Rising, the bitter enchantress tossed the goblet to the floor. The remainder of her wine slowly sank into the grassy surface.
"If you'll excuse me, Wellen Bedlam, I think it's time I rested. I'd like to leave in the morn if you can persuade our host to let me. There doesn't seem to be much need for me here . . . and I think I'd only attract more trouble, isn't that so?"
He could not respond, still overwhelmed as he was by her initial outburst. Xabene seemed ready to take the slightest thing as a provocation. His question perhaps had pushed too much at something she no longer cared to recall, but he had done it with their safety in mind. It was his own attempt in trying to understand the ivory-skinned enchantress.
Xabene stared at him for several seconds, waiting for what he could not say. Then, frustrated, the proud goddess stalked out of the chamber.
The exhausted scholar fell back on the bed, all too aware that he had missed something that he should not have. Under better circumstances, it would likely have been very obvious. Now, though, his mind churned so much that Wellen found it a wonder that he had been able to keep as much straight as he had.
He fell asleep still trying to make sense of it all.
In her own chamber, nearly identical to Wellen's, Xabene fell onto her bed and tried to bury her turmoil in one of the pillows. What she felt was unfamiliar to her and, because of that, frightening. The enchantress also hated losing control, a thing that had not happened since before her pact with the Lords of the Dead.
Some of what she had shown the outsider Wellen Bedlam had been playacting. It was so much a part of her nature now that she found she could not avoid using that ability, even when events might have warranted otherwise. He, especially, encouraged her playacting, although he did not know that. There was something about him that made her afraid to reveal too much of herself, yet desire to.
He would be gone after this was over, one way or another. They might die, but, if they were fortunate enough to escape with their lives, he would find his way back to his home. Why would he desire to remain in a land that had tried to kill him almost before he had even set foot upon its shores?
The thought that he would leave tore at her. The enchantress grimaced, recognizing the unfamiliar feeling. Not me! It could never happen to me! I'm stronger. It would serve me no purpose to care for him! It would make no sense!
Part of her mind argued that those she had seen under that selfsame spell never cared about whether it made sense. They just succumbed.
"Not with him," she muttered. Certainly not so swiftly, either!
Xabene closed her eyes and began to drift away from the true world, never actually falling asleep but sinking into a state where she sensed things around her but only from a great distance. It was a pleasant sensation, for her fears and anxieties became tiny, insignificant creatures of no concern to her. Once more she was the powerful enchantress. Men fell prey to her form while her spells wreaked havoc with their plots.
All except one man.
He can be yours . . . if that is your desire . . .
Her dreams took on a different twist. A horribly familiar darkness slowly crept through her mind.
You are deserving of a second chance . . .
Xabene's nose twitched as she relived the memory of a chamber filled with the smell of sulfur and decay. She saw the multitude of scavengers crawl over and through things that had been rotting since, it seemed, time itself began. A pool lay before her, one covered with a thick layer of fetid slime. The pool bubbled, as if something lurked beneath it.
Let your power be yours again . . . all that is asked is this one . . .
A distorted, monstrous image of Shade loomed over her dream self. He laughed at her insignificance, his crystalline eyes gleaming. She would not be sorry when Wellen and she parted company from the mad warlock.
Your power . . . and the man . . . yours . . . for so small a price . . . What was the price? Her brow wrinkled as she struggled to understand. What price?
A doorway formed in her thoughts. Not anything that she had ever imagined. The rest of the scene around her, the pool and Shade, faded as the doorway strengthened. There was no actual door, but the sorceress knew somehow that something still barred whatever waited on the other side. Some sort of barrier.
The power to be respected . . . more power than ever before . . . to make yourself feared by those who would otherwise make you fear them . . .
It was tempting . . . and the power would also give her back the self-control that she had been losing.
Open the door . . . that is all that must be done . . .
Open it? How? Her image reached out and touched the darkness in the center. There was nothing before her, yet her hand would not go through.
The barrier exists only in you . . . but you are also the key . . . The barrier and the key. To power. She wanted that power. Slowly, her image pushed at the invisible barrier. This time, it began to give where her hand was. Xabene knew that she did not have to destroy the entire barrier. All she had to do was make a hole . . . then the Lords of the Dead could act.
So close to attaining her desires. The barrier struggled, but it was already straining to her limits. She had no qualms about betraying Shade. In her eyes, he was deadly, a mad creature that would bring only death to her and Wellen and then depart, laughing at their foolishness in believing in him.
The barrier gave. One finger burst through its membrane. She felt a tug on the other side, as if they were trying to help pull her completely through. Only a little more . . .
Then, pain struck her and she realized just what barrier it was that she was fighting.
Herself. A part of her that did not want to give in again to her former lords . . . but why?
Once asked, the answer, since it came from her own mind, was instantly known. To betray Shade was also to betray Wellen . . . both his belief in her and in himself . . . for the Lords of the Dead saw much potential in him.
They also knew that he would never become one of their servants.
"No!" Xabene called out in the scene. She tried to withdraw her hand, but whatever tugged at her held the sorceress and, in fact, pulled her farther in.
