Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. II

by Richard A. Knaak

  “Good luck, Darkhorse.” Cabe waved a hand. “We’ll leave on our journey as soon as possible.”

  “Do that. Things may be calm, but best not to take chances, eh?” The ebony stallion reared. “Beware, dear friends! Shade may strike at any time and in any way! Be vigilant!”

  He heard Cabe call, “We will!” and then the world shifted as he crossed through the portal. Ahead of him, the fury of the Hell Plains exploded in a mocking salute to his return. The gate vanished as the shadow steed emerged. Darkhorse, wasting no time, immediately reached out through the link itself and noted that his quarry was somewhere south of him.

  Darkhorse prayed that he would have some idea of how to convince the sorcerer to break the link before the two of them came face-to-face again. He was uncomfortably aware that he stood a good chance of becoming, for the third time, Drayfitt’s prisoner.

  The last thought might have been humorous… if not for the fact that he knew there would be no escape this time. Drayfitt would surely see to that.

  IN THE GARDEN of the Manor, Cabe stood with one arm around his wife. The two of them stood staring at the spot where, moments before, the portal that Darkhorse had used had stood.

  Cabe blinked and smiled. “We should do this more often.”

  “I keep telling you that. Why do you think that I bring the children out here? There’s something about a walk around this place that puts one at ease.”

  The two walked slowly to one of the benches. The Lady Bedlam sat down, looking briefly confused.

  “What’s wrong?” Cabe asked, sitting down beside her.

  “I keep thinking that Aurim was out here—but that’s silly. He’s not.”

  “You sent Aurim, Kyl, and Grath to their rooms, remember? We wanted privacy.”

  “Privacy.” She kissed him. “We don’t get enough of that, do we?”

  “No. Still, we can’t complain. Things have been pretty peaceful over the last few years. Even Talak’s been quiet for months.”

  Gwen settled into his arms. “Let’s hope it stays that way. I’d hate for something to ruin as lovely a day as this.”

  They kissed and then sat quietly on the bench, listening to the birds and enjoying the day. Neither of them spoke of the return of Darkhorse, Talak’s army marching, or Shade’s plot. What point was there in talking about such things?

  None of them had happened.

  XIII

  A DAY HAD passed since the departure of the column, and it had been a day of change. It was not something that Erini found she could put her finger on at first. A glance from one of the palace guards, the curt words of one servant to another, and the politeness of Counselor Quorin. The last worried her most, for if the advisor had reason to be polite to her, it probably meant trouble.

  Melicard’s manner seemed to be the only positive result of yesterday’s events. He was actually jubilant.

  One final change confused more than worried her. After insisting that she allow him to protect her better, Iston had found reason after reason to summon his men away. From Galea, she had been told that the captain was out somewhere, honing his troops to battle-fitness as every good commander should; while from Magda, she received only an amused smile, a response to Galea’s simplistic explanation. Erini suspected that neither of them really knew what Iston was actually doing.

  Breakfast with Melicard went swimmingly, as her father would have put it. The princess was astounded at how pleasant he could be. More and more, his talk turned to peaceful times, times without the Dragon Kings and what he would then hope to accomplish. He even began talking about bridging the chasm that he had set up between himself and his neighbors, especially Penacles and Irillian. It would have been an idyllic world, the one he built up over the course of the meal, if it had not had one major flaw.

  There was no mention of the drake race in his new world. From the way the king spoke, Erini knew that there would be no room for the drakes. It marred an otherwise wonderful morning. Finally, she put the thought aside, assuring herself that she would press him on it once they were married.

  For the first time, Melicard broached the subject of marriage.

  The two of them had walked outside onto one of the marble terraces that seemed to have been a preoccupation with one of the palace’s designers. Two sentries stood stiffly at attention as the royal couple glided by. At home, Erini would have expected to see at least a dozen guards nearby—just for her protection. Melicard, however, seemed confident of his own safety. Erini was not so certain.

