Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. II

by Richard A. Knaak

  “Do so,” the advisor responded indifferently. Without warning, he began walking, practically dragging Erini for the first few steps before she matched his pace. Two guards moved in front and the other two fell back to the rear, creating a square of sorts with the princess and her captor in the center. A glance from Quorin convinced Erini that it was not in her best interest to shout or make noise of any sort. She doubted he intended her any physical harm, but that might change at any moment, especially once they reached their destination.

  There was only one way she could extricate herself, but it meant trusting in the very curse that had placed her in jeopardy initially. Erini could not bring herself to trust her abilities, not after the wasted death of two men. Even the slightest error in judgment might add five more lives to her burden of guilt, and as much as she despised and distrusted the counselor, Erini did not want his death on her conscience.

  One of the men opened the door in the wall. Quorin pulled his reluctant guest bodily to the stairway and led her down. Whereas the journey upward had lasted an eternity, this one seemed to pass in little or even no time at all. Erini was down at the base of the steps, staring at the door through which she had released death, before her thoughts could even organize themselves.

  “No,” she gasped so quietly that her smiling escort did not hear her.

  “These aren’t your new quarters, your majesty,” the advisor said wryly, mistaking the reason for her hesitation. “I thought you might like to see again what your beloved has wrought here. You do want to know what the true Melicard is like, don’t you? I find it hard to believe that you could still stomach him after seeing his ‘guest.’?”

  “Have you lost your mind, counselor? Do you think Melicard will let this pass? Even if I do not tell him, he will discover it for himself!”

  “Undoubtedly. Given the opportunity, he might even be tempted to hand me my head—as he has done to so many!”

  Erini had no time to ask for a clarification to the enigmatic statement, for Mal Quorin shoved her roughly against a wall and reached for the handle to the chamber door, evidently desiring to give the moment his personal touch.

  In desperation, the princess gave in to temptation. Her muddled thoughts came up with a solution she believed would not result in death and, focusing her will, she struck out at her captors.

  Nothing happened.

  The princess tried again, gritting her teeth in frustrated concentration. Her original idea became murky; a solution of some sort was all she desired now.

  Again nothing… nothing save that Mal Quorin, who had looked inside the chamber, was now stumbling back, his face red with rage and his anger focusing on the most likely target—her.

  “What happened here? Where is he? Answer me!” Quorin slapped her hard, forgetting who it was he was assaulting and why he had dragged her down here in the first place. “This was Drayfitt’s doing, wasn’t it? He’s the only one who could’ve done it!” Quorin the animal had resurfaced. His feral visage was filed with the need for blood.

  It was that which strengthened Erini in the face of terrible danger. If she had so frustrated the counselor by freeing Darkhorse, then she had struck a heavy blow against his plans, whatever they were.

  The soldiers had backed away from their master, obviously more familiar with his violent temper. He eyed them ferociously, knowing that someone had discovered the escape earlier but had been afraid to alert him, then sneered at his captive. One hand darted toward Erini’s face, causing her to flinch. It stopped short of striking, instead seeming to caress her bruised chin. When his hand came away, there were drops of red on two of the fingers. For the first time, the princess tasted the blood on her lower lip.

  Quorin took a deep breath. “You were an unexpected impediment! Melicard to have a queen? What sane creature would want that pathetic fool? You should’ve been well on your way back to Gordag-Ai within a day of meeting him, but no, you chose to play the heroine in one of your fainthearted ladies’ tales, the woman who would rescue the enchanted king! This is what it gets you!” He held up the hand with the blood on it so that the stained fingers were directly before her eyes. “Even knowing that he would dare to summon up a demon, a fiend that might have killed hundreds of innocents if it got out of control, you convinced yourself that you loved him!”

  Erini simply stared back. She knew Quorin’s words for the twisted lies they were, however, and finally could no longer hold back. “And who was it who first suggested he seek out demons? Drayfitt would have never suggested such a dangerous, mad spell!”

  “Drayfitt.” Mal Quorin took hold of Erini’s arm again and wiped the blood onto her sleeve. She did not give him the satisfaction of struggling, no matter how disgusted she had become with his true manner. Her abilities had failed her for reasons she could not fathom, but the princess had survived without them all of her life and would continue to do so, despite the odds. “What did he tell you? It doesn’t matter now, princess, because that old charlatan is dead. Poisoned, I’d think.”

  Erini did not respond, and simply clamped her mouth shut, continuing to glare.

  “Perhaps later,” Quorin continued. He was slowly growing calm again, as if the discovery of Darkhorse’s escape and Erini’s questionable involvement did not really matter. “Perhaps later, when the last few items have been taken care of, we’ll speak again. Your presence initially threw everything into chaos, but you may prove to be the key to adding Gordag-Ai to our winnings without so much as a struggle.”

