Shivering, the younger Bedlam gazed unblinking at the site where the elf had been. No blood, no Galani, no-
The silver dagger still lay on the floor.
No blood covered the tip now. Biting her lip, Valea approached the weapon, waiting every moment for it to vanish. When it did not, she cautiously pushed at it with her slipper.
With a slight scraping sound, the dagger slid a few inches away.
The sorceress hesitated, peering around. No one had as yet come in response to all the noise and that bothered her. This entire scene had been played out for her and her alone and now the weapon that had evidently ended Galani’s life lay tantalizingly nearby. All she had to do was pick it up. Surely then with some spell she could divine some of its secrets.
But with her fingers only inches from the silver artifact, Valea paused. By taking the dagger, she also risked falling prey again to the ghostly apparitions. The Manor played some sort of macabre game, one that went well beyond her interest in the phantoms inhabiting her home.
Valea pulled back.
The dagger flew from the floor, thrusting itself hilt first into her hand-
Her face stared back at her.
No, not Valea’s face, but rather Galani’s. Valea sat at a high, gold-framed mirror, an emerald brush, not a dagger, clutched in her hand. The brush dropped from her grip as she studied the elven features closer. Still strikingly similar to her own, they had undergone some changes. The beauty was now not quite perfect, for there were dark circles under the eyes, which held much, much sadness. There was also a small scar on the left edge of the chin, a recent scar.
Valea recalled Arak’s moods and grew angry. If he had done this-
An intense rumble of thunder suddenly made her forget all about the male elf’s transgressions. The entire building shook as the rumbling continued. A bolt of lightning flashed outside, almost seeming to strike just beyond the walls.
The invisible barrier was supposed to protect the area even from the elements, but already two drake assassins had entered. Valea wondered if perhaps the Dragon King was also responsible for the storm.
Again thunder rocked the Manor. A crystalline vase toppled from a fireplace mantle and across the room an exquisite tapestry of what might have been the elves’ forest homeland slipped free, landing in an inelegant heap.
Although Valea had control of Galani’s body, unbidden from her mouth came her cousin’s name. “Arak!”
Not certain where she headed but feeling that somehow Galani would guide her, the sorceress ran from the room, hurrying down the corridor leading to the staircase. The sense of urgency rose with each second. Something had gone terribly wrong; both she and her host knew that. Whatever Arak desired, it was not what he would reap.
To Valea’s consternation, her path took her not to the grounds, as she had expected, but rather toward what would be the library in her parents’ day. Even now, the room was much as it should have been; the same shelves greeted her along with sleek, well-crafted mahogany table and four matching chairs, the latter leather-padded and all the furniture under the same centuries-long preserving spell as the rest of the Manor.
Letting Galani’s memories continue to guide her, the sorceress reached one of the bookcases near the rear. Her right hand went up, passing along three black tomes, then touching a crimson one two shelves below.
“It is here,” the elf murmured. “I know it was here he touched.”
Suddenly, the entire bookcase vanished, revealing a passage descending below, a passage carved into the mighty tree that made up this half of the Manor.
A passage none of the Bedlams had ever uncovered.
Muttering echoed from deep below. Valea recognized spellwork, but not of a type akin to her own.
The narrow passage wound around and around like some parody of the staircase. Valea constantly collided with the walls, which looked to have been formed from the tree’s very roots. For a time, the steps seemed without end, but then at last the bottom appeared, opening up into a much wider corridor lit by small, glowing spheres of blue.
The muttering grew louder but still remained incomprehensible. An unsettling gray light radiated from a chamber ahead, devouring the blue illumination without mercy.
Planting herself against the nearest root wall, Valea peered around the edge. Acutely sensitive to magic, she had to steel herself before looking, so wild, so manic were the powers in play.
Before her stood Arak . . . and before him, the Wyr Stone.
It was not what she had expected. Valea had imagined some massive, glittering emerald or ruby. Perhaps even a pure white, transparent crystal. Certainly not this.
The Wyr Stone was just that . . . a stone. It was no larger than Arak’s fist and was only vaguely round in form. It might have been found in any quarry or canyon. At a first glance, the sorceress would not have even paid it any mind-if not for its coloring.
One second it was brown, then gold, then red, then a myriad display of other colors. Never did it cease shifting. There were brief periods when more than one color displayed itself and sometimes impressive patterns played over the artifact. Several of the colors Valea could not even put a name to. The Wyr Stone constantly changed, the pace increasing with each phrase spoken by the elf.
And as the Wyr Stone changed, so, too, did Arak.
He looked taller, more gaunt, and his hair had begun to gray, although perhaps that was a trick of the peculiar light emanating from the stone. More dramatic, however, was his visage, which had elongated and grown scaly. His nose had nearly vanished. Valea could not see his eyes, but felt certain that they had also been altered.
The elf raised his hands . . . and in them the sorceress could see a dagger identical to the one the ghost of Galani had wielded.
As she watched, Arak took the dagger in his right hand, then stretched forth his left, revealing the wrist. Already the elf’s limbs looked misshapen, his fingers curled and clawed, his arms twisted at odd angles. Undisturbed by his transformation, Arak held the blade over his wrist, then drove the weapon deep.
