Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III

by Richard A. Knaak

  “The Dragonrealm?” It was a verification of everything she had feared, but Gwen did not reveal that fear to the duo.

  Unwilling to sit down again, Troia began to pace gracefully back and forth. “In the end, we repulsed the damned dogs’ attack. They lost two ships there, but Chaenylon was in ruins. It took us the better part of the day to discover . . . his body. Whether the raider who killed him returned to the ships with the other survivors or died in the city before he could flee, we’ll probably never know, my lady. I wish we would . . . I’d follow him personally to the ends of the world . . . What we do know is that they seemed most interested in charts concerning the Dragonrealm.”

  “And we discovered then that three of the ships never returned to the empire,” interjected the Gryphon. “Three ships, including the one carrying Lord D’Farany.”

  “You mentioned him twice now . . . who is he?”

  “He is a keeper, Lady Bedlam. An Aramite sorcerer.”

  His words struck her with the force of a well-shot bolt. Having kept abreast of the distant war since its inception, the enchantress was aware of most of the major events. There was one in particular she recalled about the sinister keepers. “But they all died! Almost twenty years ago!”

  “Died or gone mad, you mean? Lord Ivon D’Farany did not die; as to whether he went mad, that is another question.”

  “Even still, he should be powerless!” Was Cabe heading toward a confrontation with a sorcerer of the darkest arts? “You said that they-”

  “Had lost their link with their god, the unlamented Ravager, yes. You recall correctly. That loss, that withdrawal, was enough to kill most of them and leave the others mindless.” He squawked. “Somehow, a young keeper named D’Farany survived and although it cannot be vouchsafed that he had no power of his own, he has time and time again brought forth sorcerous talismans and artifacts that were thought lost and used them to the raiders’ advantage.” The lionbird held up his maimed hand. “This is the work of Lord D’Farany; even my skill is insufficient to heal it proper. Troia, too, bears the mark of one of the keeper’s discoveries.” She turned so that Gwen could better see the scars across her face. For the first time, the enchantress noticed that they glowed ever so slightly. Glowed bloodred. “He, more than anything else, has slowed the course of the war by at least three, perhaps four years.”

  “And he does all this even though the dogs themselves mutter about his sanity!” Troia snorted, still pacing about.

  Her quick, constant movements were disrupting Gwen’s attempts to remain calm. “You think he’s here.”

  “He has to be,” the lionbird returned, almost pleading again. “There is no other place for him to hide so great a force. He cannot stay anywhere near the empire or the free lands. D’Farany, by abandoning the war, has in a sense made himself enemy of both. That is why he must be here.”

  “What about the war? What will happen with you gone?”

  He looked closely at her. “The war now moves well even without us and especially without D’Farany to aid them. We have given more than a decade of our own lives in addition to the life of our one child. There was no one who did not think we were entitled to depart. I did not abandon them. In fact, Sirvak Dragoth would only be too happy to see an end made of the curs. D’Farany and his men, as long as they live to fight again, will forever be a fear covering the freed lands and the surrounding waters.”

  “We’ll find him, my lady,” hissed the cat woman. “He killed Demion as good as if he were the one who struck the blow. His death alone will pay for our son’s.”

  The anxious sorceress could not help but blurt, “Do you truly think so?”

  Neither of them could look at her then, but Troia slowly replied, “Nothing else will balance that scale, not even . . .” She held her tongue at the last moment, apparently unwilling to share some further revelation with her host. “Nothing.”

  “The voyage across did nothing but stir the embers to new life,” the Gryphon added. It seemed whenever one faltered, the other was there to continue the tale. To Gwen, it revealed just how close the duo were to each other and in turn how close they had been to their son. “When we arrived on the shore of southeastern Irillian, I was barely able to control my desire to use sorcery to speed our journey to here along. Out of respect of the Blue Dragon, I held off until we reached the borders between his domain and that of the Storm Dragon. Then I found I could not wait any longer. Daring the lord of Wenslis’s ire, I teleported us from his lands to the ruins of Mito Pica, just beyond your forest. We would have even materialized at the very border of your domain, but the Green Dragon has ever been a good neighbor to Penacles and I would not wish to cause my former home any ill will.”

