The Seeker let out a quiet squawk, then pointed to the ruined structure. Shade did not have to ask what it was, for this close he could not only sense the latent energies still permeating it, but knew that only one place would contain such power. As they started up the hill toward it, a few details added themselves to the edifice, stirring all-too-recent memories of the warlock’s last visit to it.
The Lords’ sanctum consisted of shattered walls, fallen roofs, and ominously-tilted towers. It had barely been better when he and the Bedlams had, along with Darkhorse, confronted the necromancers. At that time, most of the structure had still been intact, but the same decay that had plagued the Lords had also affected their surroundings. Now, without their power to maintain even that, the building had collapsed in on itself.
They met no resistance as they entered through what little was left of the wide, arched doorway. Shade and the Seeker could have transported themselves within the sanctum’s walls, but both clearly understood that doing so might attract the attention of...of whatever it was that Shade has sensed stalking the realm.
Voices stirred in Shade’s mind, but only voices from his memories, not any sinister presence. He heard again the arrogance of his cousins, especially their leader, Ephraim. They had wielded power over life, death, and beyond and had had good reason to become so delusional as believing they were gods.
Join us, cousin...join us...he heard Emphraim offer. Over the centuries, Shade had been given that offer more than once. How many times and how many rejections he had made to it were lost to his fragmented memory, but the warlock knew that whether darkness or light guided his own path, he would have never accepted such an alliance. The Lords of the Dead had become abominations that even Shade’s worst incarnation found repellent.
But we could give you so much! So very much...a female voice enticed. Kadaria, ever seeking to seduce her distant cousin even against her fellow Lords, had taken control of the necromancers after Ephraim’s destruction. However, her ambition had led in turn to the Lords’ annihilation and, at the time, the warlock’s belief that he would never have to deal with this realm again.
How naive have I been, Shade thought as he followed the Seeker through the rubble. He still did not know exactly what the Seeker intended, but her clear familiarity with this domain did not bode well. Shade did not consider her a friendly ally, merely someone who shared some goal. The Seekers with whom he was familiar still considered themselves the rightful masters of the Dragonrealm.
Something crunched under Shade’s boot. He instinctively looked down.
The macabre skull of a Necri grinned at him from a couple of feet to his right. What the warlock had stepped on had been the dry fragments of one of its leathery wings. Almost humanoid in body, the batlike fiends had been the chief servants of the Lords of the Dead in the mortal world. Necri had not actually been living creatures, but magical constructs with a semblance of existence. They had not only been savage beasts, but conduits through which the necromancers had directly attacked.
Shade realized that the rest of the corpse lay with the skull. The only reason that he had not initially noticed the remains had been their coloring. The pale flesh had turned a dull grey, making it blend in with the ruins. In addition, much of the Necri had already turned to dust. Without their masters’ magic to maintain them, the Necri had evidently begun breaking down into their original elements.
Shade had no more sympathy for the Necri than he had for their creators. A few pieces of dry wing cracked under his steps as he moved on to where the Seeker now stood.
“All right,” the warlock muttered. “I’ve been very patient. You hunted for me for a particular reason, which apparently has to do with the Lords of the Dead.”
The Seeker squawked quietly. Very cautiously, she stretched a taloned hand to him.
Shade gritted his teeth as images pounded his mind. Seekers like the one before him living in a flock in a stretch of mountains even beyond the icy stronghold of the region’s late Dragon King. Shade could not recall ever having explored that region during any of his past lives, which did not preclude the possibility that he had. Still, the warlock could not at the moment imagine much that would have interested him in such a desolate location.
The flock coalesced into one...the female leader. Taloned feet giving her a strong perch on a rocky mountainside --- mountains that Shade knew were not any extension of the Tybers --- she appeared to be in a trance.
The image shifted again. A murky vision took precedence. The mist swirled oddly, some of it going this way and some of it going that...almost as if parts of it were alive.
The faint face of another of these Seekers formed ever so briefly from part of the mist.
Ghosts...even Seekers have ghosts these days, the warlock thought with a slight snort. His cousins had been willing to reap from every race.
Unlike many living creatures, the female Seeker did not seem at the time to have been startled by the ghosts. A sensation of warmth touched Shade, an indication on her part that spirits were not unknown among her flock. It once more set her kind as different from her southern cousins. Shade wondered if both Seeker races had alighted on this world at the same time after all. The founding race might have created one as a variation of the other to see if the differences had given any advantage.
The view shifted slightly. Now, the look of calm had vanished, replaced by concern as the Seeker focused on the materializing and vanishing faces of the ghosts. They were telling her something, but as yet, she had not managed to make just what it was clear to the warlock.
Then, the vision turned to the Lords’ domain. The shift left Shade momentarily off-balance. The effect was made worse by the fact that the vision kept swirling. It took Shade a breath to understand that he was seeing this place as not the ghosts did. The warlock stood entranced, watching as the incomplete landscape now also rippled as if seen through slowly-moving water.
A blackness washed over the vision. Shade thought at first that the Seeker had broken the link between him, but then the blackness condensed, gathering around one location.