Stifling a gasp, Valea watched in horror and wonder as he held the bleeding limb over the Wyr Stone. Droplets of blood dripped from what should have been a terrible wound, spilling onto the artifact while Arak calmly waited.
She expected some force to burst free from the stone, but instead, it seemed to draw from around it. A sense of vertigo touched the sorceress and Valea suddenly realized that the stone was absorbing the magic around it. She drew back, fearful.
“Kaladi Dracos!” shouted Arak at the wall beyond. “Kivak Dracos!”
The vertigo lessened. Now the vampiric powers of the stone had been focused elsewhere, made to draw only from one specific source.
And recalling what Galani’s cousin had preached, Valea could guess what source that was.
The Dragon Kings.
The Wyr Stone now soaked in his blood, Arak pulled free the blade. As he did he turned just enough for her to see his face.
The eyes were crimson, pupilless . . . and more inhuman than any drake.
It was Valea, not Galani, who stumbled back with a slight scraping noise. It proved enough to attract the attention of Arak. He turned toward the passage, arm leaving a shower of crimson in its wake.
She fled, certain that even in control of the elf’s body her skills were no match for the elf. Trying to be silent, Valea rushed up the passage, praying that Arak had not noticed her. Could this be the moment of Galani’s death that she had witnessed? But in the image, the elf had worn blue, not the gold she wore now.
The entrance to the library beckoned. Breathing heavily, Valea pushed to the top. As she did, a noise below caught her attention. Certain that Arak followed right behind her, the sorceress glanced over her shoulder. To her relief, Valea saw nothing-
She collided with a solid form.
Hands seized her by the shoulders. A struggle ensued until Valea heard Shade’s calm voice whisper, “Quiet. If we depart now, he’ll not kno
w you were here, Galani.”
Grateful for his presence, Valea let the faceless warlock lead her quickly away. Behind them, the opening had vanished, once more simply a bookcase.
Shade started to guide her to the elf’s chambers, but Valea did not want to go there. She feared that Arak would still come up there looking for her and whether or not it was Galani’s body that perished, the sorceress feared that this time it would be she who died.
“Take me away from here,” Valea demanded of the warlock.
“The gardens-” he began.
“No! Far from here! Somewhere he won’t be able to find me!”
“Galani-”
She clung to him, stared into the murky eyes. “Please!”
From the direction of the library, they heard footsteps. Shade glanced past her, then suddenly wrapped his shroudlike cloak about her, completely engulfing his companion.
A sense of displacement akin to that she had felt when first pulled into the ghostly memory overwhelmed Valea, but this time she did not wake up. Instead, her feet came down hard on some rocky surface. Shade caught her, then immediately after removed the dark veil from her eyes. A cold rush of wind made her shiver and her eyes widened to saucers as they took in the view around her.
The two of them stood atop a narrow mountain ledge overlooking an endless chain of ominous peaks.
Having visited Talak many times in the past, Valea readily recognized the Tyber Mountains.
“Your cousin won’t find us here,” Shade solemnly promised.
Perhaps he would not, but certainly others would. The Tyber Mountains-the vast, jagged peak called Kivan Grath, especially-were the domain of the most powerful of the Dragon Kings. Here, the Gold Dragon, emperor of his kind, ruled the entire continent. This would be no young, human-raised novice like Kyl; this would be a monster, an inhuman beast who would snap up two interlopers without a second thought.
“I come here many a time,” her companion suddenly remarked. Shade stared at the stunning view. “The cool air refreshes the mind.”
The dying light still enabled Valea to see far too much. She tightened her hold on the warlock, finding comfort in his stolid presence. Shade no longer tensed at her touch.
Not her touch, the sorceress reminded herself. It was Galani who was fascinated with Shade, not her. Valea only felt what the elf experienced.
She could not blame Galani, of course. Weeks, even months, must have passed from the first memory to this latest one, and there had only been Shade to be of comfort to the elf. Arak’s mad work-and even now Valea was not certain if he could truly do what he desired-had taken its toll, turning a once-loved cousin into a monster akin to those he sought to destroy.
In the distance, something fluttered among the mountains. At first, it looked like a man-sized dragon, but then Valea made out limbs almost human save that the knees were reversed. It was also of a dusky gray color and had a face like a bird of prey. Had it stood next to her, it would have towered over her than Shade.
He felt her renewed tension. Following her gaze, Shade eyed the distant figure. “The Seeker will not try anything. His kind has learned not to where I am concerned.”
As if to prove that, the avian suddenly swerved gracefully away from their lofty position. The wide, beautiful wings beat faster and faster, quickly sending the Seeker out of sight.
“I want to leave,” Valea whispered.
“First, tell me what you saw.”
She looked at him. “Arak has become a monster.”
He cocked his head to one side much as Lord Gryphon, who shared with the Seekers an avian look, did when concentrating. “A monster?”
The words came tumbling out as Valea described what she had seen. The renewed memory caused her to shiver again. Perhaps misunderstanding the cause of her action, Shade wrapped both his arm and cloak tighter around her. The sorceress fought back the great temptation to bury her head in his shoulder as she finished her tale.