She screamed, but whether in the real world or the dreamland, she never knew, for the barrier broke then and the enchantress was overwhelmed by what had been waiting for her all this time.
Waiting in hunger.
Chapter Twelve
"Issss thissss the one?"
Prentiss Asaalk, looking much more fit than he had after his capture and feeling a bit more in control of himself, studied the image the crystal revealed to him. He stood in the imperial chamber of the Dragon King Purple, the monarch of the realm stretched out before him in all his horrific splendor. Unlike the "throne room" of the Green Dragon, that of Purple was barely more than the cavern itself. Only those things that the drake lord thought necessary to his pursuit of knowledge, and the power that such knowledge would in turn lead to, were present.
Asaalk was very respectful in both manner and response, despite now being granted the privilege of gazing at the glory of his new master. The blue man had been treated well these past few days, but he knew that his footing was still precarious. Wellen Bedlam was still loose and the drake lord was growing furious, especially after the debacle involving the gnome's cursed citadel.
"That is not him, no." The image was that of a strange old . . . old? Asaalk thought he looked a thousand years dead . . . clad in a cloak and hood that seemed ready to swallow him.
"Then, I know who it musssst be." The leviathan raised a foreclaw. A human clad in a robe of deepest purple touched the crystal. The sheer size of the dragon made it impossible for him to manipulate such tiny objects without endangering them. The artifact was also so sensitive that to use his vast sorcerous power might have resulted in the drake lord destroying its effectiveness.
Prentiss Asaalk had noticed many humans working for the Dragon King. They did all the things that the drake clans found bene
ath them and also those things that the tinier, more adept hands of men could do better. The blue man had also come to realize that for all the drakes there were in the clans, they were actually few in number. Humans already outnumbered them and would increase that margin before too long. It would be interesting, he thought, to see what the future held.
His future held nothing but oblivion if Bedlam was not discovered soon . . . and then what? Asaalk would have to find a new way to make himself valuable. So I will, yes!
"Concentrate on what floatssss before you, human, or elsssse I shall feed you to my get as a sssspecial treat!"
The blue man looked up . . . and gasped. His eyes narrowed and his mouth curled in bitterness. He could never forget the face now. "It is him, yes! It is Wellen Bedlam!"
He had come to hate that face for putting him in this situation. Had he been in charge of this expedition, this would have never happened.
"Ssssoooo . . ." The leviathan raised his head. As far as the northerner was concerned, there were far too many teeth in the smile of the Purple Dragon. "Brother Green treadssss where he should not!"
The statement made no sense to Asaalk, but he remained silent. If the reptilian monarch deigned to explain his outburst, Asaalk would be more than pleased. If not . . . he would have to live without the knowledge.
The important thing was to live.
"Your Bedlam issss in the care of my brother to the northwesssst! The Dagora Foresssst! Green hassss grown too pressssumptuoussss! I shall tear his kingdom assssunder! There will be carnage everywhere! Hissss damssss will become mine; hissss get will feed my own!"
Another Dragon King had Wellen Bedlam and had stolen him . . . somehow. . . from this one. The blue man understood that much. He also understood that his captor was speaking of a war between the clans of two leviathans, with Asaalk caught in the midst! In desperation, he sought ways to prevent the coming war. Asaalk was a survivor. Better to throw himself into a plot of his own making than sit by idly waiting for death to come for him.
A solution came to him. It was not the best, but time did not warrant long and careful planning. While it had risk to him, he preferred it over doing nothing. "My great and honorable lord!"
He was forced to call twice more before the Dragon King noticed him. The head of the behemoth swung down and Asaalk found himself staring into a dripping tunnel from which there was no returning. Sulfur and the smell of blood combatted with one another to smother him. He stifled the look of disgust that was attempting to surface, knowing that it would only lessen his chances of convincing his new master of the worth of the plan.
"Sssspeak, manling! Or should I ssssimply disssspense with your annoying pressssence now?"
"My lord, I have a plan which may gain you what you desire without the danger of loss!"
His phrasing, he discovered, did not entirely agree with the leviathan. "Do you think my clanssss cowardly?"
"By no means, great lord! That which I meant was . . . was that why risk what you seek? Such a war would likely kill Wellen Bedlam!" A new thought, based upon what he had learned about the society of the drakes, gave him more ammunition. "The Emperor would surely not like seeing your two lands torn apart either! He would grow suspicious and learn of what you have hidden from him!"
Purple's mouth clamped shut. Asaalk had never seen a dragon caught unaware before, but here was such a sight.
"The tome musssst be mine!" the drake lord muttered. "Only I have the right to it!"
"It was found, after all, in your proud domain, yes?"
The handful of human servants in the chamber were all staring at Asaalk. He flashed them an arrogant smile, to show them who had their master's ear now.
"What issss your plan?"
Here it was. Always it seemed that his existence depended upon something. "It is simplicity itself, yes. Master Bedlam and those who control him will leave the other kingdom soon. They must, for they, too, want what is rightfully yours." He spit on the cavern floor to show what he thought of their presumptuousness. "When they leave, they will find one waiting for them. One who will gain their trust and lead Wellen Bedlam into your very claws. That one will be me, yes."