  “You’ve made a change here, my princess. You know that, do you not?”

  “What could I have done? I’ve only been here a short time.”

  The king closed his one eye (though the light made it seem as if both eyes closed) and appeared to make a rapid calculation. He opened his eye and smiled with the good half of his mouth.

  “It has been only a short time, hasn’t it? I’ve begun to feel as if you have been here always. Quorin says the same thing.”

  With a very different meaning behind it, the princess thought in grim satisfaction. “This is my home. I feel that way, too.”

  Melicard turned his gaze away from her, embarrassed. This was not the sort of thing he understood well. Battles and vengeance were his forte. “I told you something to the effect that love at first sight exists only in tales. I think I was wrong.”

  “You were. I know from personal experience.”

  Without thinking, he brought up the elfwood arm and took her hand. The arm was pleasantly cool to the touch, smooth without feeling lifeless. Erini noticed how its feel seemed to be dependent upon her betrothed’s mood.

  “I cannot say how long this crusade will last, or if it will even end during our lifetimes, for that matter. Regardless, if you are willing, I think it’s time that we put an end to the ‘royal courtship’ and began planning for—the future.”

  She laughed lightly, positively delighted with the way he had put it. “Marriage? Is that the word you sought, your majesty?”

  Melicard nodded with mock severity. “Yes, I think so.”

  Her kiss proved to be the proper response. As with the false arm, she hardly noticed that a part of the lips that touched her own was not real. The elfwood was wood only if the two of them saw it so. Now, their belief made it flesh.

  “Your—majesties.” Quorin’s voice threw a deep chill on the day, dousing even the fires of happiness that had enveloped Erini during Melicard’s proposal. Still, there was some pleasure in seeing the look on the counselor’s face. He was confused and livid, and both those emotions were barely being kept in check. Erini gave him a polite but false smile.

  “What is it, Quorin?” Melicard, unlike his future bride, bared his teeth in something that could never be termed a smile. Its ferocity surprised the advisor, who had probably never had it turned on him before. “I left orders that no one was to disturb us. That included you, I believe.”

  “Forgive me, my lord… I was under the impression…” He stared at the princess, who had the feeling that the man had not expected to find the two of them in so intimate a moment.

  “Since you are here, Quorin, I have something for you to do.”

  “My lord?” Feral eyes drifted to Erini.

  “Announce that, with the campaign underway and a new era beginning in which Talak will be at the forefront, the Princess Erini of Gordag-Ai has consented to be my queen. We will be married in a citywide ceremony in—how long would you say, my princess?”

  She gave Melicard a smile. At last! “Since this marriage was arranged before I could walk, there is little preparation needed on my part. I would prefer it as soon as possible.”

  By now, the counselor had recovered somewhat. With a slight gleam in his eyes, he quickly said, “It would be remiss to have a less-than-regal wedding ceremony, your majesty. The princess’s family will wish to attend and all of the nobles from both city-states will demand their rights, too. Such an event calls for extravagance.”

  Erin
i grew cold. “I’ve never been one for extravagance. If there is someone who can marry us now, so much the better.”

  Melicard patted her hand. “My sentiments exactly, but Quorin is, unfortunately, correct. We owe your family and the people a ceremony—a festival even.”

  “One month, your majesty! If I can help organize several thousand soldiers, a wedding will seem simple in comparison! One month!”

  “That long?” The king seemed more reluctant now. “I was hoping two or three weeks at most. Make it a smaller ceremony. The nobles and the royal family of Gordag-Ai. Announce that a festival for the people will commence two weeks after that. They’ll understand.”

  Quorin sighed in evident defeat. “Two weeks, then. May I be the first to extend my congratulations to both of you.”

