Legends of the Dragonrealm

by Richard A. Knaak

  Shade’s mind raced. To the west, such a distance would put the tower deep into the Sea of Andramacus. While that might be possible—very possible—the faceless spellcaster suspected that it was more likely the second tower either lay north or east. At the needed distance south, Shade would have found himself in the midst of the Legar Peninsula. However, based on the spell structure favored by the founders, Legar, with its unique crystalline nature, would have proven inappropriate. Everything the founders had done had followed a pattern of measurement and magical resonance. The veins of crystal coursing through the peninsula would have disturbed the latter too much to be worth the trouble.

  The key to finding out just where the tower might lay was on the obelisk itself. All concern forgotten, Shade eagerly circled his prize. In the back of his mind he made the assumption that what he had sensed of other self had been perhaps a beacon after all, a spell designed to function at the right time. Shade could only assume since he had never felt it before that it was timed to some aspect of the obelisk’s function and that by a rare bit of good fortune the warlock had happened near when necessary.

  “Tell me,” he muttered. “Tell me your secrets...”

  A part of his mind berated him for not reaching out to Valea, but another part insisted that it was still too dangerous to risk the woman he loved around the magicks of the founders. They had already once sought to make a pawn of her in order to bend him to their will and he would not have that happen again. True, there was no hint of any current founder activity, but the minds of the ancients had a way of patiently living on, waiting and watching.

  With a shiver at the thought, Shade glanced behind him. There was nothing, of course. Only the founders could disturb him so, though. They had, after all, created him as he was and over the millennia he had no doubt unwittingly served their sinister cause several times over. The only way he could ever hope for that to not happen again was to free himself of the curse once and for all.

  That in mind, he quickly returned to attempting to decipher the script. While there were constants to the founder language, to the best of his memory each artifact he had uncovered had also included unique layers of written and spoken directions required to fully translate what the founders actually meant.

  “Forgotten it again? Have no fear...I know the entire thing by heart. I’ve certainly had enough time to memorize it.”

  Shade spun about. Where he had just looked now stood a shape that seemed little more than a monkish robe. Within the robe and hood lurked a darkness as deep as the murkiness that had erased the warlock’s own features.

  “I know you, apparently,” Shade muttered. “and what grudge do you carry against me that likely has much merit?”

  “The strongest of all...uncle...” The figure raised a scaled, clawed hand and pulled back the hood slightly. “...for leaving me like this...”

  The face was a twisted mix between human and dragon. Part of the muzzle crumpled in at the side to half form a normal nose. Even as Shade watched, the muzzle shifted, becoming wider and longer, more that of a dragon. Simultaneously, the figure hunched as if starting to fall onto all four limbs.

  At the last moment, he forced himself straight. The only constant in his appearance was the hatred in his eyes. Human, drake, or...Vraad...the hatred burned deep.

  “You are...were...Vraad...no...not so...” muttered the warlock in confusion. Even the energies around the figure shifted, sometimes seeming those of one race, then of another.

  “No...not Vraad...not exactly. I was firstborn to an early lord drake of Penacles, uncle...born a drake, not your precious Vraad...” The figure stumbled forward. It became clear that any extended movement was awkward for the figure. “Yes, uncle. Born a scaled beast. Born battling conflicting thoughts. Wondering why there were questions as to where we began and why I dreamed of a race of humanoid sorcerers with crystal eyes. Wondering why my sire, for all the knowledge at hand, could not answer about our abrupt dawning...” The dragon man took a ragged breath. “and then you came in our midst. Not human. Not drake...but bound to both. And not yet fully cursed.”

  Shade kept near the obelisk as he pondered how to deal with this misshapen figure. Despite that, he was also startled by what he had just been told “I was not yet...not yet...”

  “No...you were not yet the infamous Shade, but you were nearly there. You were no longer Vraad. They were already preparing you.”

  Shade had to take the creature’s word for that, those memories long gone. Staring harder at his bizarre companion, the warlock began to have some suspicions as to why the other looked as he did.

  “I caused your troubles, did I not? I made you the way you are.”

  “So very astute. Can you guess what you hoped to achieve with me?”

  Shade did not like the calm tone the figure used, especially if he had somehow spent countless millennia suffering so. The constant transforming could not take place without much agony. “I was...trying to reverse what the land had already done to me, was I not? I already feared what I was becoming.”

  The other’s face shifted again, the snout sinking in and becoming a wide, almost comic mouth with a squat nose worthy of a troll. The eyes became more Vraad in shape and appearance.

  “’What the land had already done;,” Shade’s companion muttered. “The very words you used then. They are burned in my mind, uncle—”

  “Do not call me that.”

  A shrug. “Near enough to the actual truth. Near enough that I fell for your glib words that accented my own distrust of the world around me. You played on that. Played on it very well.”

  The faceless warlock spread his hands. “I can only apologize...and offer my help to free you of your burden.”

