I gather it is you who are the cause of our routine being disturbed."
"Not this time."
"No?" Lore gazed at Wellen and the enchantress. Not surprisingly, he spent more of the time studying Xabene. "You will, of course, explain all of this to me . . . and my lord."
The meticulous politeness was becoming too much for the explorer. Why was the warlock on such terms with a servant, a traitorous human servant, of the Purple Dragon?
The patrol leader studied his chief captive again. "You seem. . . more fit."
"It is the company I've been keeping."
Lore misunderstood, his eyes briefly flashing to Xabene, who scowled back. "And such splendid company!"
"Careful," Shade teased. "She has killed men for less than making that assumption."
"Well can I believe that." Lore leaned forward in the saddle. "May I ask how you escaped the notice of the three drakes? I must admit I was surprised to discover you here after they departed."
"In time, we all meet again."
It was refreshing to the scholar to see someone other than himself perplexed by the warlock's inscrutability. "If you . . . say so." The soldier straightened again. "I will not bother to try to decipher that response. Oh, by the way, you are my prisoners, sirrah."
"Of course. You have my bond."
The commander was satisfied with that. "And your friends? Their bonds?"
Shade shrugged. "Of Master Bedlam, I can promise you a word of honor. Of the female . . . I can promise you that she'll remain with him. No more than that, though."
Benton Lore snapped his fingers. One of the men began unlooping rope from the back of his saddle. "Then she will have to be properly bound."
"What?" Xabene's eyes first grew round as the moons, then as narrow as a dagger on its side, not to mention as sharp as the selfsame weapon. She was all set to summon up what little skill was left to her and teach the soldier a lasting lesson.
Wellen seized the rising hand and forced it down. He matched gazes with Commander Lore and, to his hidden pleasure, forced the other man to look away, if only for a second. "I'll be responsible for her. There's no need for the rope."
The massive officer chuckled. "You may change your mind before long, Master . . . Bedlam, was it not, sirrah? Very well, I accept your bond for her, also."
At a nod from Lore, the man who had been unwinding rope returned it to the saddle. The patrol leader then pointed at Shade and Wellen. Several riders broke from the ring, two converging on the scholar. Each one grabbed him by an arm and lifted. Wellen found himself deposited on the back end of one of the large mounts. He saw that the same had happened to the warlock.
Benton Lore, in an amazing show of strength, pulled Xabene up and almost threw her over the front of his saddle. At the last second, he allowed her to slip into a sitting position. The enchantress had death written on her face, but Lore only laughed. "You would tempt many a man, Milady Xabene, tempt or terrorize them!"
As her hand came up, the dark man caught her wrist. The smile took on a slightly taunting atmosphere. "Temper, temper, milady! You would ruin your fine nails on my tough hide! Lest you think your spells would do you better, let Master Shade yonder tell you otherwise!"
"You would be wise to listen to him, child," the hooded warlock chastised. "Commander Lore has a bit of talent of his own."
"He has no streak of silver in his hair!" she argued, not wanting to give the soldier any more advantage over the trio than he already had.
"I am, milady, a bit of a confusing situation for my friend Shade here . . . for my master, too. Rather than explain, I ask that both you and Master Bedlam inspect my graying hair.
Both of them stared uncertainly at Lore's head. At first, Wellen saw only the coming of the elder years. Then, he noticed what was almost a twinkle. Trying not to slip from the horse, he leaned forward for a better view.
Lore turned his head to the side. Wellen again saw the twinkle and this time knew what it meant. "There's silver in your hair," he blurted, "but it's scattered about like little bits!"
"I prefer to think of it as 'peppered,' but, yes, that is more or less correct, Master Bedlam."
"Showing that even the 'gods' are not perfect." Shade seemed to find much satisfaction in that, the explorer noticed, almost as if he had known those very gods he spoke of . . . known and cared little for.
"So"—Lore made certain that Xabene was secure—"if there is no other reason to delay, it is time to leave this place."