  Melicard thanked him, but Erini could only nod her head. As the advisor turned to leave—supposedly to begin those preparations, especially the announcements that would have to be carried by courier to Gordag-Ai—the princess could not help thinking that he had given in too easily. In fact, it seemed that his main purpose had only been to assure that the wedding did not take place immediately. A month or two weeks; a delay was a delay.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No. I just wish we could be married now.”

  “That would be pleasant, but we’re already ignoring protocol. By rights, the courtship was to last a full month and the wedding date should have been set from four to six months later.”

  “Months in which anything could happen. Our fathers actually decided that?”

  “It was how they were married to our mothers. Royalty sometimes requires setting odd examples. Enough of that. Now that Quorin has succeeded in interjecting his presence into my day, I am reminded of work that must be taken care of. The campaign has begun, but I have people to govern, too.”

  “If I am to be queen, should I not learn how you govern your people?”

  Melicard smiled. “You have a point, though I fear that you will only distract me from my duties. Very well. Come with me and see how I protect my children. Perhaps you will even have a few suggestions on ways I can improve.”

  She refrained from commenting, wondering how he would react to her opinions.

  As they left the terrace, Erini noted how the guards appeared to have been rotated. These were two new soldiers, men the princess vaguely recalled seeing in the patrol that had stopped her when she had been leaving the garden with Drayfitt. Ostlich’s patrol.

  “You’re leaving me again,” Melicard whispered from her side. “You have a mind that certainly loves to travel.”

  Erini suddenly tightened her grip on the king’s arm. Had it not been the one made of elfwood, it was likely she would have cut off blood to the limb. Melicard’s final words had struck her hard, for, as if having a premonition, she had seen herself leaving her betrothed—but only because both of them were dead.

  SHADE WATCHED THE column come to a halt from what little remained of the tower he had usurped.

  The tower had been built long ago as part of a sister city to Talak. However, at some point in recent times—recent time to the hooded spellcaster being anything in the past few centuries—the other city had been destroyed. The expedition steered clear of the crumbling tower, possibly because they felt that the ghosts of the dead would put a curse on their crusade.

  It is not the ethereal phantoms of your minds that you must fear, the warlock thought with something almost approaching indifference. What became of Talak’s great army did not interest him; what became of Drayfitt did. The elderly sorcerer was the only link he had to the spell. There were things he needed to know, things that had again escaped his mind after his brief fling with omniscience. He cursed the personality that had been dominant then. Instead of working with that knowledge, it had chosen to relax, to taunt, and to play the fool. There was little to redeem in any of his past incarnations. Madmen and fools all of them. To Shade, they were different people, not worthy of the Vraad race.

  It had taken an accident to change things. To his regret, however, Drayfitt’s misuse of the one spell offered Shade both immortality and final death. All that mattered was time.

  I am Vraad. Tezerenee. The dragon banner rests in my hands now. Which tent would be the gaunt mortal’s tent? Shade blinked and his view changed to a close-up of the massive camp, despite the fact that they were more than an hour to the south. He had no qualms about altering his body to suit his needs. Shape-shifting, however, was a costly and difficult spell for most sorcerers, and actual physical change was only a last resort because it required the most delicate of manipulations. They feared disrupting the natural forces of this world, something that had never stopped the Vraad. It was so very hard to believe that these people were descendents of his kind—except that there had been those, like the Bedlams, who had proved that magic was still the ultimate tool.

  “Cabe,” he muttered, recalling the first time they had met. The young boy had been frightened out of his senses, not understanding what he was.

  A movement in the camp disturbed his reverie. Shade frowned, wondering why he should spend time reminiscing about something so inconsequential. This was not the first time, either. Everything he had done in the last few days had stirred some memory—and with the memories came emotions. The Vraad had never been immune to emotion; they had, in fact, been slaves to their passions at times. Yet, the memories he found he could not purge concerned these lesser creatures or those who could now only be called his enemies. It made no sense. They were transitory lives for the most part; thralls for his will as had been the way before the journey to this place.

  He was saved further introspection by the appearance of his quarry.