  The froglike mouth widened. “You already made that offer when next we met, centuries later. It just took a few more of your lives to figure out how to possibly accomplish it. Finally accomplish it...even without their help.”

  Something in the other’s tone made Shade act. He cast a spell designed to keep his companion at bay. He could have attempted to slay the figure, but guilt at what he had already done to the drake made him hold back.

  But instead of his spell taking effect, the obelisk flared. Shade felt the magic from his spell wrenched away and sucked into the ancient structure.

  “It has to be enough this time...you promised me yourself,” the dragon man rasped. “It has to be...”

  Shade would have asked what he meant, but he could no longer move. It was the obelisk’s doing. It had not merely seized the magic from his spell, but also that spell’s link to him. The warlock was now bound to the artifact, something he knew could not be good.

  “As far as we were able to determine, this was one of the locations from which the founders first attempted to place their souls, minds...whatever you wish to call them...into the very land. You and I, though, we found it could be used for another sort of transformation. We also discovered so much more...but you need not concern yourself about that.”

  As he stepped toward the warlock, he removed a small wand from one cloak pouch. Shade could see it just enough to recognize it as another founder artifact. He had no doubt that it had a distinct tie to the obelisk.

  “Twice tried, twice failed,” his captor murmured. “This time should be enough. You promised. You deciphered their coy hints, their half-truths...”

  The constantly shapeshifting figure took the wand and inserted it into a small hole on the side of the obelisk.

  Shade felt a surge of force through his body. A sense of displacement filled him. Part of him seemed to float in an empty place he knew without understanding how was the obelisk.

  His captor reached out a clawed hand to him. To Shade’s dismay, the hand went into his chest without pause.

  “The first step complete.” There was a hint of awe in the tone. “After so very long. If this works...then it wil
l all work. Then it will all be as if it never happened.” He chuckled madly. “Thank you, uncle. Thank you at last.”

  He turned his back on Shade. However, instead of walking away, he backed up...and into the frozen warlock.

  Shade wanted to scream, but instead of his voice, from his lips emerged that of his captor.

  “And now...we begin the final step.”

  IV

  Valea had only been asleep for a few precious seconds when she sensed Gerrod’s trickery. The enchantress immediately sat up and focused, but his magical trace was already fading. More than most, he knew how to mask it even from other capable spellcasters.

  But Valea had a stronger bond to him than anyone. She managed to fix on what remained and cast her spell.

  A moment later, she stood in Gordag-Ai. Vaguely familiar with the city, she chose a location near the great watch tower in the center, a place where no one would immediately see her.

  She was also already dressed a bit differently. In Gordag-Ai, pants such as she wore were not considered proper attire for women. Even when riding, women wore flowing skirts. Valea thought the custom old-fashioned, but knew that if she stepped out in her normal attire, she would attract some attention. Even the caravans tended to make certain that any female along with them dressed accordingly. While Queen Irini had always been a fairly worldly woman, Valea had discovered that the local populace had a tendency to stare at anything they considered too out of place.

  In addition to the much too voluminous skirt, she wore a cloak and hood that allowed her to cover her head and her crimson hair. Red was rare enough, but here it was hardly even known. Only her face remained visible.

  Satisfied, she stepped out into the crowd. Although she immediately got glances from several people—it was impossible for her to completely cover the fact that she was an outsider without risking the use of more magic—most soon turned away. To them, she was now one more trader from a caravan who respected them enough to not dress oddly.

  The entire setup had once amused her, but now she cared only for locating Gerrod. So long away from her, the curse clearly had control of him. As Shade, he could hardly walk among the locals. Still, she felt that she was close—

  Valea sensed the other spellcaster just moments before he appeared. The populace quickly gave him space. His silver robes were akin to the rest of the flowing garments, with the exception of the sharply-pointed cowl.

  He was young. His expression was overly stern, an indication of his awareness that, despite his abilities, most of those around him were his seniors in not just age but experience. For no reason Valea could immediately grasp, he abruptly created a small fireball in one hand.

  The crowd gave him a wider berth. Their own expressions grew disturbed.

  Valea understood. Since the other spellcaster was so young, he felt he had to make some sort of impression of strength. The enchantress recalled having done displays herself when first learning, but nothing that any around her would have seen as a threat. She wondered just who had trained him to think that way...if anyone had trained him at all. Since Queen Irini’s death, Edrik—her nephew and king of Gordag-Ai—had cut off all cooperation with the magic school in Penacles. Indeed, Edrik had become nearly as much a recluse as his aunt’s husband.

  Seemingly satisfied that he had put the crowd in its place, the wizard carefully peered around. His eyes paused when they came to her. She pretended to be nervous. If necessary, Valea would reveal who she was, but only if truly pressed. If Gerrod was in danger, she did not want to have to spend time presenting herself to King Edrik and the royal court of Gordag-Ai.

  The wizard grinned...and then stood right in front of her.

  “Welcome to our fair city,” he announced to her much too grandly.