  Responding to some silent signal, two of the guards took hold of Erini by her arms. She finally gave up all sense of caution. “You’ve overstepped yourself! Melicard will not stand for this! Your influence over him is nothing now! He’ll—”

  He gave her a genuinely puzzled look. “Princess Erini! Do you mean to tell me that you, an intelligent if somewhat troublesome female, can’t understand what’s happening? Do I sound as if I care what your crippled lover does to me?” Quorin smiled as he watched Erini’s belated reaction. “This is a coup, your majesty. Tonight, Talak will be without a king for the first time in centuries. Fortunately, the rightful one is on his way even now… and the gates will be open in greeting. Remove her from my sight but try not to damage her.”

  As she was dragged past him, Erini struck out at the counselor with the full force of her will, not caring what the results might do to her or even the palace, if it came down to it. The sole response to her efforts was a sudden movement of one of Quorin’s hands to his chest, where he seemed to be reassuring himself that something still hung around his neck. He stared at the princess intently, his expression a mixed one of doubt and curiosity, until the twisting stairway took her out of sight. Erini wondered if he knew now what she was—and what that would mean to her eventual fate.

  Melicard! Even though the evidence was all there, she could not bring herself to fully believe that the counselor’s minions had taken over the palace so swiftly and silently. She had retired for the night only a few hours ago! Yet, Mal Quorin had had years to plan for this, slowly insinuating himself into the hierarchy of Talak, becoming the fellow crusader obsessed with the same goals as his master. The longer she dwelled upon it, the more the truth of those final words became evident. Probably more than three-quarters of the palace guard obeyed the advisor’s commands. Melicard—Melicard had likely been cut down while he slept, a victim of the very men he had thought were protecting him.

  Drained, Erini made no effort to free herself as she and her two companions reached the top of the stairway again and exited into the garden. The nearly starless night seemed a fitting symbol of the twilight of Melicard’s rule. He had not needed her worthless curse to tear him down; his own obsession had done that.

  Why her skills had suddenly abandoned her, she could not say, but, even if it had cost her his love, Erini would have utilized those abilities however possible to save his kingdom and his throne.

  Her mind was numb and so she did not struggle as they passed throu
gh the garden and into one of the adjoining halls. Erini had never been through this area, but that made little difference to her now. All she wanted was to find some quiet place where she could bury herself in the darkness and not come out again.

  Evidence of the coup mounted as they marched through the palace. Armed figures prodding men wearing the same uniforms, that of the palace guard, walked past them in the opposite direction. Erini rose from her stupor long enough to watch the unfortunates as they were herded away, wondering in the back of her mind where she was being taken, since it was safe to assume that the other prisoners were going to cells. Perhaps, Quorin had a separate area for prisoners of royal blood. Perhaps, Melicard’s body would even be there.

  They had gone through a number of unlit corridors, left darkened apparently because there were far more important things to attend to than lighting torches, and so neither Erini nor her captors paid any attention to the latest one. The two soldiers muttered to one another, but not loud enough for her to understand. By this time, they were leading her more or less as a puppet master might lead a marionette. Thus it was that she was totally caught unaware—as were her guides—when hands reached out from the walls and caught the soldiers by the necks.

  Erini fell to the ground, bruising her shoulder but succeeding in preventing her head from striking the hard surface. She looked up and tried to make out more clearly what was happening. What little she could see left her completely baffled and even more frightened.

  The hands had been joined by partial bodies. A darkly clad figure, consisting of the upper half of a man’s form and one lone foot that seemed to hop by itself, had one victim down on his knees. The other attacker, no more than a head and two arms, was slowly dragging the other hapless soldier backwards. Both newcomers were using something akin to wire or string to choke their victims. With their windpipes expertly cut off, neither guard could even gasp loudly, much less summon help.

  It was over in less than a minute. When both victims lay limply on the floor, one of the dark figures moved toward the princess. The other began removing evidence of the attack—that is, the bodies.

  “Your majesty! I give thanks that we found you!” The man’s voice was only a faint whisper, but Erini still recognized the tones of one of her own people. Were there sorcerers among her own subjects?

  As if reading her thoughts, her rescuer pulled off the hood obscuring his features. In the darkness, she could only make out a soldier perhaps ten years older than she was with a face that only now, as her savior, could possibly have been termed handsome. “Don’t be frightened, Princess Erini, of either what we did—or what I look like without a mask.” The attempt at levity failed. “If you could please see to rising, my lady, we’d like very much to lead you to somewhere safer.”

  “Safer?”

  He nodded. “Captain Iston holds a portion of the palace; he’s been planning for this for days, ever since the rumors were first reported by our network here.”

  “Network? Days?” Reality was returning with less than savory surprises. “What do you m—?”

  “Please!” he hissed. “When you’re safe, your majesty, the captain will answer all your questions!”

  The other man joined them. He was younger, almost as young as Erini and only a little taller. It amazed her to think that he had taken on a veteran more than a third again his size.

  “We’ve gotta move! There’s another batch comin’ this way!”

  “Please, your majesty?”

  Too many men had died because of her already and the princess would not allow these men to become the next ones. Rising in one swift motion, she gave her hand to the first man, who immediately led them down the corridor in the same direction the guards had been taking her. At the first intersection between halls, however, they turned left. The sound of marching feet echoed for a time, then drifted away as the patrol the second man had noticed apparently turned in a different direction than the trio had gone.