"You? And why should I trusssst you, human? If I let you loosssse, you will ssssimply try to run!"
"How could I run from you? I am merely a mauling. Besides, I have come to see that my desires are best served by serving you, yes." There was truth to that. If he was condemned to live out his life in the Dragonrealm, it made sense to choose a path leading to power. The drakes were the lords of the realm and Asaalk had learned enough about the others to know that his chances were probably best with this one. There was just enough similarity between himself and the Dragon King to make that so.
Of course, by that same reasoning, there was less reason for the leviathan to trust him.
"A pretty little sssspeach . . . and a plan which, while ssssimple, might be acceptable! There musssst be a few minor alterationssss, though! I musssst alsssso ensure your obedience!"
Prentiss Asaalk had known that would be the case and steeled himself. Whatever happened, it could not be too severe, else it ruin his chances of tricking Master Bedlam. While the squat little scholar had led a sheltered life, he was by no means a fool, save perhaps in being too naive at critical times.
The Dragon King tilted his head and eyed one of the guards standing just behind the blue man. "Ssssee to it that thissss one issss fitted for a collar! Then . . . return with him to me!
Would it not have risked his new status, the blue man would have exhaled a tremendous sigh of relief. The collar was what he had hoped for. He had seen the sorcerous toy in action. There were other, stricter methods that Purple used to keep his more enterprising servants at bay, but the collar was the simplest. Most humans needed nothing; they were cowed by the drake lord's mere presence. Collars and such were for those too crafty or too important to be left unguarded, people who might actually defy their rightful monarch.
The collar, despite the little tricks it contained, was something Prentiss Asaalk knew he could circumvent. The blue man had tricks of his own that no one, not even his late and unlamented companions in the expedition, knew about.
As he was led away, much more respectfully than when he had first been dragged in here days ago, the northerner began to think that life in the Dragonrealm might not be so terrible. . . once he had made a few changes in the way things were done.
The look on Wellen Bedlam's terrified visage would be good enough incentive, too.
"Wake up, lad!"
Wellen was once more on the Heron's Wing. He was trying his best to sleep, but Captain Yalso kept shaking him. Part of him knew that was wrong, for Yalso was dead, but the image was insistent. Somewhat distractedly, he noticed that his head was trying to warn him of some danger.
"I said for you to be.wakin' up!" A beefy hand slapped him on the right side of his face. His eyes opened wide but, as is often the case with those startled to consciousness, he could focus on nothing. He only knew that the torches that had lit the chamber were still burning, albeit not nearly so brightly.
"That's better!"
The startled scholar blinked, looked up at the source of the voice, and then tried to scramble off the other side of the bed. Unfortunately, a steely grip around his arm kept him from going anywhere.
Captain Yalso's pale visage came within an inch of his own. "Someone might think you're not pleased to be seem' me, Master Bedlam!"
"You . . . you're dead!"
The sea captain smiled. "That I am, lad."
The next connection was not difficult to make. "The Lords of the Dead! They sent you!"
Still keeping his hold on Wellen, Yalso sat his heavy bulk down on the edge of the bed. "That they did. A queer lot, them lords, but their power can't be argued with. I heard me name and there I was!"
Bedlam noticed that Yalso never breathed, even when he spoke. That should have made it impossible for him to speak at the very least, but the corpse seem
ed unimpeded by that fact. Yalso also stunk like a fish left rotting on the deck during a hot, sunny day. "It . . . it's good to see you, captain. I mean that, regardless of the circumstances. I wish . . . "
The undead mariner nodded his sad agreement. "I know. We made our choices and that's all there is to it."
"How did you get here?"
"How else? Through your comely lass."
"Xabene? But she—"
"Was made an offer that sounded too good. Can't blame the girl; I was in her shoes not too long ago." Yalso stood up, his hold on Wellen's arm never easing. "Speakin' of which, it's time we got goin'! I've got a bargain to keep and you're part of it, Master Wellen." With one hand, he lifted Wellen up and stood him on his feet. "Good to see you're wearin' your clothes, my boy! Would hate to think I had to drag you naked before their like!"
The befuddled explorer gazed down at his crumpled clothing, which he vaguely recalled having fallen asleep in earlier. Then, realizing the import of the ghoul's words, he asked, "Where are we going?" What's to happen to me?"
Yalso tried to look comforting, but his ghastly appearance had the opposite effect. Wellen, having more time to observe him, noticed that the words he heard were not in sync with the movements of the late captain's mouth.
"No need to be worryin' too much, friend. They've promised not to harm ya. They just want to be knowin' what you know."
The hapless explorer tried to pry the death grip loose, but touching the sailor's hand was like touching the cold flesh of the horse Xabene had summoned for him. Wellen drew his own hand away and shivered. Yalso's face darkened.
"D'you think I like it? They've offered me a new chance at life, Master Bedlam. I just have to bring you to them to answer some questions! Then I bring you back and they give me what the cursed sky serpent stole from me! Is it too much to ask ya, then, to help me out? You're still livin', you are! You escaped!"
Legends of the Dragonrealm: Volume 04 Page 18