The Lords’ sanctum.
Shade focused, trying to adjust for the differing aspects of Seeker sight. After a tense moment, he started to realize part of what his companion likely hoped to tell him. The blackness did not merely surround the citadel...it arose from it.
Peering around him, Shade saw no hint of the darkness. Still, he now could just barely sense its presence. That did not mean that it was weak, but rather that it had, until this moment, remained veiled from his not insignificant abilities.
And the more Shade noticed it, the more intense he understood its power.
“What have you done, my dear corrupt cousins? What have you wrought that makes that thing that passed us now seem weak in comparison?”
The Seeker squawked agreement. Another image formed, a vague one of one of the Lords. Not any in particular, Shade saw, but how the necromancers in general had been seen by her kind. The black armor still bore traces of its former glory when it had housed the living body of one of the Tezerenee, the great clan of the Vraad. Shade himself had worn such armor in his original incarnation as Gerrod, son of Lord Barakas, its master. Memories of his father and the folly of the Vraad generally remained fairly intact no matter how many lives Shade suffered. It was one of the most insidious parts of his curse.
And now there is another... Despite what was happening now, his thoughts shifted back to Valea. She had no idea the new concern facing him, the concern growing within him. Just when he had believed his curse possibly at bay, a new element had been added to it. Shade had held the truth from the enchantress, hoping that perhaps he might find an answer before the change revealed itself. Now, though...the events sweeping over the Dragonrealm threatened to make that moot.
He fixed on the darkness again. It did not take him long to understand from where in the sanctum it emerged. The spell chamber. The place where, as one, the Lords of the Dead had both monitor
ed their domain and invaded the mortal plane.
Shade swore under his breath. Even with his cousins no more, evil tainted the citadel far more than most places he had ever seen. The warlock had no doubt that there were other dangers in the sanctum, but he had no choice but to follow the trail given.
I will do it on my terms, though. Until now, Shade had remained passive. No more.
The Seeker let out a warning squawk, but Shade ignored her. He wrapped his voluminous cloak around him. As it swiftly curled about his body like a hungry serpent, the warlock folded in on himself as if only of two dimensions.
And suddenly he stood in the grand chamber of the Lords of the Dead.
Paying no mind as to whether his companion followed, Shade adjusted his vision to better see the veiled darkness. It materialized in its horrible glory, a swirling, violent mass that arose from the center of the vast room.
From the center of the ten-point pattern where each of the original Lords had stood when casting their devious spells.
There was no physical hole in the scarred marble floor. The darkness poured forth from some place beyond mortal ken. Shade glared --- a reaction lost on the Seeker who, like all others, could not make out his features --- at the memory of Ephraim. This smelled of his work. He had been the one to lead the rest into corruption, the one who had, even compared to Kadaria, most represented the evil that had been the necromancers.
What did you intend with this, cousin? Shade circled around the pattern as he eyed the shifting darkness. He glanced at the pattern again, finally noting traces of what he had been searching for. Remnants of a holding spell. Ephraim had not been so insane as to leave this monstrosity unchecked; he had at some point sealed it so that he could return to it as needed.
But something had unraveled the lead necromancer’s undoubtedly complex spellwork, releasing the insidious forces. Shade could not see it being any of the other Lords. They would have understood the dangers to themselves, if to nothing else.
The warlock continued circling. Even more troubling than who or what had unraveled the protective spell was the simple fact of the source of the darkness. Shade had at first thought it might be akin to Darkhorse’s essence, but the energies he sensed were all wrong.
And yet...there was something familiar about what he sensed, something that nagged at some long forgotten memories. Shade silently swore at himself. With any luck, it was possible that he was responsible for creating this abomination ---
The pattern flared to life, the spot where each necromancer had stood turning a bright emerald green. Shade immediately took a step back.
At that moment, with an angry squawk, the Seeker appeared. She needlessly waved the warlock back from the pattern. Like Shade, the avian cautiously began circling around.
Halfway to the warlock, the Seeker hesitated. Shade thought that she looked as if she had just recognized something.
Looking to him, the Seeker let out a warning cry.
It was too late. From the darkness shot an inky tendril, an appendage of pure energy. However, it did not hunt Shade, but rather the Seeker.
The speed with which it darted left the Seeker with no chance to defend herself. The tendril wrapped around her and squeezed.
With a last, brief squawk, the Seeker turned to powder. The tendril withdrew into the mass, an act that did not ease Shade in the slightest. He quickly peered at the area the Seeker had been studying, trying to decipher the reason for her actions.
Then, to his tremendous surprise, the darkness shrank back into the floor. In barely a breath, it had been reduced to half its size. The energies poured into the center of the pattern like water spilling through a great hole that the hooded warlock could not see.
And then, just like that, it was gone.
Its departure only served to make Shade more wary. He very much doubted that it had been waiting all this time just to kill the Seeker. Shade could only imagine that something had used her to bring him here.
“Dragon of the Depths!” he swore, his inability to recognize the truth before him --- a truth he had named several times in his head already --- potentially meaning disaster.