  As they moved, Erini caught a glimpse of the cloaks the two men were wearing. At first, they seemed incongruous, serving no apparent purpose, but then she noticed that, depending on how the cloaks twisted, her rescuers seemed to fade—no, not fade, but blend into their surroundings. The cloaks somehow cast some sort of illusion. Erini had heard tales of such things, though she had never seen anything like them before.

  Twice, she tried to ask them something and twice they signalled for silence.

  The second warning was punctuated by a short cry. The younger of her two companions suddenly clutched at his side where an arrow protruded. Stealth had required that neither of her rescuers wear much in the way of protection and that requirement was proving costly now.

  Something thin and sharp appeared in the hand of her remaining guardian. He threw it at the archer who had seemed to materialize down the corridor. Though Erini could not see where it struck its target, the weapon did its work. The archer fell, his hands clutching at his chest.

  More soldiers appeared, too many for any one of them to get off a safe shot at the escaping duo, but more than enough so that the odds against the two fugitives were overwhelming. Seeing that, Iston’s man tore off the cloak of his dead companion and shoved it into his mistress’s hands. Pushing her down the corridor, he whispered, “The stables! Head toward the stables! Down this corridor and then turn right at the third one you see! Keep running! It’s the only way, my lady!”

  “But you—”

  “I do my duty! Run!”

  Erini did, but there were more soldiers coming down the other way, cutting her off. As she slowed, trying to find another route, her lone defender went down. Another death on her hands.

  Thinking of her hands, Erini suddenly noticed the subtle, familiar tingle in her fingers. How long since that feeling had returned, she could not say. Perhaps if she had kept her wits about her she would have noticed in time to save the others. Perhaps not. In a fatalistic move, Erini turned so that one outstretched hand pointed down each end of the corridor. If the results killed her as well, so be it. These men she felt no pity for. These men must pay.

  She might have been influenced by the cloaks that had allowed her two rescuers to fade into their surroundings. The concept struck her as perversely appropriate for those who would play at loyalty and betray their good lords at first chance. They were not men; they were only the shadows of men, less than nothing—and Erini would make them so.

  When the first screams rose, she tried to force her eyes shut and keep them shut, but failed, drawn somehow to the hideous tableau playing itself out on each side of her. From her fingers, glittering tendrils slithered forth, like serpents of the purest light, hungry avengers of her pain. As each broke free of her fingertips, they shot unerringly toward the nearest of her enemies. Nothing stopped them. One man put a shield up, but the tendril went through it like a ghost, continuing on unimpeded until it pierced the unfortunate in the chest and buried itself completely within his torso, leaving not the slightest trace of its passing.

  As the man scratched desperately at his chest, a light seemed to come from within him, filling his eyes and his mouth with the same glittering illumination of Erini’s creation. While Erini stared, unable to believe in what she herself had released, the light within intensified, becoming so brilliant that its glow shone through the soldier.

  The man tried to take a step forward, but his body only rippled, as if lacking substance. For the space of a breath, a walking skeleton was outlined within the thinning frame of his body, then the struggling guard’s legs collapsed underneath him, perhaps because those bones had finally melted away. He fell forward, arms outstretched in an instinctive effort to save himself, but, in a final sequence that would return in Erini’s nightmares, first the hands and then the arms crumbled like ash against the hard surface and blew away. Unhindered, what remained of his torso struck the floor—and scattered into tiny particles that dwindled to nothing.

  Not one man escaped that fate. The tendrils moved with the speed
and tenacity of a plague, catching them even as they turned to run. By the time the first man had perished, the rest were infected. Even had she wanted to, Erini would not have been able to save them. The young princess, her face a sickly white by the glow of her instruments of vengeance, could only stand where she was, both fascinated and revolted by the results of her spell.

  She had wanted something else, something cleaner. Only now did the princess know that there was nothing clean about death, especially death bought about by hatred and anger. They had killed two of her own and possibly the man she loved, but this—this was not what she had wanted. As the last man faded, still trying to remove his executioner from within his body, the last of her anger faded as well.

  Erini slumped against the wall and slid down to a sitting position, her gaze focused on, but not seeing, the now-empty corridor where only a few loose weapons and an odd item or two were all that remained of probably a dozen men. Had anyone come now, she would not have fought them. It was as likely the princess would not even have noticed them. Now, she only saw darkness—a darkness she quickly welcomed as the one friend she could trust.

  Her head tipped to one side as exhaustion and remorse finally carried her off to the only place she could now find peace.

  XV

  FULLY RESTORED, DARKHORSE nonetheless moved cautiously investigating the tent of the sorcerer Drayfitt. He could not feel the presence of Shade, but if there were anyone with the talent to muddle his senses to the point of uselessness, it was that one being who knew him best.

  A careful probing of the areas surrounding the tent revealed nothing. There was a trace of strong, violent magic in the air, but such was to be expected when two spellcasters met. It said something for Shade’s abilities that the two men had battled freely, yet no one knew even now that the king’s sorcerer lay dead among them.