  “We’ve told you our story, Lady Bedlam.” Troia stalked up to the enchantress, then nearly went down on one knee just before her. “Gryph said that if anyone could help us, if anyone had some word, it would be the Bedlams.”

  The Gryphon stood beside his mate, the maimed hand on her shoulder. “Even if you have no word of the raiders, I ask that you might grant us the boon of letting us stay but one night so that we might be refreshed for the hunt ahead of us. You have my word that I will make amends for the trouble.”

  She looked at them, at their eyes that both pleaded and hoped, and wanted to say that she had heard nothing. Like Darkhorse with Shade, they were obsessed. Gwen could not find it in herself to lie to them, though, possibly because she knew that under the circumstances she would have acted the same way.

  “We think the wolf raiders are in Legar.”

  They stood motionless before her, not at first comprehending her blunt statement.

  “Cabe is there . . . and Darkhorse, too.”

  The Gryphon did not question her reasons for not volunteering the information earlier. Perhaps he understood that she had wanted to hear his tale first. Instead, he asked, “How long ago? Where exactly?”

  Troia stood up and clutched his arm. Her claws dug into it, but the Gryphon did not seem to notice.

  “We do not know. Cabe-and Aurim-had a vision. Then, Cabe had another. They were peculiar, but both pointed to Legar. Both pointed to the Crystal Dragon . . . and wolf raiders.”

  “The Crystal Dragon.”

  Familiar with the Dragonrealm only through the stories told by her husband, Troia did not note the significance. “Can we speak with this Dragon King? Will he aid us?”

  Again, the lionbird’s mane bristled. “The Crystal Dragon is not like Blue or Green, both of whom we might appeal to under certain circumstances. He is like none of his counterparts, Troia. He and his predecessors have ever been reclusive. He will tolerate those who, for one reason or another, find themselves traversing the peninsula, but woe betide anyone who seeks to disturb his peace. It was he who helped turn the tide against one of his own, the Ice Dragon. Without his aid, the Dragonrealm might now be a dead land under an eternal sheet of ice and snow.” The Gryphon grew contemplative. “Tell me about Cabe and his journey. Tell me everything.”

  Gwen did, describing the visions, the Bedlams’ decisions, and the attack on the person of the Dragon King Green. The Gryphon tilted his head to one side during the telling of that incident and also the mention of the black ship in the vision. Cabe’s missive from Zuu particularly attracted his attention. New life had come into his eyes, but it was still a life dedicated to one cause, finding the ones responsible for his son’s death.

  “Zuu. I remember Blane. His horsemen.”

  “And Lanith?” asked the enchantress.

  “He is unknown to me and hardly a factor in this.”

  She did not think so herself, but telling the Gryphon that was not so easy. “You’re planning to go there.”

  “Yes.”

  “We should leave before the sun sets,” urged Troia to her mate.

  He gave her an odd look, even for his avian visage. Then, with some hesitation, he said, “You are not going with me. Not to Legar. Any other place, even the Northern Wastes, I
would take you, but not Legar.”

  “What do you mean?” The fine fur along the back of Troia’s head stood on end. “I will not be left behind! Not now!”

  “Legar is the one place where the risk is too great for the two of you.”

  Gwen glanced from one to the other. The two of you?

  “Any other time, any other place, I would welcome you at my side, Troia, but I will not lead you into Legar.”

  “I’m far from helpless, Gryph! My stomach is not yet rounded!”