  Drayfitt looked worn out, unaccustomed, it seemed, to riding long distances. Shade clucked his disapproval; a competent spellcaster would have created his own, more comfortable transport and, since his companions were apparently mundane in nature, travelled at the head of the column as its supreme commander. Any idiotic officer who tried to argue otherwise would find himself without a mouth to curse with.

  Shade watched as Drayfitt spoke briefly with two officers. Their words were of unimportant matters—the coming battle, what they possibly faced, and the continuing agreement that this was folly and the expedition should have actually been sent north or northwest to deal with the suddenly active clans of Silver. The warlock smiled; Talak would get to fight the Silver Dragon sooner than they expected.

  The night would soon be upon them. Then he would go to the elderly sorcerer and relieve him of the burdensome knowledge locked in his subconscious. After that, the wrong that had been done to Shade could finally be corrected. He would be immortal, have control of the powers of this world, and have no rivals to argue his claim. There were good points to being the last of his kind. The Dragonrealm would be his to mold into a proper domain, and its inhabitants would adore him—because he would will it so.

  A harsh voice, an old memory, thrust through his mind like a well-sharpened sword. Do not dream! Act!

  The corners of his mouth curled downward as he observed Drayfitt departing for one of the larger tents.

  “Yes, father,” he muttered coldly to the ghosts in his head.

  AS THE LAST vestiges of an ignoble day departed beneath the horizon, Drayfitt discovered an odd thing about himself. The first few minutes on his feet—after a whole day’s journey on the back of the monster some fool of a soldier had chosen for him—he had been totally exhausted and sore to the point of numbness. Now, only minutes after sitting down on the cot in his tent, he felt refreshed and actually stronger than ever. His abilities, too, seemed sharper. Drayfitt stared thoughtfully into space for several minutes, then looked up at a lantern someone had lit for his use. Pursing his lips, he whistled to the flame. To his delight, a tiny red figure immediately leaped out of the fire and down to the ground. Miniature plumes of smoke trailed after him. The figure was little more than a doll, lacking even a face. It walked up to the
spellcaster and bowed gracefully.

  Drayfitt whirled his finger once. The flame-creature did a flip, landing on its feet again. It repeated its bow.

  Laughing quietly, the sorcerer whistled for another figure. The one that leaped out this time was female in shape. She joined her counterpart and executed a curtsy. At a silent command from their creator, the two fiery dolls stepped together and began to dance. Around and around they spun. Drayfitt watched them with a child’s glee; Ishmir had performed a trick like this when Drayfitt had been little more than a baby. It was one of the reasons he had later tried to follow in his famous brother’s footsteps. It was one of the first tricks he discovered he did not have the aptitude for. The potential was there, but the powers, for some reason, refused to respond properly. Ishmir had claimed on several occasions that the only difference between a Dragon Master and a simple street showman was strength of will.

  Finally tiring of his little dancers, he dismissed them back to the flame. It was silly, he decided, to waste his newfound strength on so childish a spell. With his present level of competency, the aged spellcaster realized that an entire world had opened up to him. Up until now, his skills had served him adequately at best—lengthening his lifespan and blurring the memories of those around him when necessary. Now, he could take his place as a true sorcerer, one who did not have to worry about the Seeker talismans that Counselor Quorin wore upon his person to keep him safe from magical assault by outside foes. He, Drayfitt, would guide the king to a more reasonable course of action, make Talak truly a city guiding the Dragonrealm to peace.

  “I hope you will excuse the intrusion,” a mockingly polite voice asked quietly.

  Drayfitt spun around, all his newfound strength at the forefront for this sudden attack. He knew whom he faced—even though he had not expected to actually see the other’s visage.

  “Yes, I am Shade.” The hooded warlock bowed in what seemed a perfect imitation of the fire elemental’s bow. He had something unidentifiable in each hand. For some reason, Drayfitt’s stomach churned uneasily.