Shade tried to vanish, but other spells inherent in the citadel abruptly came to life, negating his own effort. The warlock opted for running, only to have his feet move backward. He found himself dragged to the center of the pattern, the place from where just moments ago, the darkness had spewed.
But more significantly...the place where the necromancer who had acted as the prime focus for the Lords’s master spells had always stood.
The place where Ephraim had reigned supreme.
Gerrod...at last...after so much effort...
The ten spots flared brighter...and in their depths formed the fiery figures of armored warriors. Or rather, necromancers in the ruined armor of long, unlamented clan Tezerenee.
The Lords of the Dead...or rather their ghosts.
The irony was not lost on Shade even as he struggled to free himself. Yet, even if only ghosts, the Lords of the Dead were a threat, especially here. How long Ephraim had planned this, the warlock could not say. Shade had assumed that the magic that had consumed the lead necromancer had left nothing. Kadaria had certainly acted with such assumptions when she had taken over.
Kadaria. Shade suddenly noticed something different about the other specters. They remained faint presences even as Ephraim grew stronger.
They are shadows of shadows, Ephraim’s rasping voice said to him from inside his head. A proper punishment for now for leaving me to nothing...
Shade felt his mind slipping away. He understood what Ephraim intended. The necromancer sought Shade’s body for is own. Ephraim had manipulated ghosts in order to manipulate Seekers in order to manipulate Shade himself. A convoluted and complex plot, the warlock thought, even if it had in the end succeeded this much.
You simply do not understand, Gerrod...what was done was needed to be done! You, however, will provide me with possibilities unbounded...
“You would find my body a poor substitute, Ephraim!” Shade shouted at the empty air. “It has a curse upon it, you know!”
There are ways around curses, if one is willing to give everything...
Shade had no idea as to what Ephraim was talking about and truly did not care. Undaunted, he tried to picture the necromancer ---
A shape formed right before him. A half-rusted suit of armor topped by a dragon-crested helmet that obscured all but the eyes and a bit of the mouth. In Shade’s case, success had the disadvantage of seeing Ephraim as he truly was. Hollow eye sockets stared back at the warlock. A lipless, fleshless mouth revealed hints of yellowed, cracked teeth. A rotting cloak still hung attached at the shoulders.
Cousin... the skeletal necromancer mocked.
Cousin... the others echoed. They remained only faint glimpses.
Shade thrust his hand through Ephraim. He did not expect to encounter any obstruction, but from his past encounters with the Lords of the Dead he knew that ghosts had an energy of their own. The warlock also knew that any energy could be disrupted if one understood how. Shade understood how.
But instead of encountering anything in that regard, he sensed...nothing.
Ephraim was only an illusion of the mind. His mind. All of the specters surrounding him were nothing more than tricks of Shade’s own thoughts.
No...there can be only one reason for that! Only one reason I could be toyed with like this!
The darkness erupted around him, rising up and enveloping the warlock. As it did, part of it took form, creating an ethereal figure clad in a long, flowing cloak and voluminous hood.
‘Ephraim’ and the other false ghosts faded away. They had been used as an extra distraction to further trick the warlock. Against his cousins, Shade had several potent weapons. However, had he truly known who had arranged the false visions of the Seeker, truly known who had undid the seal Ephraim had put on the spell, Shade would have stayed as far away from the necromancers’ harsh domain
no matter what the cost.
The phantasm’s head lifted just enough for Shade to see what lurked within the hood.
A face...or rather, a what was possibly a face, since all the features were blurred just like Shade’s. The specter laughed, then spoke.
Call me Madrac...this time.
To Be Continued
in
Part III
Now out! The Sequel to Black City Saint!
About the Author
Richard A. Knaak is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of The Legend of Huma, WoW: Wolfheart, and nearly fifty other novels and numerous short stories, including works in such series as Warcraft, Diablo, Dragonlance, Age of Conan, the Iron Kingdoms, and his own popular Dragonrealm. He has scripted comics and manga, such as the top-selling Sunwell trilogy, and has also written background material for games. His works have been published worldwide in many languages.
His most recent releases include Black City Demon --- the second in his new urban fantasy series from Pyr Books, Reaper’s Eye for the Pathfinder series, and a new edition of his novel King of the Grey. He is presently at work on several other projects, among them continuing Knights of the Frost for the Dragonrealm, Black City Dragon --- the sequel to Black City Demon --- and more. The entire Turning War trilogy (Dragonrealm) --- Dragon Masters, The Gryphon Mage, and The Horned Blade --- will be released from Permuted Press in the summer of 2017 starting in July.
Currently splitting his time between Chicago and Arkansas, he can be reached through his website: http://www.richardallenknaak.com where more information on this trilogy can be found. While he is unable to respond to every e-mail, he does read them. Join his mailing list for e-announcements of upcoming releases and appearances. Please also join him on Facebook at @richardallenknaak and Twitter.
The Dragon Throne: Knights of the Frost Pt. II (Legends of the Dragonrealm) Page 8