“His transformation is temporary, Galani,” A touch of concern tinted his words. “But he’s gone beyond what I suggested. The Wyr Stone is powerful, seductive. I warned him of its tendency to magnify one’s desire beyond what one truly wishes! When they tried to save themselves in the end, it only quickened the changing, made them worse than what they might have been-”
“Who?”
“Friends. Loved ones. Fools.” He would not let her press further. “It should have remained lost. I should have never told him about it.”
“Sh-Tylan. What is he trying to do with the Wyr Stone? I know he’s trying to destroy the Dragon Kings, but how? What will it do to them?”
For a brief second, she saw an expression, one that hinted of gratitude. “You always call me Tylan. Your cousin calls me Shade, just as all others do. The names I pick are always remembered, but in the end everyone calls me Shade. I strive to be more than the dark legend, to once again be the man, even if always a slightly different man.” A gloved hand rose and caressed her cheek ever so slightly, then withdrew as if having presumed too much. The gratitude vanished from the warlock’s voice as he finally answered her question. “Arak is an elf. Your people do not seek to destroy. Such an act is anathema to them. However, your cousin has found a way around that, so to speak. You cannot destroy what does not exist.”
“What do you mean?”
In answer, he extended one arm toward the vast tableau before them. “Imagine if you could make it so that these mountains had never been. Imagine if you could cause them to revert to their state before the violence of the world thrust them up toward the sky. So will Arak do to the Dragon Kings, if he is successful. A much smaller scale than transforming a mountain chain, but difficult nonetheless.”
Valea frowned, trying to make sense of what he said. “Do you mean that somehow he will unmake the drake lords and their people? They will cease to be?”
“In a sense. The Wyr Stone is the antithesis of this land. Some say it was a part of the essence of the Void, that great emptiness beyond our realm. When it was sought by the others in the past, they saw in it a way to reverse what the land did to them. It will take the magic around us, turn it inside out-so to speak-and make of the drakes what they would have been had not this cursed world played its own game.”
He spoke of the Dragonrealm as if it was a living thing, a notion her own father had pushed from time to time. If she understood Shade, somehow the land itself had transformed other creatures into the drakes, creating their race. The Wyr Stone would undo this, a phenomenal concept.
No Dragon Kings. Instead, there would be a world of elves and humans-and whatever harmless race Arak would make the drakes become. Surely not so bad a thing. On the surface, Arak’s arduous efforts looked to be worth any cost. How often had Valea heard her father or Lord Gryphon or especially King Melicard speak of a world where the Dragon Kings had never caused so much calamity?
“It’s-it’s incredible!”
“Incredible and dangerous . . . and from what you describe to me, perhaps beyond your cousin’s reach. Clearly the Wyr Stone is overwhelming him in the process and he is only halfway to his goal.”
“Halfway?” From what the sorceress had seen, the elf had looked very near his goal, too near.
The blurred face seemed even more so now. “Did you imagine erasing an entire race from the world a simple task? Why do you think those who originally used the Wyr Stone failed? When Arak told me he had found it, I was at first astounded, but your cousin is an elf of exceptional ability. When he claimed to understand why those before him had failed to control it, I made the mistake of believing him. I see now how terrible a mistake that is. He must be stopped before he destroys himself-and possibly much around him.”
It did not matter any more that all this had apparently taken place long, long ago. Valea only knew that something catastrophic was happening and that Galani’s cousin might not only bring down the Dragon Kings, but possibly himself and much of the rest of the land in the process.
; “What can we do?”
Shade paused, then, with even greater hesitation than earlier, answered, “To save your cousin, Galani-and perhaps much, much more-you must put a dagger through his heart.”
VI
Gasping, Valea awoke, her body covered in sweat.
The warlock’s last words echoed through her head. you must put a dagger through his heart . . .
So horrified was she by what Shade had said that at first her surroundings did not register with her. Only gradually did Valea realize that she no longer stood by the staircase. Instead, she lay fully-clothed atop her bed as if having gone to take a nap. Night still reigned, hopefully the same night.
As she moved her left hand, something slid from her grasp.
Despite a lack of much light, the silver dagger glistened.
Rolling off the plush bed, Valea glared at the horrid object. Galani’s ghostly plea came back to haunt her. I had to do it, didn’t I?
Now she felt she understood better what the ghostly image had represented. The elf had evidently done just what Shade had suggested-but something must have gone wrong.
More cautious than ever, Valea reached for the treacherous blade, but this time, instead of leaping to her fingers, the dagger faded . . . as if a dream.
Frustrated beyond belief, the young sorceress vented her anger at the walls around her. “What is it you want?” she demanded of the Manor. “What are you trying to show me?”
But the walls remained maddeningly silent, not that Valea had truly expected them to answer in such a fashion.
Footsteps hurried up to her door. The disheveled woman turned, at first expecting a new ghost to rear its ugly head, but instead Setera and two human servants stood nervously at the entrance, obviously drawn by her loud appeal.
“I’m all right!” she snapped. Taking a deep breath, Valea added more calmly, “It was just a nightmare. I’m sorry if I startled anyone.”
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III Page 79