  She was pregnant. The enchantress cursed her own words. If she had only known, she would have spoken to the Gryphon in private. Like Queen Erini, Gwen was not the kind to sit demurely to one side while others did the fighting, but one thing she found very precious was the creation of new life. Chasing after wolf raiders was terrible enough, but to do so now and in the domain of the unpredictable and possibly malevolent Crystal Dragon was sheer folly for an expectant mother, especially after having lost her only other child.

  It was clear that they had discussed this issue several times in the past and it was clear that Troia had always won. That there should be someone capable of matching the Gryphon in stubborn determination would have been amusing under more pleasant circumstances. Now, however, it only threatened to muddle the situation further.

  “Troia, you are with child?”

  The cat woman spun on her, then recalled herself and settled down. She seemed more worn out than she had been before her burst of anger at her husband. “For these past eight weeks. I thought at first it was sickness from the trip; we’re not fond of the sea, either of us. It stayed with me, though, and I soon recognized the symptoms from-from Demion’s time.”

  “You have grown tired quicker these past few days, too,” the lionbird reminded her. “In truth, I was beginning to worry even before we landed.” His voice was more understanding, more concerned. Both he and his mate were mercurial creatures.

  The years have changed you, Gryphon, or perhaps merely opened you up more. The sorceress studied Troia. Despite the litheness of her body, there were hints here and there of aging that had nothing to do with the years of war. How long did the cat people live? Troia had little or no sorcerous ability, which meant she, like King Melicard, would age faster than the one she loved. For that matter, it had never been clear just how long the Gryphon would live if permitted to die of old age. He was not like Cabe or Gwen; his life span might be as long as that of a Dragon King or maybe even longer. Likely he had thought about that, which meant his time with his wife was all the more precious to him. To know that her life span was limited in comparison to his . . . it only added to the importance of seeing that this new child was allowed to enter the world happy and whole.

  And she has had only one child in all this time, the enchantress pondered, still studying the anxious cat woman. This may very well be her last chance. There was no doubt, either, that Troia very much wanted this child. From what little Gwen knew of her kind, they generally had many children. Troia, however, had only had the one and among her people children were precious and well cared for. She could not afford to lose this one.

  “We made a pact that we would follow this through together, Gryph!”

  The Gryphon flexed his claws again, but the action was not directed at his bride. “You will be with me, Troia, I promise you that. I also promise that I will return with D’Farany’s head if need be to show you that Demion has been avenged, but I see now I must do it alone.”

  “You will not be alone, Gryphon,” Gwen quickly pointed out. “My husband and Darkhorse are there ahead of you. Find them. Their quest is tied to yours.” And see to it that Cabe comes back to me! she silently added.

  “There is that.” He took his wife in his arms. She was stiff at first, but then she took hold of him in a grip that vied with his own for pure intensity. “I know the Dragonrealm, Troia. Believe me when I say that this is one place I will not risk your health and that of our offspring. You know why Lady Bedlam remains behind; do you consider her any less than her husband because of that?”

  The cat woman locked gazes with Gwen. “No. Never. I’ve known her too long in letters to believe foolishness like that. If only I could come, though! I left Demion in that place!”

  “We left Demion in that place. There was no way either of us could have foreseen what happened.” He squawked, the equivalent of a sigh. The Gryphon had a habit of switching between his human traits and his animalistic traits without thought. “We came to hunt and we will hunt, but this time I must make the kill alone. I will, too.”

  The tall sorceress shivered. Again, she was reminded that her guests were not to be completely judged by human standards, but that was not all there was to it. The war and Demion’s death had indeed changed the Gryphon the way the Turning War never had. It’s become much too personal. Would that I could keep him from going, too. Yet she welcomed his coming, for it meant more hope for Cabe.

  “You will need food and rest, Gryphon. I will not allow you to leave until you have had a bit of both.”

  He nodded his thanks, then looked back down at his wife. “If the Lady Bedlam permits it, I would prefer you stay here. There is no better place for you than with her.”

  “There’s one place,” Troia corrected him. “That’s with you.”

  “After Legar.”

  “She is welcome to stay as long as she needs, Gryphon. You know that.”