One of the other soldiers, apparently the commander's second, ordered the riders into a more military formation and then faced them northwest. When the patrol was ready, Benton Lore gave the signal to advance.
A short distance into their journey, Wellen began to have suspicions about Commander Benton Lore and his men. It was not just because of his inexplicable relationship with the aged warlock, although that was a good part of it, but also the officer's choice of routes out of the gnome's former domain. Once clear of the field, the party made no attempt to turn due north, the direction that the dragons had indicated was where their infernal monarch awaited. Bedlam was certain that the Dragon King would have desired to question the three humans as soon as possible. Any delay was likely to cost those responsible, yet Lore was heading farther and farther away.
Why?
Although on the surface it was a ridiculous gamble, the scholar leaned close to the guard he was riding with and asked, "Where are we going?"
The man did not respond, but his eyes narrowed as if Wellen's question had hit too close to the truth. Only I have no idea what that truth is!
Xabene was more or less hidden by Lore's expansive backside, but Wellen could see Shade, who rode a little ahead on his right. His visage remained hidden by the wide hood of his cloak regardless of the gusty wind caused by the patrol's quick pace. Nonetheless, the warlock's body radiated a sense of satisfaction with the present situation.
What lay northwest of their location? Xabene had given him vague lessons in the geography of the Dragonrealm, but most of those lessons had melted away. The veteran scholar tried to recall the maps he had been shown. Unfortunately, only a few names came to mind, most off in the wrong directions. Lochivar was the mist-enshrouded land to the east; far, far north of it was Irrilian By The Sea, the city that the gnome had supposedly ravaged centuries earlier. Mito Pica, the thriving village that Shade had dragged him to was more or less north, although it might be west enough to be their destination. He doubted that, however.
His head, strangely enough, disturbed him very little. If the signs were to be believed, he was in less danger now than he had been when the trio had been walking. Wellen wanted to accept that, but found it impossible to do so. There were so many things he found impossible to accept. The list, he thought, must surely stretch longer than his arm.
At least we aren't teleporting, Wellen thought, trying to boost his morale. It was not the greatest of comforts, but it was one of the few he had at the moment.
Then a massive hole in the very air opened wide, right before the racing charger of
Benton Lore.
In the comfort of his sanctum, the gnome laughed as he observed the havoc and consternation his spell had caused among those who would have his secrets. Dragons in a panic and humans racing hither and thither. Would-be gods afraid to step upon the very world they desired to rule.
"Children! All of them . . . nothing but children! They cannot even see what lies under their noses!"
He leaned back and once more observed. The best, the wizened sorcerer knew, was yet to come.
Chapter Eleven
"It seemssss that you will forever be a thorn in my sssside, warlock!"
The Dragon King was a horribly magnificent being, so large that he was forced to lie nearly flat on the cavern floor in order to speak to the small band of humans brought before him. His eyes were fiery red and, in the glow of the torches his servants had placed about the chamber, his scaly form glittered like the stars on a clear night. Each paw could have enveloped a horse.
He was everything the other dragons were and more. He radiated majesty and power. When he moved, it was with a grace that a creature of his form and bulk should have been denied.
Only . . . the Dragon King before Wellen and his companions was not purple in any way, but rather emerald green.
"I have never attempted to disturb you, Your Majesty," Shade returned with politeness. "Our paths have only crossed in times of necessity."
"Necessssity on your part, not mine!" Nevertheless, the Dragon King smiled. Xabene unconsciously pressed her side against the scholar's and he, in turn swallowed hard at the toothy sight. "Sssstill, you may be of ssssome usssse to me thissss—this time!"
"I live to serve." The master warlock bowed.
"Or be sssserved."
Wellen chose the moment to observe Benton Lore. The soldier had removed his cloak and donned a new one upon arrival here. Green dominated the garment. The banner standing tall over the patrol also had changed; it now bore the stylized image of a proud, almost thoughtful dragon.
Legends of the Dragonrealm: Volume 04 Page 16