  “Thank you,” Valea returned in a falsely submissive tone.

  “I am Ilyon. Second Mage of Gordag-Ai! Only the great Bryad is above me...and the king, of course.” He leaned too close. “And what is your name?”

  “Gerda.” He was attracted to her. Valea fought back a grimace. She now wished that she’d created a scarf for her face, after all, even if it would have attracted attention of another kind.

  “Gerda...is that a Talakian name?”

  “I—” She got no farther. Both she and Ilyon sensed powerful magic coming from near the other side of the tower. Ilyon quickly faded away.

  Valea rushed in that direction. She had been tempted to do as the wizard had, but what she had noted had made her use a less noticeable method.

  Just as she came around the tower, Ilyon’s body went flying past. He bowled through several fleeing locals before finally crashing into the wall of an inn.

  Stunned, Valea turned to the source of the attack.

  “Gerrod!” she shouted.

  The familiar hooded form turned to her...and presented a face of horror she could not have expected. A countenance that constantly shifted from something reptilian to something nearly human to something a monstrous combination of both confronted her. Yet, as with Gerrod in his cursed form, the face also faded in and out of that familiar, ominous murkiness.

  “Gerrod?” Valea gasped with far less certainty.

  The figure pulled one end of the cloak around him. The cloak continued on, wrapping the body tightly. As that happened, the warlock became thinner, less distinct.

  The enchantress stirred from her shock. She reached a hand toward him—but by then he was gone.

  Around her, people screamed and fled the vicinity. Despite desperately wanting to pursue, Valea instead first rushed to Ilyon. He still lay in a limp pile, his clothing scorched, his skin burnt, bruised, and bleeding. She bent down beside him and checked for life.

  It was there, albeit weak. Valea took hold of his hand and concentrated.

  New shrieks arose as she and her burden materialized in a room with a vaulted ceiling and a long, wooden bed. Two guards in the gleaming, pointed-shoulder armor of the royal house focused their spears on her.

  “Your wizard needs help,” she proclaimed without concern. “He was caught by surprise. See to him.”

  An older woman in a plain but still flowing dress that marked her as one of the senior servants revealed sense and initiative by immediately coming to see to the stricken mage.

  “Bid your liege well from Valea Bedlam and apologize to him from me for this abrupt encounter,” she ordered the guards.

  “You cannot leave here—” the senior of the pair started.

  “I must.” Before anything else could happen, the enchantress pictured a location.

  A second later, she stood on a hill to the north that allowed her an excellent view of Gordag-Ai. The scene was lost on Valea though, her attention on the faint trace she sensed. It was and it was not Gerrod.

  Where are you? Where? the enchantress pondered as she tried to see where the trace led. It followed along a path toward the northwest...and then simply stopped.

  Valea held up a hand toward where it ended. Sure enough, it just ceased in mid-air. There was no hint of it fading, as would have happened if he had transported himself away again. Try as she might, the enchantress could not sense the trail beyond two feet ahead.

  She tried to think about all the possibilities her parents had taught her, but nothing seemed right. She was no apprentice; it would have taken even Gerrod tremendous effort to obscure where he had gone—

  And then, it struck her.

  “No...it can’t be...” The enchantress shut her eyes and probed. As before, she sensed nothing.

  But it was there. Valea knew it was there. A place she could not see. A place she could not feel.

  A place beyond the mortal plane, created long ago...by the founding race. Valea had come across only one before, when she and Gerrod had been on the hunt for a cure for his curse. Instead, they had ended up ensnared in a trap.

  The Tower o
f the Phoenix.

  That mythic place had been sealed off forever, but she and Gerrod had always been aware that others surely had to exist. It had been their hope that eventually they would find one and with it complete his salvation. However, now what would have once thrilled the enchantress instead filled her with dread. She still remembered that monstrous face. That had not been Gerrod. That had not even been Shade.

  “But who, then? Who?” she whispered. “What’s happening?”

  He has come to die...or kill to live...

  She whirled around.

  A face made of brown leaves hovered before her.

  A face...and nothing more.

  V

  Shade could do nothing but watch as his body moved under the guidance of his captor. The dragon man stalked along a purple landscape toward a single high mountain in the distance.

  No...not a mountain. A huge structure.

  A founder structure.

  “Be not so thrilled by the sight,” the dragon man said, evidently sensing Shade’s brief instinctive excitement. “There is a shell, but little flesh.”

  What he meant by that became apparent a moment later as the landscape shifted without warning. Where once the gargantuan citadel had been far away, now it stood right before them.

  And only then did Shade see that the ancient structure consisted mostly of a huge gray outer wall that wound around out of sight on the right, but ended in a crumbling heap on the far left. Within, there was mostly rubble, much of it likely from the missing roof.

  “In the final days, there was much turmoil,” his foul companion remarked. “Struggles for power, struggles for the path to be chosen. In this case, the struggle ended somewhat violently.”