  “Then tonight I will leave for Zuu, to see if I can pick up Cabe’s trail.”

  “You’ll teleport?” Troia sounded suddenly disturbed again.

  The Gryphon did not appear to notice it. “I am familiar with the region and it will save days of travel. From there, I will teleport as carefully as I can into the midst of Legar.”

  “Is that not dangerous?” Gwen asked. “You might materialize before a patrol of wolf raiders.”

  He gave her a look almost devoid of emotion. “No one knows them as well as I do. Trust in me, my lady.”

  Troia bared her sharp teeth. “I still don’t care for it. I should be with you, Gryph.”

  “And you will be.” The Gryphon put one hand on his heart. “You will always be here.”

  Gwen allowed them their peace while she thought of Cabe. She, like Troia, was still upset about being left behind even though both of them knew it was not because their husbands saw them as lessers. Even had the Gryphon offered to take her place and watch the children, she was aware that she would have turned the offer down. There had to be someone here for the children, especially with the Dragonrealm so volatile in other ways, and this had been Cabe’s mission from the very beginning. He was the one who had been contacted. It was not the choice every parent would have made, but it was her choice and she would live by it.

  She consoled herself with the fact that the Gryphon’s presence would make Cabe’s safety that much more possible. Between the lionbird, her husband, and the irrepressible Darkhorse, neither the wolf raiders nor the Crystal Dragon were tasks insurmountable. It was possible that the situation was not even as terrible as they had assumed. There was even the chance that Cabe might very well return before his old friend was able to depart.

  That was assuming that nothing had happened to him already.

  The blue man stumbled through the godforsaken fog, cursing its magic-spawned ability to creep even into the most obscure passages below the earth. It was hard enough to see even with the torches lit let alone with such a thick morass enshrouding everything around him.

  Yet, there was something else, something inviting about the fog. He could taste power, raw, wild forces, coursing through the mist. D’Rance had seen the proof of that, too. He had watched floors twist and turn, a man sucked into the walls as if he had never been, and fantastical figures prancing about in the fog. Mere tips of the proverbial iceberg, the northerner knew. Above, those on the surface would be facing much more. The Quel city seemed to dampen the effects of the wild power. Whether that was intentional or simply chance, he did not
know. That subject could wait until later, after he had reached the surface and explored farther. As much as he disliked the fog, it offered him possibilities that even Lord D’Farany could not match. He had to find out where it had originated from.

  He was nearly to the mouth of the tunnel when a dog-sized form skittered over his feet, causing him to fall against one side of the passage. From near his left, he heard it growl.

  Verlok. From his time in Canisargos he knew the sound well. There was only one verlok on this side of the world.

  “Kanaan. How good of you to be where I wanted you.”

  “Lord D’Farany?” He could see nothing save the dim image of the verlok . . . and this with the light of day supposedly trying to cut through the murky fog.

  “We were on our way down. It was not necessary to meet us.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The blue man clenched both hands tight. “I must apologize, yes, for not noticing you sooner. This thrice-cursed mist wreaks havoc on the eyes, yes?”

  A shape took form before him. The Pack Leader. “I suppose that could be troublesome, but it’s hardly a concern compared to other things. Fascinating, wouldn’t you say? As if entering another world.”

  A world gone mad, yes! Kanaan D’Rance wanted to study the magical forces involved, but he by no means cared for any other aspect of it. If he could find a way to manipulate it, that was all he desired. “It is unique, yes.”

  “But of course something must be done about it; it disturbs the men, you see. Disturbs my work.”

  And that is all it is doing? The blue man was often fascinated by the Pack Leader’s peculiar pattern of thought.

  “It’s magical, as you’ve no doubt guessed. Not like anything else. Not at all like his power. A shame, truly.” D’Farany reached down and picked up his vile pet. “It repels rather than attracts. I think I must remove it from this place and send it to wherever he unleashed it from.”